#WITHOUT the sex work being the focus of the tragedy of their circumstances | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8: Interlude -

Author note: This chapter is an interlude that contains JC/LWJ adult content. It can be skipped without impacting the remainder of the story.

“This is an idea so stupid that I can’t believe Wei Wuxian wasn’t that one to think of it,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji didn’t disagree. If either of them had any sense whatsoever, they’d call off this whole idea before it was too late and they did something that permanently damaged the delicate balance of the life they’d built together forever – and they had, somehow, built a life together, cobbled together out of convenience and tragedy and the fact that no one else in this rotten world would understand what it was to miss someone like Wei Wuxian.

It was utter recklessness to throw it away for – what? Indulging some curiosity? Killing some time out of boredom, now that the Lotus Pier had finally quieted down enough for Jiang Cheng to no longer need to work from sunrise until sunset? Now that Lan Wangji didn’t have to hide himself away at all hours, afraid that someone would see him coming and going?

“You don’t even like me like that,” Jiang Cheng complained mutinously, and glared when Lan Wangji nodded in confirmation. “Wow. Thanks a lot.”

“We don’t have to proceed,” Lan Wangji pointed out.

“No, we’re doing this,” Jiang Cheng said at once, because he was contrary down to the last inch of him. “Take off your clothing already. No matter what the Lan sect may think, there are circumstances that call for not wearing four layers of clothing, and sex is definitely one of them.”

Because that was what they were apparently doing.

This was all Mo Xuanyu’s fault for leaving his books lying around – Jiang Cheng had finally succumbed to pressure and ordered his steward to get some for him – and in particular a spring book with pictures that went beyond the merely suggestive into the explicit. Jiang Cheng had picked it up while neatening up the room and gawked for enough time to make a cup of tea; when Lan Wangji had politely asked if he’d perhaps been abruptly struck blind by the contents and, if so, if there was any medicine he would like Lan Wangji to fetch for him, Jiang Cheng had instead turned to him and said, very frankly, “This cannot be a thing people actually do.”

Lan Wangji had, with great patience and an expression of intense suffering, held out his hands for the book.

The years following his awkward initial interaction with Wei Wuxian – the discovery of his own inclinations, the confirmation that they were irrevocably set in that way, his eventual acceptance of that fact – had led him to explore the more idiosyncratic portions of the Lan library. He was no longer the boy that had spluttered and cursed when tricked into looking at some (fairly run of the mill, in retrospect) pornography.

“Mm,” he’d said after a brief examination. “Real.”

“Impossible. Why would anyone -?”

Lan Wangji hadn’t bothered to dignify that with a response.

“It can’t possibly feel good,” Jiang Cheng had protested.

Lan Wangji had graced him with a pitying look. He hadn’t experienced the act in question with another person, of course, but his older brother had been perhaps unduly interested in ensuring that Lan Wangji had access to anything he might need to assuage his curiosity regarding his unorthodox affections, and, well, the Lan sect did always value a thorough approach to learning.

In other words, he’d read a lot.

It might have been left at that, a casual conversation between friends, except that Lan Wangji must have been suddenly possessed by the spirit of Wei Wuxian because he felt compelled to add, “Not that you would ever have a chance to find out.”

And that, of course, was that; once Jiang Cheng’s competitive instincts were awakened, there was absolutely nothing for it but a test to determine who was right.

Little details as to whether or not Jiang Cheng was even attracted to men enough for the question even to matter were dismissed as irrelevant.

And that was how they’d ended up here. About to go to bed. Together.

Though – perhaps that wasn’t exactly how it had started.

Perhaps it had started earlier, when Jiang Cheng had started helping Lan Wangji with those very particular physical reactions he’d had during the period he’d been too weak to do it himself, or perhaps when he’d continued to help him with it long after the trauma of it was no longer so near as to make it impossible for him to use his hands on himself.

Perhaps Lan Wangji should have been the one to stop that – the one to say no, no more, it’s unnecessary, thank you. But in those years of seclusion he had seen so few people, and seen Jiang Cheng most of all; he hadn’t quite been able to give up the desire for the touch of a human hand against his skin. To give up the intimacy of the act, for all that Jiang Cheng routinely brought him to completion as casually as if he were merely rebandaging his wounds, was simply impossible. Nothing could detract from the satisfaction he obtained, even if Jiang Cheng often spent the time talking about something else entirely, complaining about his day or a particularly irritating set of paperwork.

(There was a period in which Lan Wangji had briefly started to develop unsavory connections to the subject of dam rebuilding – luckily the dam project had ended before it had become a real problem.)

At minimum Lan Wangji should have put a stop to it once he was no longer secluded: when he had Lan Xichen’s embraces, gentle nudges from visiting Lan disciples, all the regular physical contact he had grown up with, and now all the casual affection that passed between Jiang sect disciples, of which he was considered an honorary member…it was more than enough to satisfy any skin hunger that might have been compelling him to continue with that inappropriate behavior that neither of them saw as important enough to name.

It had become a habit by then, though, a part of the routine, and the Lan sect thrived on routine.

“You have to remove yours as well,” he reminded Jiang Cheng, folding his clothing up neatly. If they had been lovers, perhaps Jiang Cheng would have been staring at him at this moment – perhaps he would have been tracing Lan Wangji’s body with his eyes, hunger and anticipation on his features – but they weren’t lovers. They were just friends, and that was why Jiang Cheng was fighting to get his shoe off (it had grown too small after too many washings and was starting to fall apart but he inexplicably refused to get new ones) instead of examining a body he’d seen naked a thousand times already during Lan Wangji’s slow recovery. “Do you –”

“If you offer to assist me, I will punch you,” Jiang Cheng threatened, and finally got the shoe off. “And if I hear one word about me needing to replace it –”

“You do.”

“It’s fine. It does the job! What else do you want from a shoe, damnit?” The other shoe was removed. “Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.”

The rest of his clothing came afterwards, tossed casually onto a chair, and Lan Wangji watched out of lack of anything better to do. In the years that had passed he had also seen Jiang Cheng’s body many times, an inevitable result of living across from each other in a place as hot as Yunmeng. Jiang Cheng was undeniably beautiful, all long lines and slender, his flesh marred by the discipline whip as Lan Wangji’s own had been, although in much lower quantity.

No, Lan Wangji concluded. This would not be the problem he had almost been concerned that it would be. For all that Lan Wangji’s heart belonged to Wei Wuxian and always would, his body had no objection to the idea of trying out something new.

“I assume at least some help is not unwelcome,” Lan Wangji said dryly, standing and walking over to put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s cock. At Jiang Cheng’s mild exclamation, Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “You can’t even do this? I may have overestimated your bravery.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng said, although he was clearly flustered; he reached out to assist Lan Wangji in the same manner. His palm was callused and warm, as always; Lan Wangji’s cock stirred at once at the familiar stimulus. “It’s been a while since it was someone else, that’s all.”

“You’ve had experience?”

“There’s no need to sound so skeptical about it. I was a teenager once too, you know; Wei Wuxian and I – hey, watch it!”

Lan Wangji relaxed his grip apologetically. “You did for Wei Ying as you do for me?” he asked, and didn’t even care when Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at his obvious and immediate fascination. It was a good thing that neither of them had any illusions about Wei Wuxian’s role in their friendship, the ghost of him that hung over it all; if they pretended otherwise, they might have hurt each other. “How did he..?”

“You’re not seriously asking me that question,” Jiang Cheng said, but of course Lan Wangji was.

Jiang Cheng glared at him, but Lan Wangji was patient, and as with all things relating to Jiang Cheng, his patience was rewarded.

“You’re a little more direct,” Jiang Cheng finally said, rolling his eyes once again to demonstrate how ridiculous he thought Lan Wangji was being. “You like long strokes, like this, very purposeful – his preference was a bit more playful. A bit of teasing around the head, like this, and then a bit with the thumb…listen, if you’re going to turn that shade of red this quickly, we’re going to have to call this whole idea off.”

“I can do more than once.”

“I’ll give you the whole rundown another time, you pervert,” Jiang Cheng promised, and Lan Wangji’s cock twitched at the thought of it. “Can we please focus on proving you horribly wrong already?”

“I’m not wrong.”

“So you say.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes and resumed moving his hand on Jiang Cheng’s cock. It felt nice in his hand, filling out as he stroked it. “Why?” he asked after a moment.

“Why what? Why did Wei Wuxian and I get each other off?”

“En.”

“We were young and stupid, obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “He was my shixiong. We shared everything, figured everything out together…it wasn’t that weird, okay? It was just lending a friendly hand. Literally.”

Lan Wangji could imagine it. The scene sprang up fully formed in his eyes: Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian as he remembered them from the Cloud Recesses, cheeks still a little fat with youth and glistening from perspiration from the humid Yunmeng air, sitting together side-by-side on a bed with their hands in each other’s laps. Perhaps even the bed he slept in now, or Jiang Cheng’s. And perhaps even back then Jiang Cheng liked to talk of other things while he was performing the chore – his lessons, perhaps.

Perhaps they’d even done it for each other while they’d been at the Cloud Recesses…

“Did you do anything more?” he asked, licking suddenly dry lips.

Jiang Cheng blinked at him. “Like what?”

Perhaps it was petty to use their conversation as an excuse to step forward into Jiang Cheng’s personal space, to use his free hand to rub up and down his chest and tweak his nipples, to use teeth and tongue liberally on his neck, on his shoulder, his collarbone, until Jiang Cheng’s knees had grown so weak from surprise and pleasure that Lan Wangji had to loop his arm around his waist to help support him –

But if there was one thing Jiang Cheng had taught him in all these years, it was that there were times when being petty was the best possible option.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he asked, and took the incoherent spluttering and vague hand-waving he received as a yes. “Sit down on the bed and lean back.”

Jiang Cheng obeyed without a single complaint, which Lan Wangji accepted as the compliment it was.

“I think I can definitively say no, just so you know,” he observed as Lan Wangji lowered himself down to his knees. “I did not do anything like this with Wei Wuxian.”

“Did you ever want to?” Lan Wangji asked, mildly curious, and then he leaned down and put his mouth on Jiang Cheng’s cock.

“Am I supposed to be having a conversation with you about this?” Jiang Cheng demanded, thrashing underneath his ministrations. Lan Wangji had to hold his hips down with his hands, using a little force. “Now?”

Lan Wangji purposefully stopped moving.

“You are a piece of shit, you know that?” Fingers made their way into Lan Wangji’s hair, careful to avoid his forehead ribbon as they lightly tugged – hmm, that was rather nice, actually. Lan Wangji mentally noted down the preference. “Fine. Ugh. No, I didn’t. It wasn’t like that. It really did just start out innocent, you know. Us being boys and all, measuring the difference in size and all –”

Jiang Cheng paused and rolled his eyes down at Lan Wangji, who had perhaps overly demonstrated his interested in hearing more.

“– yes, you obsessed stalker, I’m getting there. He was longer, I was wider; we called it a tie. Later on, we got drunk and started talking about how we were both worried that we were doing it wrong, except, you know, that would have been way too embarrassing…you know how we were. It turned into a dumb sort of competition about who could do it better, which one of us was the one doing it wrong, who was doing it right – we got into a lot of stupid contests like that.”

A brief pause.

“Don’t say that I’m stating the obvious.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth was full, which was probably the only reason he wasn’t. He really had lost all sense of self-control when it came to deliberately irritating Jiang Cheng, and he wasn’t sure when that had happened. His uncle would be disappointed in him again.

Good.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Jiang Cheng muttered. He’d gotten into the groove of things, his hips rocking slightly as Lan Wangji sucked him, careful not to go too far or too fast for fear of making Lan Wangji gag again – though to be fair, that had been mostly Lan Wangji’s fault for being overly ambitious in trying to take him in too deep that time. The real thing really wasn’t anything like the jade pillar he’d practiced on. “This is ridiculous. You’d better never expect me to do this for you. No way.”

Lan Wangji didn’t bother responding.

“I mean, I guess if my hands were broken. It’s not like I couldn’t do it. I’ve put worse things in my mouth, over the years.”

No response was necessary. Jiang Cheng’s complex about needing to be the best at everything – or at least skilled enough to be respected – was truly a fearsome thing.

Though speaking of which...

Lan Wangji reached with one hand to pull over the small packet of thickened, scented oil that he’d obtained long ago, dipping his fingers into it and working one finger, then another, into Jiang Cheng.

“How do you even think of these things?” Jiang Cheng complained, because he wouldn’t be Jiang Cheng if he didn’t complain. “You must have done nothing but read spring books day and night – hey, wait! What are you doing? I’m going to be the one on top! Not you!”

Lan Wangji hummed and removed his mouth – Jiang Cheng whined in complaint – and then lifted one of Jiang Cheng’s legs, pressing his cock against him. He didn’t get a fist in the face, even when he rocked back and forth teasingly, his cock sliding right up to Jiang Cheng’s slicked-up entrance and then away.

“…just go ahead and do it already!”

Lan Wangji’s analytical mind temporarily blanked out when he pushed inside. It was hot and tight around him, squeezing him – it felt good. Very good.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was a little unstable, almost breathy. “Fuck.”

“If you insist,” Lan Wangji said, and began moving his hips before Jiang Cheng could correct him. Jiang Cheng grunted as if the sound had been punched out of him. Fucked out of him. “How is it?”

“Why are you asking me, don’t you already – Lan Wangji. You said the picture in the book was realistic.”

Lan Wangji hummed in agreement.

“I assumed that meant you’d done it before.”

That seemed like a Jiang Cheng problem.

“Lan Wangji! Are you saying you don’t know what you’re doing?!”

“I’ve read a lot of spring books,” Lan Wangji said dryly, and started to really put his back into it, long thrusts that felt fantastic to him and from the looks of it not all that bad to Jiang Cheng, either. After a few thrusts, he apparently hit the place described in the books, if he were judging by Jiang Cheng’s sudden moans and a notable increasing in generalized cursing, as opposed to cursing his name in specific.

Lan Wangji finished first, which increased the amount of cursing by a significant degree.

“I can’t believe you –!”

“Would you like to finish in my mouth?”

“It is,” Jiang Cheng hissed at him, “the very least you could do!”

Jiang Cheng was much less polite this time as he fucked his way into Lan Wangji’s mouth, his hands firmly gripping Lan Wangji’s hair and pulling him into place, forcing his way deeper with brutal snaps of his hips.

Despite having recently been wrung dry, Lan Wangji’s cock did its best to give an interested twitch, and Lan Wangji noted that down as well. Perhaps next time he should encourage Jiang Cheng to be the one on top, to see if he would enjoy the sensation more if it was someone else doing the fucking rather than a toy carved out of jade. After all, Jiang Cheng had certainly responded well enough to it.

Lan Wangji was moderately sure there would be another time. Jiang Cheng was not a man motivated by sex – remarkably so, in fact. If anything, he seemed to view physical pleasure, even at his own hand, as a perfectly decent activity, but nothing worth kicking up a fuss over, little different from a massage or a round of acupuncture; neither something especially desirable nor repulsive. As Jiang Cheng himself had admitted, he hadn’t experienced the touch of another since his youthful experimentation with Wei Wuxian, even though Lan Wangji was well aware that he’d received plenty of offers from all types of types of people over the years, and yet the lack hadn’t seemed to bother him.

If not for Lan Wangji, he probably would have continued on with his life without thinking about it any further, either, except perhaps in the theoretical box in his mind that he’d earmarked for having a wife, which he seemed to want only because everyone was expected to want a wife.

That competitive streak again.

But he did have Lan Wangji, who was not naturally inclined towards abstinence, and now that they’d opened the door to having a friendship that included certain additional benefits, he had no intention of shutting that door absent any indication from Jiang Cheng that it no longer suited him.

After all, Jiang Cheng might yet have a wife one day, assuming a patient enough marvel could be found – but Lan Wangji was a Lan, born and bred true, and he would only have one love in his life; he had fallen long ago, chosen long ago. Wei Wuxian was gone, and he would never regret it, nor love another. It had been living with Jiang Cheng, being friends with him, that had taught him to remember joy; what was this, then, but more of the same?

Of course, that was assuming that Jiang Cheng would agree in the future to sate Lan Wangji’s rather prodigious appetites with more than just his hand. He might not. After all, it really wasn’t his area of interest –

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng abruptly said.

Lan Wangji, who was fetching a wet cloth, turned to look at him.

Jiang Cheng was propped up on his elbows, scowling bitterly. “You know what,” he said. “We didn’t even manage to do the right position! The one in the spring book was more – more twisty – you know – with the leg up in the air like that –”

“…mm,” Lan Wangji said. “We’ll do better next time.”

“You’re smirking,” Jiang Cheng said suspiciously. “Why are you smirking? What are you up to?!”

“Nothing,” Lan Wangji said peaceably, putting down the cloth and picking up the oil. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right! I’m – I’m not usually right. Or at least, you don’t normally admit it when I’m right. What am I right about?”

“Did it wrong,” Lan Wangji said, and settled down again. “Need to try again.”

“Try – wait, now? Already?! You can’t be serious!”

Lan Wangji started rearranging limbs. “You’re already prepared,” he pointed out. “‘Avoid needless waste.’”

“Don’t you quote your Lan sect rules at me, Lan Wangji! You’re inhuman! You’re – ah!”

He’d slid right in that time, Lan Wangji observed, all at once in a single smooth slide that made Jiang Cheng moan and his cock start to fill up again; the ease of it must be due to how relaxed Jiang Cheng’s body was after he’d come, and the slickness of both the oil left behind and the new amount he’d added. Definitely a different experience from the previous time, but equally enjoyable.

Well, as he’d said before – the Lan sect always did value a thorough approach to learning.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #delight in misery #if you prefer to avoid JC/LWJ entirely skip this #they're still not romantic though

97 notes · View notes

itsfunorwhateva · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Creature

Hi! I’m back with some more of an analysis type post! I hope this helps with a deeper understanding. I’ve provided sources where I got my information. I really tried to set this up and write this in a very informational/analysis way so it isn’t strictly an opinion. Also I want to say I haven’t read the entirety of Othello, but I have read some scenes and read complete analysis of the play to write this. Without further ado... Sweet Creature.

While it seems that some people have a general understanding that Sweet Creature by Harry Styles references the tragedy, Othello written by William Shakespeare, most people don’t get why that is huge, not only in terms of Harry making this decision, but also in support of Sweet Creature being about Louis Tomlinson.

So I’m going to break this into three parts to help make this make the most sense.

1. The reference Harry Styles makes in his song, to the play Othello

2. Why an Othello reference is huge; more on the play

3. William Shakespeare and his sexuality/coding in other works

These will make more sense with further explanation(duh), but I’m hoping this will connect the dots. Also, a quick disclaimer before we begin, this information is coming off of google searches, and analysis that I’m reading, and some from information I researched for a research paper on William Shakespeare. I am in no way an expert on song analysis, literature analysis, or on William Shakespeare and his personal life. I really just hope to give people a base to start themselves on more research, and understanding of the topic. Happy reading!

1. The reference Harry Styles makes in his song, to the play Othello

Now there is not much to dig up or uncover here as the reference is actually pretty obvious. The term Sweet Creature, in which the song is titled, is said to have originated from the play Othello. Act 3, Scene 3, specifically is where the term of endearment (this is important to note, Sweet Creature is used as a term of loving, endearment) is first seen.

“In sleep I heard him say ‘Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves.’ And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry ‘O sweet creature!’ and then kiss me hard“ (Othello III, iii ,428-432).

Some context for these lines of dialogue Act 3, Scene 3 is Iago telling Othello about his wife cheating on him. The scene has multiple instances of Iago expressing love for Othello, basically saying how Iago would not be telling Othello this if he didn’t love him so much. More on that for our next section. This first appearance of the term “sweet creature” is Iago telling Othello what he heard a man speak to Othello’s wife while the two were in bed together, all in a dream. Now the idea of cheating is not something to be too hung up on, but this is the context in which sweet creature first appears. While the term, Sweet Creature, is said form man to women - it is revealed to the husband from another man. Iago in which it is said may have homosexual desires/feeling towards Othello in this play. Personally I believe that Iago almost uses the term as a way to convince Othello that his wife is being loved by someone else, and maybe Othello should leave her to be with someone, like Iago, that could love him better.

Sources for this section!

Harry Styles References Othello in new Single, Sweet Creature

https://genius.com/a/harry-styles-references-shakespeare-s-othello-on-new-single-sweet-creature#:~:text=The%20song's%20title%2C%20%E2%80%9CSweet%20Creature,originate%20in%20William%20Shakespeare's%20Othello.

Othello play

https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/othello/page_166/

2. Why an Othello reference is huge; more on the play

Deeper meanings behind the characters and the play obviously take a bit more time and effort to really understand. Depending on what angle and the kind of understanding you have about the characters and situation in Othello you’ll think one way or another. Othello is partially about homosexuality (in a way that it is not the whole plot, but it does play a major part if you understand the context/characters). Not everyone thinks this and it’s normally not brought in class discussion/normal educational settings, but the fact remains.

There are a few things throughout the plays that hint towards the characters sexualities. When looked at in the right light and context it can help make sense of not only Harry Styles’ reference, and way choosing Othello to reference is kind of a big deal, but also a better understanding of the play. One article writes, “In William Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Othello the Moor of Venice Shakespeare leaves the character of Iago’s sexuality to be questioned. Although Iago has a wife, he drops slight hints throughout the play that he has homosexual thoughts or feelings toward other characters, but he uses his position in the military and his fear to suppress these feelings. These “hints” are shown through his wildly questionable story about Michael Cassio, his word choice when describing Othello, and his discourse with Rodrigo” (Homosexuality in Othello).

The character Iago is a military officer, and it shouldn’t take a genius to understand that being in the military and being homosexual only equal no good. The American policy in the military of “don’t ask, don’t tell” was/is a more modern day policy but still shows how military personal were/are expected and required to act in regards to being homosexual. Simply speaking, don’t. Now thinking even more to Shakespearean time, an even greater restriction was likely in place for homosexuality and the military. This part of the character, Iago, is likely a huge reason people overlook any thought of the character having homosexual desires/thoughts.

Even if you remove the circumstances surrounding Iago, and him being a military officer there are some others things throughout the play that hint towards possible homosexual desire/feelings. Iago is constantly informing Othello of his love for the other man, claiming to always be Othello’s, should he want him. Some of this can be chalked up to the language of the time, in being, love was used for both friend, and lover, but the extent in which Iago professes may hint towards something deeper. Others things include, Iago claiming to have “lay with” Cassio, another male character, and while some say this is simply in the barracks as fellow soldiers, others think this could have been to hint at being lovers.

One other thing that isn’t necessarily the play at face value, but still supports the idea of Iago being homosexual, is that actors throughout history have chosen to play him either as a straight or gay characters. While, this could simply be a creative decision based on an actor individually, it still seems a bit huge. If nothing in the text supported Iago being gay, there would not be actors playing him this way.

Sources for this section!

Homosexuality in Othello

https://www.cram.com/essay/Homosexuality-In-Othello/P3Z2W7LCX5Q

Is Iago Gay in Othello?

https://www.arogundade.com/homosexuality-in-shakespeare-is-iago-gay-in-othello.html

3. William Shakespeare and his sexuality/coding in other works

Final section is really just me helping you understand the feasibility of William Shakespeare writing his characters this way. There’s essentially two parts to understanding this and I’m going to try and help this make the most sense without going too overboard. One part is going to be how William Shakespeare has written other works. I’m going to focus more on his sonnets because I’ve already researched them for a paper in school, but they still stand with this point. The second part is going to be William Shakespeare’s own sexuality and why this is going to affect his written work.

Ok, so the sonnets.

“The sonnets have a contrasting set of subjects - one set chronicles the poet's lust for a married woman with a dark complexion, known as The Dark Lady, while the other describes a conflicted or confused love for a young man, known as the "fair youth."‘ (William Shakespeare, his Life, Works, and Influence).

So the sonnets were pretty revolutionary, exploring concepts such as love, lust, and even same sex relationships. This is observed in Shakespeare’s use of gender neutral terms and male pronouns, depending on the sonnet. This is pretty huge. When I did a sonnet analysis I chose two sonnets, which I’ll provide (Sonnet 18 and 29 - both are pretty well known and brought up in regarded to hidden messages/meanings). Both used pronouns that were either male or neutral, something that has been used forever to queer code in works, so do with that information what you will. A common analysis, is that William Shakespeare often wrote from personal experience, more so in his poems and sonnets, then in his plays, but nonetheless.

Second part, Shakespeare’s own sexuality. William Shakespeare was married to a women, but that doesn’t exactly say much. Men were known to get married because it is the thing to do, without necessarily having any feelings or desires towards said women.

When Shakespeare’s sexuality comes into question there a few things that are addressed. I definitely recommend reading the first source for this section, “Was Shakespeare Gay?”, it gives you a really good analysis and explores so many faucets of the question. I’m going to sum up the article and you can either read more or just take what I’ll explain.

The article explains that when looking at Shakespeare’s works he is really good at getting into the minds of his characters, without necessarily having the experience to match the character, i.e. writing from Cleopatra’s perspective, or from a gay man’s perspective. However on the flip side of that, when Shakespeare writes of same sex experiences, he seems to have a wide variety of knowledge of very specific references and experiences, maybe leaning towards him having these experiences. People point out that Shakespeare’s sonnets are his most personal works, and imagine that, they are also the ones that reference same sex attraction and love. Now of course there is way more in the source, but here’s what I think are the most important/key points. It’s important to remember that sexuality is only able to be labeled by the person, but from different works, and cultural ideals, there are certain things to be said about Shakespeare himself.

Sources for this section!

Was Shakespeare Gay?

https://www.shakespeare.org.uk/explore-shakespeare/podcasts/lets-talk-shakespeare/was-shakespeare-gay/

William Shakespeare, his Life, Works, and Influence

https://www.williamshakespeare.net/

Sonnet 18

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45087/sonnet-18-shall-i-compare-thee-to-a-summers-day

Sonnet 29

https://www.williamshakespeare.net/sonnet-29.js

Finally

Thank you for reading and I hope this made you think a bit. I want to repeat that I am in no way an expert, nor am I claiming to be. You are more than welcome to think whichever way you want about this information and I invite you to do your own further research. I hope this helped explain the reference and the importance of said reference in Harry Styles’, “Sweet Creature”. Thank you for reading, let me know what you think, and as always TPWK. xx

#harry styles #louis tomlinson #louis and harry #harry and louis #larry stylinson #larry is real #sweet creature #shakespeare #is shakespeare gay #queer coding

51 notes · View notes

giffingthingsss · 4 years ago

Text

J/C, C/7, and Me

Disclaimer: I am not necessarily a J/C shipper. I just have eyeballs and enjoy the show. Long ass post.

In the Beginning

Was a Janeway/Chakotay romantic plot baked in? I tend to think not. At least not at the very start. But this is pure speculation on my part.

If romance is your goal, then it’s much more interesting to have Chakotay not immediately being 100% supportive. (An AU where they never get lost and it’s just Janeway pursuing this Maquis leader and maybe eventually being persuaded and helping him, please.)

I think initially they were flirting with the idea of Janeway/Paris. The character of Tom was described as being a potential love interest for Janeway. That idea doesn’t seem to have made it past the character sketches, but you can see a trace element of it in the very beginning.

The writers played with a number of character combinations. A pretty natural chemistry was cropping up between Captain and First Officer. Little things were dropped into scripts. Performances certainly came across as interested, whether intended or not, who knows.

Ramping Up

Where before there were hints and moments, Resolutions kicks off a series of flashing red sirens.

From this episode on there would be declarations of... ‘you bring me true peace’, and ‘I’m frickin jealous, okay?’ and bawling declarations of ‘you can’t die!’ These developments are not in the shipper’s imagination. They’re building toward something. Clearly. Obviously. Said all the people with eyes.

For the first couple seasons, Janeway being engaged kind of kept this at bay. But now they’re fully playing with it.

Road Block

However, Kate Mulgrew (and maybe others, I dunno) was like, ‘sure. develop the relationship. but no sex. the first female captain isn’t going to be having booty calls in the ready room. not gonna happen. people are going to take this captain seriously.’

So they played with it here and there, but it could only go so far. Kate seemed to want the best of both worlds. A deep, complicated, growing relationship, that never tipped over into the sexual. Her focus was on getting the crew home.

Beltran flat out says (in one of the books I own that I don’t feel like digging out) that Chakotay was in love with her. But Beltran was getting frustrated. When Year of Hell came around, he apparently called up the writers and said, ‘how long is this guy gonna keep throwing himself at a woman who never reciprocates? it’s getting pathetic. either do something with these two or don’t.’

Loner Janeway

Along the way, I think Kate became enamored with the idea of the loneliness of command, the sacrifices it entails. Fell in love with the poignancy of it all.

This is not something that’s out of character for Janeway. Beyond the fact that in the beginning she was engaged, pairing off was a luxury she didn’t think the captain had. So any kind of romantic relationship she might pursue would have to start with her being broken out of that mindset.

That’s basically what Resolutions did. Once they finally pried Voyager out of her fingers, you could see a burgeoning love very clearly. But then Voyager came back. And with it her... resolutions.

Coulda Woulda Shoulda

If they had wanted to snip it and move on, they should have had that conflict between Janeway and Chakotay at some point. Perhaps after Beltran called them up and said, ‘hey. Make up your minds.’

Have the characters actually talk about it and reach a conclusion and there ya go. But maybe the writers just didn’t know wtf they wanted to do with it and wanted to leave their options open. And then did nothing at all.

Me, a Non-Shipper

Personally, I tend to agree with the Mulgrew side of things (and can also see why Beltran would be bored with the eternal holding pattern and not mind when they said ‘hey, you can kiss Jeri Ryan.’)

They developed the Tom/B’Elanna romance, which was great. We didn’t need non-stop romantic plots. I think the shippers could understand Kate’s reasoning and were willing to go with the slow burn...if the writers had actually sat down and decided that’s what they were doing. If only they hadn’t dropped the ball at the very end.

Here’s the thing: if you build up a relationship like that, you can’t be upset when people notice. And you can’t give up on it behind the scenes without telling the audience on screen. ‘There are some lines we never cross’ might have been an attempt, but was too late. And was certainly not closure. The audience deserved better.

C/7? WTF!?

Well, if you thought there was no build up for it, it’s because there wasn’t. If you felt like it was whirlwind and came out of nowhere, it’s because it was, and it did. Apparently even in the writer’s room.

Brannon Braga wanted Seven to die in the finale. He was writing her episodes to gear up for that. Human Error, the episode where Seven experiments with romantic ideas with a holographic Chakotay (with a kiss that was apparently the result of a dare Beltran made to Jeri), was written with Seven’s death in mind. It wasn’t supposed to be the opening salvo of an actual relationship.

I think Seven of Nine should have bit the dust. I think there had to be a real sacrifice for this crew getting home, a real blood sacrifice. Seven of Nine was, for me, designed to be a character that was gonna die tragically. I planned that.... There’s an episode called Human Error that I wrote...she's trying to feel emotions. She actually succeeds and then almost dies. She learns there’s a Borg implant, that if she becomes too human, it will kill her. And it was that moment in my mind that would set up the finale, where she realized she can’t live here, she can’t live there. And she dies getting her family home. - Brannon Braga

I’m glad they didn’t go that way for various reasons. I love Endgame as it is. But it’s interesting to know the thought process. They weren’t gearing up for romance, they were aiming for tragedy. At least Braga was.

Human Error was only about six episodes from the end. At the time of that writing, that's what was in at least his head.

Human Error was not written with an eye toward a C/7 future. Without that episode I doubt highly C/7 would have been a thing. And it wasn’t even written to make it a thing.

Endgame obviously didn't go that way. Janeway-palooza instead. So. What do we do now? What to do with Seven? And from here on, all I have is speculation.

Retooling

'Well, we've got this holodeck scenario from the episode we wrote when we were planning to kill her off that hints that she might like Chakotay. So. I guess we'll go with that.'

It appears to me that they retooled recently written story elements to fit their ending, to provide more motivation for that ending.

They picked the three people it would kill Janeway most to lose. Tuvok, obviously. An ongoing torment, visiting him every week. Seven dies (a remnant of plan A) and in a sense takes Chakotay with her.

This is all fuel for Admiral Janeway without making it about saving her lover (unless you’re a J/7 shipper, in which case, hog heaven).

When you think of it only in terms of ‘what can we do to make the finale work’, it’s not terrible. When you think of it in terms of seven preceding years, it doesn’t work at all. They got myopic.

In hindsight I think the writers could probably admit it was a mistake in terms of the show, and they should have resisted the urge to do something that was thrown together and jarring rather than nothing at all with Seven.

Gossip

Apparently neither Mulgrew or Beltran were opposed to C7 in the end. Maybe because they had at points been a bit frustrated with each other behind the scenes. Whether those frustrations were forefront in anyone’s mind at the time, idk.

I tend to think Kate really was over the idea of Janeway’s destiny having much to do with romance at all.

It is interesting that when Seven first arrived on the show, Kate specifically mentioned not wanting the writers to throw her with Chakotay. At that point perhaps feeling a tad possessive. Perhaps didn’t want him ‘sullied’ by the busty blonde.

But this was seasons in the past by the time the finale rolled around, and I doubt highly it had anything to do with anything. Who knows.

Me on Endgame

Personally, I'm glad Endgame was a Janeway palooza. I love 99% of Endgame. I’m glad it was about Janeway vs.Janeway vs. Borg Queen. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be about J/C either.

But if you’re not willing to go there, leave it then to the imagination. It's cruel to basically tell your audience that these two would be together if not for their delta quadrant circumstances, and then rip the rug from under them the second they get to the quadrant where this romance is supposed to be possible. Not cool, man. Not cool.

When I first saw Endgame (as a non-shipper with eyes) C/7 was jarring and weird. But I thought the scene where Seven was distancing herself was well acted and stirred up an emotion or two (even if it was a little histrionic, considering they'd just started dating). So I wasn’t throwing things at my television. Just confused.

I also basically dismissed their future relationship. They got home after like one date, not ten years of marriage. And now their lives will completely change. So I just kind of hand-waved it away. "It did its job for the episode, but the future's changed and they won't last. So whatever."

Headanons on Janeway’s romantic reasoning and original timeline reaction to C/7

Captain Janeway had no idea how long it would take to get back home. Obviously you hope for tomorrow, but it could be twenty years from now. She resigned herself to not pursue romance. Her sole purpose in life was to get the crew safely home.

So I speculate her reaction to C/7 would be quite stoic. She would recognize it’s not fair for him to just pine away, possibly forever. That she has made this choice and he shouldn't have to be alone because of it. Her being alone is just part of the price she must pay, the burden she must bear. Her own wants and needs must take a backseat. She has greater responsibilities.

In fact, I can see her encouraging C/7. She would see it as a form of selfless love. ‘It doesn’t matter that he’s with me; it matters that he’s happy.’ Of course feelings would rear their heads from time to time, but she would quickly corral them into that channel.

Lots of lovely internal martyrdom. She would make it her mission to make sure they were both okay and happy. A bit of a masochistic streak that she buries under a sense of nobility and sacrifice.

This is the kind of angle I think Mulgrew came to prefer. That lovely little tragic pang. She loves drama, if nothing else.

“It’s a lonely thing, but I’m gonna get this crew home.” - Kate Mulgrew

“You always made it hard for yourself. If there was a rocky path and a smooth one, you chose the rocky one every time.” - Coda

This is a woman with a lot of love to give. But finds herself, or perhaps unnecessarily forces herself, depending on your view, in a place where that’s not a possible life choice. So those instincts expand outward, enveloping them all. She finds fulfillment in the well-being of the crew and the ship as a whole.

Post Endgame

Their trip was shortened by a lot because of Endgame. The future is no longer written in stone. So the possibilities are endless, the sky’s the limit. And apparently Seven’s a lesbian (I haven’t seen it, but I hear tell). So. There ya go.

(She is crying here, btw. I never noticed before I did that episode and feel the need to point it out once again. Lest anyone else still not have noticed.)

If you actually read this whole thing, congratulations. Hopefully it made sense. I now continue with my rewatch and probably won’t talk much about this in the future. Unless something new comes up, I’ll just continue to be a non-shipper with eyeballs, enjoying whatever’s around.

#voyager things #long ass post #of fact and probably fiction #my best current take on what went down

20 notes · View notes

fuckyeahharryhart · 4 years ago

Text

THE ART OF SEDUCTION PART 2 Harry Hart Fan Fic

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED (Main Fic)

HARRY HART/ ORIGINAL CHARACTER M/F

WARNINGS: Mature, lust, light D/s, sex. Very explicit, but tasteful.

Words: 16800 (it’s very long)

SUMMARY After their initial encounter in the manor lounge, Kingsman quarterly reviews find Harry Hart and Gwendolyn alone together again. This time in Harry's office. What starts out innocently enough turns into a challenge of wills, tradecraft, trust and surrender.

NOTES: This is part of my main series for KINGSMAN 3, but since this is the erotic part that many of us enjoy the most, I decided to also separate it so it's easy to find and read on it's own. If you're looking for the whole story, check out my other fics. Still in progress though.

-----

Harry Hart was a man not easily distracted. If a task required his focus, there was little of the outside world that could pull him away. There was even less temptation in his internal world, where he was the master of his thoughts and emotions. But recently, the image of Gwendolyn, watching her as he pleasured her with only his eyes and the suggestion of his hands, squeezed its way to the forefront of his mind, even with all the walls he put up against it. She made him question the identity he had inhabited for so long he didn’t know if he had the capacity to be anything or anyone else. Was he be a man who could be with a woman half his age? Who happened to be the daughter of his closet colleague? One who had sacrificed himself to save Harry’s life. The thought was unsettling.

An obvious rationale against getting involved was the age difference. He was almost exactly twice her age. Which wouldn’t be inconvenient in all circumstances. But recently, the thought of Gwendolyn watching him when she was younger had him feeling disconcerted. She apparently had spied on him, along with her own father for years. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or disturbed. How old was she when she hacked the Kingsman network? A lot of information, sensitive information had been transmitted through those comms over the years. If she had access to his files, she would know more about him than anyone else on earth. Had she gone through his files? She had never brought up any of its contents. That didn’t mean she hadn’t seen it. The possibility was discomforting.

She had mentioned she young when she started learning computer technology. But she had also mentioned that she wasn’t able to spy on Merlin until she was a teenager. Tracing though her father’s computer network helped her survive her teens. Age difference had less significance when one was almost 60 and thirty. Though some may not find it appropriate, it was essentially, the business between two fully mature adults.

But a thirteen year old girl spying on a 26 year old man? He had never known her at that age. He didn’t even know she existed. But what kind of observations of him had she made at that impressionable age? It was not just a difference in age. It was a difference in maturity and mindset. Gwendolyn mentioned that she had taken a particular interest in Harry because he was her father’s closest colleague. Had she placed him in some kind of surrogate father role? Or was she hanging on to what was no more than a teenage infatuation?

Though by all appearances, Gwendolyn seemed perfectly stable, mentally sound. No evidence of PTSD, no emotional scarring that hindered her personal performance as an agent. She was more taciturn and reserved than most, but same could be said of Harry. She was surprisingly well adjusted for having such a harrowing past. Was anyone able to adapt that well after that kind of tragedy?

Mostly he feared that she was attracted to him because of displaced feelings for her father. Not that she saw him as a father figure, but perhaps she was filling an emotional void that was left when her father died, using the person who reminded her of her father the most. She certainly didn’t treat him as she would a father. She often seemed to suggest she was interested in Harry beyond a professional relationship. He was finding it harder to resist and at the same time more troubled at the the thought.

He was certain that she was attracted to him. All the signals were there. The subtle touches and physical contact she made. Her hand on his forearm to politely ask for his attention. Fixing his tie if it was crooked or smoothing stray hairs that got caught in the wind. The pleased smile that she always gave him when he appeared. The way she would end up by his side with this tea the way he always prepared it.

Then doubt would creep in. A lack of confidence that he rarely had to contend with. Was she the one initiating contact, or was it he? He couldn’t recall her actually actively seeking him out. He always was the one to come into her space, whether it be running into her on the shooting range, or joining a briefing, or finding her in the sitting room for afternoon tea. She was always the one who was there first. There was no way she could have possibly predicted his location for all of those times. She was an excellent spy, but that was mind reading level. Perhaps he was the one that was making himself available to her.

He knew she was fond of him, respected him, and at times admired him and equally found him exasperating. She was a little bit of a flirt when the mood struck her, but so was Eggsy and he was married. Had she actually made any overt moves that suggested she was interested in him as more than a mentor and a friend? Anything more than the harmless flirtation all the Kingsman engaged in? One would think the agents were ALL sleeping together at times, overhearing some of their conversations. On the rare occasions that she participated in these sessions, he discovered she could throw down as well as the best of them. She had never been that suggestive with him directly.

He prided himself on being a man without internal conflict. A man who did not doubt his words or actions. Then Gwendolyn had appeared, carrying doubt in one hand, conflict in the other, and handed him both.

——

It was late evening at Kingsman HQ. Harry leaned back in his office chair, interlaced his hand behind his head, stretched out his shoulders, unfolded his legs and let himself ease into a slightly less decorous position. It was quarterly review season for Kingsman agents and support staff. That meant long days for everyone, but most of all for him now that he was, in addition to Galahad Sr., part time Arthur as well. Most everyone had already completed their reviews. The expected issues reared up. The standard responses were given to placate.

How long was Harry going to be playing two roles, Galahad Sr., and Arthur? Weren’t they going to do something about the two Galahad situation? Would agents be assigned new titles since most of table was empty? Some of the agents had put in request for different names. Would new recruits have to go through the standard process or were they foregoing that tradition because of the dire need for new blood? They had questions about the new faces currently filing spots on the Kingsman’s roster. How long was the cowboy going to stay? It wasn’t going to be permanent, was it? How much sense did it make to have an Agent Tequila at their table of Knights. Shouldn’t he be required to take a new moniker as long as he represented Kingsman? And where did Gwendolyn fit in the scheme of things? Was she the new Merlin? She definitely could be. In time, she could almost be as good as her father. But she was also indispensable in the field as well. Would a new role be created for her? Would they just keep calling her Gwendolyn? Was she a permanent addition? Was she going to be assigned a code name? The kingsman agents worked best with a grounded foundation. Which had a place for everything and everything had its place. Including all the agents and support staff. An organisation based on decades of tradition, customs and heritage was understandably thrown off when unknown variables suddenly appeared without established roles, boundaries, and expectations.

Harry had his own similar questions as well. He wasn’t sure what to do about Gwendolyn. The last time he had broached the subject of what she was looking for at Kingsman and what her future plans were, he suddenly found himself talking about the details of her next mission he had set up in Portugal. She could skilfully divert almost any conversation in the direction of her choice. It was both charming and exasperating. He was charmed at her skill and exasperated that even he could not resist swerving the conversation in her direction.

She seemed to be wary of any thing that committed her to the future. Not with her work. As an agent, her best work was in planning. But, rather in her personal life. On the occasions that it had come up in conversation, she elegantly avoided talking about her future, what she had planned, what she wanted, or if she had goals for the following years. Most Kingsman were upwardly mobile, looking for advancement. They were ambitious and had designs, targets, aspirations. Whereas Gwendolyn seemed to have little concern for what lay in her future besides the next mission. Harry didn’t know if it was so much living in the present or avoiding future disappointment.

His mind began to wander outside the borders of propriety. The way she looked on the evening they shared in the Kingsman’s lounge took residence in his head. Innocent and seductive simultaneously. Naive yet lustful. It seemed to take up physical space. Moving thoughts aside to make room to stay in the forefront. He desired her. Intensely. She was a study in contradictions. At first glance she seemed like a sweet, lovely young lady. But as he knew first hand she was a skilled operative, an expert in weaponry and tactics, marksmanship, with the ability to think on her feet and engage in even the most unlikely scenarios. Her ability to disengage her emotions in the field would be a stark contrast to her thoughtfulness and kindness in her everyday interactions. Usually reserved and reticent, she could be so direct at times, so forward, that it was unnerving.

He often recalled that night during the times he could not will his arousal away. Rather than satisfying him physically, it seemed to stoke his need for more. Would it ever happen again? Or was it simply a curiosity, an amusing thrill for her that was now satisfied.

He was sitting in his office, long after the other Kingsman agents had gone home, contemplating just that, when she appeared in his doorway.

------

“I was just finishing up.” She help up her last field report. “I emailed you the file. But here’s a printed copy in case you need it.”

Harry held out his hand. Gwendolyn walked across the rug, her heels slightly sinking into the nape and passed the papers across his desk. She wasn’t wearing a Kingsman suit, but she looked very Kingsman nonetheless. The hem of a dark blue and green tartan kilt brushed her legs, the pleats ending just above her knees. She had matched this with a navy velvet blazer with grosgrain trim, a ruffled white blouse and black court shoes. A navy ribbon was tied around her neck in a small bow, the long ends falling along the front of her blouse. And matching black knee high stockings that he chose to ignore. Her long black hair was done in waves, gathered and pinned at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was, as usual, undetectable, except for a wash of color on her lips. A soft rose red.

He reached for the papers and felt a moment of friction when their fingers grazed. Had she felt the same? He thanked her and set them aside on top of the ever growing stack of reports on the edge of his desk that had found residence there ever since he had taken over as a temporary Arthur.

He gestured toward the comfortable deep chestnut leather upholstered arm chairs in front of his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

She walked around to the chair on her right, tucked her kilt under her as not to wrinkle it and sat properly, but comfortably. She smoothed down the front of her blazer. Knees together and slanted to one side, simultaneously elegant and demure. Her hands were folded lightly over her thighs. She sat up straight with her shoulders back and a firm set to her chin. It reminded him of how she looked that first night, when she was recounting her story.

She looked at him with another one of her inscrutable expressions. Of no significance or consequence. Her face was pleasant, attentive, but revealed absolutely nothing. She could be in her head committing murder or rescuing kittens. She had it down to an art form. She was waiting for him to speak first.

He sighed inwardly. Now that she was here and he had her attention, she had no legitimate reason to leave as this meeting was scheduled in advance and she had nowhere else to be.

“How are you feeling?”

He kept the question purposely vague. Left it open for her to interpret as she would like. He was curious to see what direction she was going to take her answer. All of a sudden, the sight of her, prim and proper in her kilt and blouse, aroused him. He felt himself stir and he adjusted his position accordingly.

“How so?” she asked.

Harry gestured with his hand, palm up and swept it toward her. The floor is yours.

——

She sighed to herself. She was pleased to be seeing him this evening. She had even dressed specifically in the demure, ladylike, but still alluring style that she knew he preferred. Especially with the other agents mostly gone, she would have him without interruption. Often, during meetings in his office, a knock on the door would interrupt them and distract her from whatever part of Harry she decided to concentrate on for that meeting. Whether it be his hands, his eyes, or even the dimples that would appear when he did his half smile of pressing his lips together with amusement. She had once even spent a full hour staring at his forearms, and imagining she could feel them under the wool of his suit. She had purposely scheduled her review for the end of the day, hoping they could have some time without her concentration being broken every five minutes. Maybe even share a drink. Though she hadn’t had a drink with him since the night she tried to play a game of eye contact with him and he played with her, an entirely different game altogether.

Everyone seemed to want to know what she wanted for the future. She would prefer in the future that they stop asking her this question. Plans were an indulgence she had no patience for. She had absolutely no desire to voice a want or a need that she had no control over. Why did everyone seem to insist that she define everything in her life? Define her role, her place in Kingsman. Was she here indefinitely? Define her work. Was she a field agent or was she tech support? Why didn’t she have to wear the Kingsman suit if she didn’t want to. Define her past. And an evening in which she had hoped would include some harmless flirting and maybe staring at his mouth, was now turning into a discussion about her feelings.

Why couldn’t she just do her work and let it be that? She was an exceptional agent and handler. She took after her father when it came to tech support. She had the skills to perform many roles. They couldn’t accept that she had no plans. She had but one goal, one mission, and she completed it. To get to Kingsman London and take her father’s place. Well, two, if she was being honest. Second, to meet her father’s friend and colleague, Harry Hart. That made two things that she planned and had accomplished.

She was mostly content ensconced in the daily grind that was life as a Kingsman agent. And she had Harry Hart when she wanted someone to share company with. If she was feeling a little more amorous, she was more than satisfied imagining being with him, but only when she was alone in the privacy of her own bed. After he had watched her pretty much imagine herself to climax while he played with his scotch glass like it was her, anything more than the most harmless flirtation, threw her off kilter.

She wasn’t quite sure if this evening would qualify as flirting. It seemed to feature a lot of talking. Perhaps this was Harry’s way of flirting. It was quite exasperating. He was really the only person she would even tolerate, anyway, aside from maybe Eggsy. She didn’t want things to be awkward with him. That other evening definitely fell into the awkward territory. Apparently, her father had also been the same, Not with the awkwardness, the “able to tolerate” part. Otherwise, she was more than happy to let fate lead her where ever it wanted to.

In the meantime, she was satisfied with her work. Now even Harry was asking her to define her feelings. Under the guise of a review. But she knew that he wouldn’t ask an open ended question during a meeting with an agent. Not when he had five more agents waiting in line for their turn. Questions that could be interpreted in many ways were inefficient. She had the feeling he was asking her on a personal, “I’m concerned about you,” Harry level. Not an Arthur, “so let’s get this over with,” supervisor level. She decided to skirt around the subject until she could guide the conversation to a more comfortable place. Preferably over a drink.

“You don’t have to worry about me, sir.” She equivocated.

“I know that.” He replied. He felt himself stir again when she addressed him as sir . “However, you didn’t answer my question.”

Because your question is stupid, she thought. Instead she said.

“I feel like a drink.” That was easy, she thought. She neatly stood up and walked over to his small bar with the crystal decanter of scotch.

“May I pour you one?”

“I appreciate you offering me my own scotch.” He said with slight sigh. “And that was a very weak diversionary tactic.”

“First of all, I asked whether I could “pour” you a scotch. There is a difference.”

Without a reply from him, she splashed a finger’s worth in a second glass. Walking over toward him, she passed it over the desk as well. Her agitation at being questioned when all she wanted to do was listen to him talk so she could stare at his mouth was making her bristle.

“Second of all,” She clinked her glass against his and then raised her drink. “It worked. It got the job done. Here’s to feeling like a drink.” She took a sip.

“This would be the actual diversionary tactic.” She sat against the arm of one of the chairs. Lightly perched on top she said,

“The last time we shared a scotch was when you were schooling me on the finer points of the art of seduction.”

She felt awkward about the whole episode and she dealt with awkwardness by trying to make the situation more awkward for the offending party. Or in tradecraft terms, Detecting Threats and Preemptively Engaging Attacks.

“How did that make you feel?”

Hmmmm. Harry thought. She was walking a fine line, hoping that if he followed, she could throw him off balance and then direct the conversation toward a topic of her choosing. A good way hide one’s emotions was by making one’s opponent experience stronger ones. If she believed this train of thought would derail him, then it most likely had her flustered as well. So apparently, it had been on her mind, too.

Harry seemed to be deciding something in his mind. She could see him turning something over, pausing, and turning it over agin. She took another sip of her drink and waited for him to speak.

She admitted that she was being unnecessarily difficult. He probably had a long day after the back to back reviews. He was simply showing concern. She enjoyed spending time with him and would usually look forward to meetings where she could be alone with him. Maybe she was frustrated. She didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardise their relationship, friendship, or whatever he wanted to call it. She just saw them as two people who enjoyed each other’s company in whatever way they wanted to.

His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, a micro expression that said he was looking at something he had been trying to make sense of and finally had. The look added on a firm set to his jaw.

“It would be in our best interest if you locked the door.”

It was a statement. Not posed as a question. She wasn’t sure what to make of this voice. Firm, decisive, a little demanding, a little authoritative. It sounded vaguely familiar. Under different circumstances, she would have automatically asked “Why?” But this evening was filled with little pockets of uncertainty. He was changing her game again. He was seeing her diversionary tactic and raising it, but to what?

For a spy, a room with even just one other person turned it into a potential event. An event was a scenario in which the occurrences could be manipulated or influenced for the agent’s own agenda. This was suddenly feeling like an event. The question was, should she engage? She had been trying to divert him so she wouldn’t have to discuss her feelings or why she didn’t have anything planned for her future. Now he was countering her diversion, but in an unknown direction.

If he just wanted to circle back to the review, it would have been an exasperated, “For goodness sake, Gwendolyn. You have your tipple. Now sit your arse down and answer my bloody questions.”

Whenever she was caught off guard, she always reverted back, remember your training.

-----

“Reading a room” in the spy world was deliberately observing a room to understand the overall emotions and thoughts of the persons in it, i.e. herself and Harry. Her assessment would help her calculate the best method of engagement of the situation in said room, i.e. what was turning into a bizarre agent review session. The art of awareness was the understanding group dynamics in small, confined spaces, i.e. Harry’s office, which was actually quite roomy and well appointed. On-the-fly situational judgments and character assessments from mere moments of observation and interaction. The goal to obtain actionable intel. He was just trying to prove that his diversionary tactic was much more effective than hers. It worked. Now she just felt awkward and uncomfortable.

The problem of using strategy to read the room? It was only Harry Hart. And Harry Hart was impossible to read.

Avoid engagement in unknown situations, she thought. The energy of the room had shifted and she didn’t know what to make of it yet. She pushed off her chair and walked over to the large wooden door. She would play along. She didn’t want to disturb the air by stirring it with further misdirection.

The door was like an anchor, a tether that kept her grounded. A single point of focus she could concentrate on rather than speculating on all the reasons why Harry would ask her to lock the door. Why didn’t he just lock it. Why did he want it locked in the first place. Why did he phrase it “in our best interest”? She need to stop with all the questions, and just act until she had a clearer idea of what Harry was up to.

It was frustrating. She could analyze a life and death situation, narrow down the problem, decide on a course of action, engage with the enemy all under direct threat and then act without hesitation. When she tried that with Harry, aside from the first night they met, she kept on slipping down the rabbit hole of “what if’s��.

Just focus on the door, she thought. The door was carved with an intricate design along the edges. Hmmm. She had never noticed it all the times passing in and out of Harry’s office. Taking much longer than any spy needs to lock a door, she turned the brass knob above the handle to the right. It made a little click as the locking mechanism fell into place. The tiny sound seemed to echo through the quiet air. Without knowing why, she slid the bolt into place as well.

Could it be possible he was actually upset that she kept disregarding his concern? The last thing she wanted to do was upset Harry. She had always been able to veer around answering his questions if she didn’t feel like the question was a necessity. He had been so tolerant with her episodes of obstinacy. Had she pushed his patience too far? Was he going to scold her in private? Disappointed Harry was worse than upset Harry.

After Harry heard the bolt lock into place, he continued.

“Come over here. Please.”

Though the words were polite, the tone indicated that it was not a request. He spoke with a new inflection. His words carried a note that others most likely would miss. But she had been getting better at discerning the different shades of his voice.

She pressed her lips together. Before she turned around, she wanted to find the right expression. None of them fit. She composed herself the best she could, took a few deep breaths and relaxed her shoulders. She relieved Harry the trouble and scolded herself lightly. They went through so much classified information in this office, she was surprised it wasn’t a vault. Harry was just going to go over sensitive information and needed privacy with no risk of interruption. Whatever she was feeling was just her, not Harry.

Or most likely, she was going to turn around after spending all this time analysing the situation, he was going to smile and say.

Now that is what I would call an effective diversionary tactic.

That would be such a classic Harry Hart thing to do. Believing herself to be more presentable, she turned around and what she saw startled her to the extent that she dropped the small handful of confidence she was able to collect.

-----

Harry was in his white dress shirt and was in the process of rolling up his sleeves. His jacket, set aside on a hanger so as not to wrinkle, hung from a hook on the wall behind him. He was just in the middle of removing his set of gold cufflinks. One of his sleeves was already open at the wrist. The link was sitting on the desk in front of him. After he freed the second link, he picked up the first one and placed them both in a small silver tray. Whose only purpose might be, she thought, to make sure his cufflinks were safe and never separated.

Now this was unexpected. Don’t disturb the air. Determine the before you engage. She talked herself through the walk from the door toward his desk. She paused at the two chairs with a question. He tilted his head in his direction. All the way, it said. He was rolling up one sleeve as she walked.

As she stepped around, he rose from his chair. She met him on his side of the desk. She realised she’d never been in this proximity to Harry in his office. In this space. His space. He was always behind the desk. Agents sat in a chair. Without fail it was business. Always Kingsman.

She stood in front of him as he rolled up his other sleeve. This was as relaxed, “unclothed” as she had ever seen him on Kingsman property. The most relaxed anyone saw him was without his suit coat. Oh, for fucks sake. He still had his leather shoulder holster on. With a gun in the sheath.

She was slightly unsure, hesitant, watchful. It was rare that she stood so close to him without a legitimate reason, like reaching behind him for more ammunition on Kingsman’s shooting range. Or trying to tip toe for a book at the HQ library, only to have him appear at her side to reach it for her. Personal space didn’t exist in the field when not being seen was a life or death scenario. More than once had they been squeezed together in extremely tight spots. But there has always been a reason. A legitimate and proper reason.

Here, he was just looking at her. She didn’t try to hold his gaze this time, but she didn’t shy away from making eye contact. I know what that leads to, she thought. Damn her for bringing it up. She let her eyes move where ever they felt like. And they ran up and down the length of Harry Hart. All of a sudden, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I would like…” he took an undefinable pause. He was deciding on something. Contemplating an idea. He was making a choice. It was as if he needed to complete the thought in his head before he spoke out loud.

He started again, with assurance.

“I would like to bend you over my desk.”

——

She almost choked.

If she had been drinking, she most definitely would have choked. She almost choked anyway.

What the fuck? Of all of the words that could have come out of his mouth, “I would like to bend you over my desk” had to top the very top of the least likely list. She was completely and utterly caught off guard. A rare sensation for her. She had no trained reaction she could fall back on in this scenario. Her resting heart rate started to rise. A heated flush rushed up to her cheeks. She suddenly doubted herself. Was that really what he said? Or did she just hear him wrong. Did he forget to finish his sentence?

Didn’t he really say, “I would like to bend you over my desk so I can use your body as a unit of measurement to determine the distance from one edge of my desk to the other?

It would have been no less bizarre a request.

Yes, of course she had imagined what it would be like to be with him. What he would do to her, what would he feel like. How he would take her. How could any woman not? He was Harry Hart. But as she knew, shooting under live enemy fire was much different than practice shooting at the range. While she wasn’t under any danger, her body’s response was the same as when she was on her first real mission. It was her fight or flight response. Her automatic physical response to a perceived threat that activated her sympathetic nervous system and triggered an acute stress response that prepared her to fight or flee.

She knew exactly how the fight or flight response worked on a physical level. In this case, Harry was the perceived threat, the catalyst. Upon hearing his command, a sudden rush of hormones began a chain reaction causing the release of adrenaline, which increased her heart rate, blood pressure and breathing rate. It was also however, very similar what the physical body experienced when sexually aroused. At the present moment, she wasn’t sure if she could tell the difference. Not that it mattered. It had the same effect in the end.

She wanted to add a third response, fight, flight, or freeze. She was trained to fight anytime her fight or flight response was activated without hesitation. She knew how to engage with an enemy, depending on the circumstances of the fight. Was it hand to hand combat, a fire fight, urban warfare? She could handle that. She did not have any training scenario that instructed her on how to engage with Harry Hart when he asked, no, scratch that, when he commanded that she bend over his desk. None whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. She was out on a limb, swinging on all the tiny branches.

The dots were refusing to connect. She was having a very hard time linking the statement she just heard, to the man who said it, to the action it led to. And she was shivering all over. She tried to stop it, but couldn’t and she was very, very anxious about it. Now she knew why earlier she thought that his tone sounded familiar. It was the voice of the man that had sat across from her one evening in the club. Playing what she thought was a silly game of wills. He had a glass of scotch in his hand then, too. He hadn’t said a word during that episode, but if he had, she knew that this is what it he would’ve sounded like. It was Harry’s voice, deep, smooth, powerful, but with an added layer and additional edge. It was the voice of a man who was going to have sex with her. Statement.

THIS. She remembered. THIS was how he felt that night. He was Harry, but more. Harder, more intense, demanding. And completely assured. And aroused. She was feeling dizzy and trembly as well as anxious now.

Fuck. Scratch that. Holy fucking fuck. Fuck. She added a final one for emphasis. Fuck.

The image, let alone the thought, of her bent over Harry Hart’s desk, him behind her, being taken by Harry Hart, completely rearranged her mind. Nothing was connecting. She, who could control nearly every emotion and resulting physical reaction out on the field, was helpless in his presence. Her imagination could only get as far as being bent over Harry’s desk and then her mind would short circuit.

His mouth was moving. Oh, God, she thought. What is he saying now?

She tried very hard to concentrate on his words, but she was vibrating and didn’t know if his words would land.

“But first,” He said, “I am going to kiss you.” He was looking down at her, curious and amused. “That is, unless you object.”

Her head shook from side to side without any direction from her. Why would she object? He was only the most perfect, charming gentleman spy and the hottest mentor that she had ever had who was equal parts devastatingly handsome and achingly sexy.

“I can’t hear that.”

What? She thought. Her head shook again before she had the wherewithal to speak out loud.

“I don’t object.” she returned with much more confidence than she felt.

Ohmygod, I am going to be kissed by Harry Hart. The phrase repeated on a quick loop in her head.

No, she thought again, there was nothing that could have prepared her for this as she short circuited again.

——

Harry Hart could tell that nervousness was not usual for her and ascribed her anxiety to both the surprise of the situation and the way it was presented.

He knew that he was to blame for all of that. He had arranged it purposely to do so. His intent was to catch her off guard. Not only off guard, but completely unexpected and totally unprepared. Having your mentor request that you bend over his desk, in his office, in his place of work, was not high on the list of things you expect to happen during an employee review. Especially if your relationship up to that point had been exclusively mentor and colleague. Her bewilderment would prevent her analytical mind from automatically activating and analysing the situation.

She was a secret agent, with work and life experience that could overwhelm a hundred people, let alone one. Her background was steeped in risk, loss, danger, and uncertainty. She had the grit to handle all that life had delivered and come out on the other side. She had the physical control to reduce the effects of shock. It was part her natural resilience, her capacity to adapt, and her training, that conditioned her to act under the most unlikely scenarios.

Part of the exhilaration, frisson, and the charge of being intimate with a new partner was the aspect of the unknown. And if that unknown was unexpected or even slightly shocking, it could elevate the experience. He was certain that a fine dinner and a return back to his flat for an evening of lovemaking would be lovely. But he didn’t want lovely for this evening. There was plenty of time for lovely. One had only a single chance for an unforgettable first time.

He did not know how sexually experienced she was, but from observation he suspected that her experience was not very extensive. First of all, she didn’t seem like the type of person who sought esteem or worth through being sexually desirable or one who found validation through sex. She also didn’t seem like a woman who would find pleasure in sleeping with random people to fulfil a purely physical desire.

All agents could take care of themselves if they found themselves needing physical release for one reason or another. For male agents, he knew that it was an excellent way to fall asleep quickly in the field where every second wasted may be the difference between a successful mission and a failed one. She would have to find her partner interesting and attractive and desirable in some way, or else she would not find the experience pleasurable. Judging from how many people she kept company with, or how little, her standards were very high.

One-night stands were possible. Agents also had a way of charming a person for only a night or an evening. If the chemistry was strong enough, agents most definitely could organise encounters on the side. In his experience, a one night stand was fairly similar to the one before it and the one after it. It didn’t give one enough time to delve into the desires of the other person. Most often, it was a way to find some temporary pleasure and company, if company was even desired. One night stand sex was fairly predictable, making sure whatever technique, position, location had the greatest chance of pleasing both parties, which often were the most standard.

Rarely, if ever, did an agent find someone who they connected with so strongly, intensely and quickly that they could trust them to explore more intimate sexual pleasures.

He found it amusing. Most of Kingsman would be shocked if they knew of his, at times, unconventional views on sex. Gwendolyn obviously was. He enjoyed exploring outside the box in life and in work. Sex was no exception. If both parties were not only in agreement, but in tune and in a space of trust, there was a freedom to be experienced in sex, and there was little he would be opposed to trying with the right partner. But one did not build that brand of trust in a single encounter. It took knowing the other individual on an extremely personal, extremely intimate level.

No agent wanted to seem or feel vulnerable, but to Harry, that was the exhilaration of good sex. It was the only place he would allow himself to feel vulnerable. Vulnerable meant being exposed, open and sensitive. And if that didn’t describe sex, he didn’t know what did. If you knew the fears and desires of a person who was capable of being vulnerable, then the pleasure you could provide them would be unlimited. The most important factor was trust. Something that spies were notoriously bad at. Both at gaining and giving.

He was very attracted to her, sexually and personally. She was equal parts alluring, and seductive, but without effort. She fascinated him. People rarely did. But most of all, as a man who valued his private time and personal space, he found that he sought out her company whenever he had an opportunity. That behaviour was telling. He could picture her in his space, without it feeling like an intrusion. Typically, whenever he had company, no matter how much he may be enjoying himself, there would always be that moment in the evening where he wished his space was his own again.

It felt like she could just be. Be in his space and he would not be bothered by it. Not that she could easily be ignored. The point wasn’t to feel like she wasn’t there at all. It was recognising her presence and not having to feel any kind of demand or expectation for him to do something different or be someone different. Basically, that he could be himself. He could imagine sitting in his favourite chair in his flat, a fine old leather piece, well made, that had held up for years and still had many more years left. He would be reading a book or a newspaper. She would be quite relaxed on the floor with a pile of pillows as that was how she preferred to rest, but near his chair. Close enough where she could bracelet his ankle with her hand, the other hand holding her own book or more likely her smart phone. Close enough where if he let his hand fall over the side of his chair, that he could touch her hair, or cheek and perhaps find her hand brushing against his. Simple touches, not requesting more, not requiring more than just acknowledging the existence of the other person. Companionship. Something he never had truly experienced before.

He sensed this was possible the evening of her little battle of the wills. Well, prior the seduction portion of the evening. She was perfectly comfortable and natural being seated together in silence. He was fairly sure that she had not even spoken a word, though she had communicated much during the time they had shared.

Which was another reason he determined that she had limited sexual experience, but was very sexually open in the right circumstance. That evening helped him decide how he would approach her, how to initiate their engagement, so to speak.

Her surprise when he lifted the challenge up to its proper level suggested that she was fairly new to the game of seduction, or at least in the actual physical practice of the game. He was quite sure she was attracted to him. But most of all, was her willingness to be controlled and allowing him the freedom to control her. That said trust to him. Her reaction betrayed her surprise, but also her desire and her enthusiasm, if not eagerness for the experience. And also, the evidence of her enjoyment that merely the idea of being controlled by Harry, aroused her.

He suspected that she had some slight D/s tendencies, even if she did not consciously recognise it. D/s could be misinterpreted, and often was, but dominance and submission was not exclusively about inflicting or enjoying pain. It was not akin to degradation or humiliation. But it did revolve around humility, or being humble, which was a different affair all together. It was centred on being pleasing ,and thus, giving pleasure and receiving pleasure. If that included pain, well then, it was a mutual understanding. If a man treated a woman well, with respect, if he honoured her and treasured her, there would be little she wouldn’t do to please him. What many people didn’t realise is that the man didn’t choose the woman in D/s relationships, the woman chose the man based on his worthiness.

That encounter led him to believe, as little experience as she may have had, her willingness to stay with the challenge, which some may, feeling embarrassed, would have halted, that she was extreme in ways that she might not recognise. She was certainly extreme in most other aspects of her life. And also, that she had enjoyed herself immensely when faced with an unexpected scenario that surprised her and she was unprepared for. He thought that may have even heightened her response.

The key was, if she was vulnerable, she would be open to receive all of the pleasure he knew he could give her. And seeing her pleasure would be pleasing to him as well.

She may find the situation that he arranged for their first time together extreme and unorthodox, unusual. Her preconceived notions of sex may tell her that this was improper or strange or inappropriate, but he knew, ultimately, that if she allowed him, he could pleasure her in ways that she didn’t even know existed. Just the thought of it aroused him.

He only need to catch her before she was able to put her guard up and behave and react in the way she thought she should, not the way she wanted to. He wanted her to react on a purely instinctual, visceral level. This was one scenario where analysis would work against her, not for her.

He placed his hands to the sides of her face, ever so gently, barely touching, passing smoothly over her features. He could sense the slightest tremor through her entire body. She was still responding on a physical level, not an intellectual one. He didn’t want to give her a chance to think herself out of this situation, so he leaned down and kissed her in the way he wanted to, and in a way he knew she would enjoy.

——

Your knees really do go weak, she thought. With one small step, Harry entered her space. Sexy and commanding in his shirt and shoulder holster. He seemed larger than she remembered. He positively towered over her. Her eyes could not meet his gaze but she knew that he was looking down at her. He lifted his hands to her face. Each palm cupped the curve of her jaw, lightly, tenderly, almost touching her, but not quite. The warmth of his hands and the heat from her cheeks closed the distance between them. Her skin burned and tingled in anticipation.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she held back a sound that was part sigh, part moan when she felt Harry’s gentle yet firm hands caress her face. His palms, fingertips, knuckles, the back of his hands, traveled every curve and hollow as if memorising her features through touch. He explored her lips, very slowly brushing across her cupids bow with his thumb, barely touching. Gwendolyn couldn't help herself. She parted her lips, her tongue instinctively trying to making contact, before he lightly glided over the soft skin of her cheek.

The wait was excruciating. Harry Hart was going to kiss her. She was going to be kissed Harry Hart. That was her last thought as he bent down and brushed her lips with his own in the most tender of kisses. The contact was soft and warm.

That slightest touch made a shudder run through her body. His hands still gently braced the sides of her face. His hold was exquisite. The anticipation was devastating. His lips parted and his tongue began to press against her with a soft but firm insistence and her mouth opened to him. The woodsy, smokey, slightly sweet taste of scotch still lingered as he kissed more deeply, slowly swirling his tongue around hers. He knew, very well, what he was doing.

Sensation flowed through her entire body, pulses of pleasure reaching every inch of her, prickling her skin. Thousands of synapses were sending messages from Harry’s mouth to hers. They traveled to her brain, which translated her desire in a language her physical body could understand and shot the directive to every last nerve ending. Hundreds of thousands of electrical connections manifested as lust, as longing, as need. She felt her muscles twitch involuntarily. For this man, she thought, and this man alone. For Harry Hart.

He only had his mouth on hers, his hands on her face and she felt consumed by him. Overwhelmed by him. One of his hands traveled to the nape of her neck and nested his fingers within the twist of hair that was gathered and pinned there. His other hand traveled down her side and pressed into the curve of her waist. Her neck was gently but insistently bent backward. Gwendolyn’s breath caught in her throat. Harry demanded more and she yielded to him, letting his mouth claim hers. His grip tightened, her scalp prickled, but it wasn’t painful. It was just persistent. The room seemed to be spinning in slow motion. She felt herself begin to melt into him. A shudder ran through her body.

Gwendolyn’s resolve was demolished as his lips crushed hers. She relinquished herself over to him. With a single heady kiss, her self-control was washed away in a flood of passion.

When at last the kiss ended, Gwendolyn’s breath was heavy, her head light, her body trembling. Opening her eyes, time stood still. Gwendolyn saw the corners of his mouth slowly turn into a smile.

She realised their faces were just inches apart. Harry’s golden brown eyes reflected the dim light of his office. They journeyed along the curves and angles of her face and stopped until she dared to look up and meet him. The warm intensity of his gaze made her heart pound in her chest. Pulsating anxiety mixed with devastating pleasure.

Seconds, minutes, passed as time meant nothing to her. She still didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her hands had hung by her side as if her brain was too occupied with what was happening to her mouth, it didn’t have the capacity to consider what any other part of her should be doing. She was still afraid to touch him, as if the slightest contact might sear her like dry kindling ready to go up in flames.

As he pulled his face away, his hands were still in place.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

He took her wrists, raised her hands to his face and laid them gently on his skin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Gwendolyn’s heart was pounding in her chest as she caressed his face as gently as she could. She trailed her trembling fingertips along his strong jaw, down his neck, feeling the beat of his pulse. He was warm. And masculine. Hard muscle under smooth skin. Back up she traversed, tracing his cheekbones, his brow and the wide planes of his forehead. She lowered her hands to his chest, with only her fingertips touching his shirt.

He opened his eyes, staring at her and smiling softly. He reached up and took her hands in both of his. She swallowed again but it was no use. Her mouth was completely dry. She couldn't have spoken even if she knew what to say.

“Now, you may think that door is locked,” he nodded in its direction, “to keep you from leaving. It is not. It’s merely for privacy. You are not bound here by me, nor by anyone else. I want you to be here, because you want to be here. I may have initiated this meeting, but it’s both of us that are needed, consciously, and voluntarily for it to be worthwhile.

“You may stay, or you may leave. I cannot say that I won’t be disappointed, but that is only because you are flawless, and I want you. But my physical needs are not of your concern if you leave. I have stated as clearly as I can, what this evening will entail. There are no repercussions if you chose to leave. There may be another opportunity at a different time. But do not let the future influence what you decide at this moment” his gaze softened in understanding. “Is that not what you believe?”

One of his hands released hers. He reached up to touch her face again. Simultaneously, there was a hardness and a softness in his eyes that was riveting. Arresting. It took her breath away. And when he spoke, his words were all that mattered. His voice dropped, low and intense.

"There is much I want to show you, to tell you, and to be for you. And there is much I want you to be for me. But that is not up to me. For you, there will always be a choice. So I will ask you now. Would you like to leave? Or would you like to stay.” He added, “And be with me.”

To Gwendolyn, there was no question. This man, always smart in his suit and tie, freshly shaven, …always a gentleman. His thoughtfulness, his patience and his nature, a kindness that was at the same time gentle and firm... His face, his eyes, his hands strong and capable. His intelligence, dedication, his passion...

It all added up. The answer was obvious.

“I would like to stay. And be with you.”

She felt the strength of his arms, arms that had already been around her for so many different reasons, envelop her now for only one reason. Allowing herself to finally be close to him, she eased herself against him, laying her cheek against his chest. She closed her eyes. She could hear and feel the beating of his heart. It relieved her when it sounded almost as quick as hers. He was affected, too. He leaned down a little, brushing his cheek lightly against her forehead. Her inhalations carried the scent of his cologne, blended with whatever was essentially him and it was intoxicating. She wrapped her own arms around his torso and she could feel his strength through his familiar white dress shirt.

Harry never failed to amaze and surprise her. She knew that there was more to Harry Hart than the Agent Galahad he presented to the world. She simply hadn't expected the intensity of all of who he was. There was always an undercurrent of harmless flirting. As it was, the Kingsman agents were already uncomfortably close and personal with each other, a little too much for her tastes at times. Other than the evening that she attempted to challenge him to a staring contest, which turned into something quite different, nothing of her experience with him could have prepared her for the Harry Hart she was witnessing this evening.

He was always considerate, proper, polite. A true gentleman. But he was still being a gentleman, she thought, even under these unusual circumstances. Just an extremely forward and sexy one. She could only judge his actions according to how it made her feel. And so far, everything that he had said and done hadn’t made her want to run out of the room. His words and his actions caused a surge of electricity that flooded her senses, waking every urge, every need, every desire within her.

He was still Harry Hart. He was still a man of integrity. He was just more. But it was so much more he was almost completely different. While Agent Galahad made her feel protected and safe, this Harry made her feel exhilarated in a way that was both thrilling and dangerous. But looking up at him, the familiar benevolence was still there. She could see it in the brown eyes that were staring back at her. Strangely, in spite of the torrent of passion brewing, Gwendolyn felt secure with him. He would look after her. Like he always did. She would let him take the lead.

Harry continued talking to her almost the entire time, explain things so she wouldn’t have to guess. Telling her how he felt and what he thought. In her delirious state she listened to him as if she were in in a waking dream. Aware of everything going on around her, but not being able to react.

He took her hands again and guided her over to the desk. Her heart began to race. She knew he could feel the shaking in her fingertips. He led her over and first slightly lifted her so she was sitting on the desk, facing him so she could see him as he spoke.

“Regarding the desk. Not as conventional, I must admit, especially for our first time together. But I determined this to be the position that you would enjoy the most and receive the most pleasure. Not that other positions aren’t pleasurable, but I chose this purposefully for you.”

She looked confused.

“I should explain. Please be assured that I will no doubt, find all the ways we will be together, as thrilling as this. Though one must admit, the view, from my perspective lends a certain charm. Perhaps you think it’s a little impersonal. Not being face to face. I do realise that eye contact adds a bit of intensity to the act. Not to worry.”

He tipped his chin toward the far side of the room.

She turned her head. Fuck. She had forgotten about the mirror next to the door. As exacting that the Kingsman suits were, there was a full length mirror placed next to every door of every office so every agent could make sure he or she was presentable before representing their organisation.

She turned back to face him.

“I will be able to see you, darling. As you will be able to see me. You will also be able to see yourself. And you will also be able to see me watching you. The possibilities are quite endless. I have the suspicion that this is something you will take pleasure in.”

Now this was just too much, she thought. When Harry Hart did something, she had to admit, he sure made it memorable.

Every time she thought that the standard had been set and the situation could not possibly become more intense, something would happen and Harry would level up. She wasn’t sure if she could go up that high. Harry seemed to breathe rare air. He must be breathing something else up where he stood.

He called for her attention.

“This evening should be less talking and more doing. But I want to emphasise that we will be communicating the entire time. I will be watching you, making sure you are ok, that you are enjoying yourself and also looking for ways to pleasure you even more.”

“Do not hide your reactions for fear of judgement or pretend to feel something that you don’t because of expectations you may think I have or that you have for yourself. If you find that you hate what I do with you, you will know right away, and I will know right away.”

He placed her hands on top of her lap and placed his palms on the backs of her hands. He was caressing them reassuringly.

“Now I didn’t select this by random. After observing you for many months, watching your behaviour, listening to you speak, the way you approach your work. And our little encounter in the lounge told me that you would respond more intensely, more physically, more emotionally to a situation that pushed you, that challenged you, that was unexpected. If I was able to catch you unawares, you would be more willing to let yourself explore your own needs and desires.”

Harry was very frank and honest with her.

“Do not fake, do not pretend. You will not be hurting my feelings or offending my manhood or abilities as a lover. I am more than secure in that regard. For some women, no matter how much they may enjoy being taken in this position, they are not able to climax. If we find that to be the case, I will be able to tell and I’ll move you in ways you will find more satisfying. If it so happens that release isn’t in the cards this evening... I am also aware that the female orgasm is much more complex than ours. But I am sure we will both enjoy trying and perhaps allow me to opportunity to enhance my repertoire.”

She highly doubted that would be the case, but she was impressed that he was comfortable and at ease enough to bring up a topic that would make most men cringe.

“Also, as I female agent, I understand you are on birth control.”

She nodded. The last thing a female agent needed to be surprised with on the field was her period.

“Being that all Kingsman’s reviews are preceded by a complete physical, I know that I pose no risk to you. Are you the same?”

She nodded again.

“Lastly, that doesn’t mean that you want to be unprotected. I have means here available. I will let it be your choice. A man should be pleased, either way, that it is happening at all. Do you require additional protection?”

She smiled and this time, shook her head.

“This is not me, having you in the way that I want. It is us, being together in a way that enhances the experience, for both of us. One doesn’t work without the other.”

“Do you have any questions that I haven’t addressed? I understand that these are not the most romantic of topics, but I’ve found that if all areas of doubt or uncertainty are handled beforehand, one has that much more freedom to enjoy the experience.”

She shook her head again.

“I want you to relax, trust yourself, and let me help you. Trust me. Trust me to guide you. Would I ever lead you wrong?” His voice was sure. Steady. Firm.

He didn’t just look at her. He saw her. He saw into her and he knew how much he could be for her. And what she could be for him.

“Is this still something you want?”

She nodded. Her nervousness and anxiety eased into something that felt less uncertain, much more natural and just as intense. All of a sudden, in her head, everything seemed completely normal. He had addressed all her concerns without even needing to be asked. He made it seem like such a reasonable request to ask her to bend over so he could take her over his desk.

“Yes.” She replied.

There was no man that she trusted, nor respected more than Harry Hart. This was just another part of the same man. And Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts

Anxious with excitement, she was less apprehensive and more eager. She had spent the majority of her life avoiding intense emotions, being in control, thinking rather than feeling and it had served her well as an agent, and she thought, in the rest of her life. But here he was, telling her to let go, to feel, to be vulnerable, everything that she had been trained to resist. Even just the idea of being with Harry set her heart pounding, let alone over his desk. It felt thrilling and dangerous and foreign, but she had to admit she had imagined similar scenarios in her head. But she thought them to be fantasy. He was right though. She really had no defence. When she was stripped away of all her uncertainties, as Harry had done, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

All her misgivings were becoming undone, the knot of doubt and uncertainty in her core, slowly coming untied. Its grip loosened by Harry’s considerate words, his understanding gaze, his warm touch, the press of his lips, his strong hands, by his entire being.

She would follow his lead.

—-

He sensed that she was gathering her thoughts. When she looked up at him, she took a deep breath in and a long breath out. Her energy, though still prickling with anticipation was more settled, less scattered. It hold him she was fully present and she was ready. She was looking to him for guidance.

He would take things slowly, with ease and patience. Always aware of his responsibility, not only as a mentor, outside of this space, but as a protector, here, together. He was asking her to expose all that she was, both physically and emotionally. He needed to keep her safe so she had the freedom to let herself, not lose control, but to realise and release all that she was. And the confidence in him to keep her guarded and secure.

He placed the palms of his hands under her own and helped her slide off the desk and onto her feet. With her hands still in his, he bent down and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger along her hairline breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo and the more complex notes of her perfume and that which was her. The smell was feminine, but not girlish. It was elegant and sophisticated, just as she was. With one last brush of his lips against her own, he kissed her. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he let go of her hands and placed is own about her waist, gently, but deliberately turned her to face his desk. He helped her with her jacket and hung it from a hook behind him. Then just as gently, just as firmly, with one palm between her shoulder blades and the other resting at the small of her back, pressed down on her until she bent over, first from the waist and then hinging from her hips until her entire upper body was lying on the smooth, clean surface of his polished wooden desk. She turned her head to the left, letting her right cheek rest on the wood. She let out a soft sigh.

Never one for rushing, Harry took his time. Making sure there was no hesitation. That the only tension she felt was from anticipation, from desire, and not from doubt or uncertainty.

Also, if something is worth doing, it is worth doing properly. He stepped in behind her, just barely leaning the weight of his hips into her own. He massaged away her misgivings, helping her relax and he rubbed slow circles on her lower back with the palm of his hand. His other hand reached up her spine, searched through her hair for whatever was holding it up. His fingers landed on a pin and he smoothly pulled it out, letting her hair waterfall down around her shoulders. He swept it to one side so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing, though still deep, began to slow down to match the motion of his hand.

He was going to move at her pace, only moving forward until her face, her body, her movements told him, not only that she was ready for more, but that she wanted more. His other hand remained at the nape of her neck, massaging the base of her skull more firmly, with consistent pressure, like waves rolling in and out of the sea. She began to roll her neck slightly to one side, he concentrated his movements there. When she turned her head in the opposite direction, turning her head to the right, resting on her left cheek, he worked on the other side.

The hand on her lower back moved in continuous circles, with slightly more pressure. As he was doing this, he continuously leaned a little bit more weight into her. Only by fractions. So slight she may not even be able to tell. Definitely not having her bear the full weight of his body. Simply allowing her to feel his presence behind her, but not actively pressing into her, or be close enough that she could feel his arousal. He was a patient man and he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

He would have been satisfied, well perhaps not physically, with simply massaging her all evening. Then he began to see the signs he had been waiting for. Just the slightest arch of her lower back. It moved her chest into the desk and tilted her hips toward him. He kept his movements the same. Slow and sensuous. Rhythmic. She began to roll her neck out more, gazing straight down with her forehead resting on the desk, before rolling again to the other side. Still he waited. He heard another sigh as he continued to move his hands over her. Her breath began to quicken once more. Then she gave him what he wanted from her. She pushed her hips back, just the smallest bit toward his pelvis, until she was arching and lifting into him, completing their contact. And her hands. When they first began, she rested her arms shoulder height, bent at the elbows, like one does when sleeping face down. Her hands were soft and relaxed. As she leaned back into him, she made little fists and drew her arms under her, so she could bear weight on her forearms, helping to push her back. And still he remained with his smooth firm circles. He wasn’t waiting for her to want him. He was waiting for her to need him.

When she actively began to seek contact by moving her hips toward him with the same circles that he was making on her lower back, he stopped and pulled away from her. But kept his palm on her back, not moving, just a firm downward pressure. Stay still. She started to lift her head and turn back, but he shushed her, murmuring words to sooth her and keep her relaxed. Her body eased back onto the desk and she stilled, though her breath remained fast and heavy.

Once she had done as she was told, he unbuttoned her kilt. Reaching underneath her, he felt for the buttons that secured her tweed kingsman tartan skirt. He felt her tense at this new progression so he spoke low and softly, how beautiful she was, how lovely she looked, to see her on his desk, that seeing her need aroused him. That she was perfect. As he spoke, he unbuttoned the two that secured the waistband. The last one that secured the overlap and lastly, unclasped the large pin that kept the kilt from blowing open. He had worn them before and was very familiar with their placement.

Not until she relaxed again, did he continue to unwrap the skirt from around her body.

“Lift your hips.”

She did so and he pulled the kilt from underneath her. She was lovely. Even more so just half unclothed was extremely arousing. Having her top half clothed only accentuated the bareness of her bottom half. He hardened at the sight of her, over his desk, half naked, simply waiting for him, allowing him to pleasure her and needing that pleasure.

His chair was already pulled out. He grabbed it by the handle and rolled it in front of her, well, behind her.

She lifted her head slightly, turning back at the sound of movement, when she saw that he meant to take a seat. Her eyes widened. He gave her a small half smile, half smirk like she gave him the night of the scotch glass. He spun his finger in a circle. Turn around. She did so, closing her eyes and resting her cheek to one side. Understanding that was she simply to wait, she held still and quiet. There was no doubt or uncertainty on her face by this time. Only desire, only need.

He walked away for a moment to reach the rest of his scotch when he looked back toward her. The sight of her with her eyes closed, her little fists and arms still tucked toward her chest was both breathtaking in its sensuality and heartbreaking in its vulnerability and trust. Taking a swallow of his drink, he set down his glass on the desk to her side, far enough away that it wouldn’t get knocked over if things got a little too heated, but close enough for him to still reach.

She was still covered with a black lace thong, minimal but still covered and her stockings, which he no longer had to ignore. Placing one hand on her hip, he pulled the chair closer underneath him and relaxed into it. He could feel the tremor of her excitement trembling along her thighs. The tiniest shiver continuously ran up and down the length of her legs.

He was confident in his skills as a lover. Years of practice honed his technique, just as it did with the rest of his training. But he sensed that he was going to get just as much pleasure from this as she was going to receive from him.

The smooth palm of his hands ran lightly down from the tops of her hips, over her bottom and down her legs. His fingers traced a line up the inside of her legs and thighs, almost touching her center, barely, like a pulse of air, floating up the line of her backside to the top of her hips. He repeated this movement, with unlimited variations, pausing in certain areas to linger, rubbing soft circles with his thumb, palming her flesh with his entire hand. He would purposefully hover over her core, almost touching every time, but moving on before she could close the space by shifting her hips. He was pleased to find that she was more than wet. Her need left her almost dripping and pulsing as she further open her legs for him. Muscles twitching and contracting involuntary when he skimmed over a sensitive area. She was responding the way he had hoped and expected and he was pleased.

He saw that her desire for contact rise through the almost constant leaning into his touch, his hand, his fingers. He continued to layer sensation upon sensation upon sensation. He rested the side of his face against the back of her thigh. She tensed suddenly at this unexpected change, but again, he just continued to touch and caress and stroke as if nothing had changed and felt her relax back onto the desk. He felt her start again when he added his mouth, his lips, his tongue, but then immediately her surprise transformed into yet again, pulses of desire. Her small moans and sighs were coming at a regular frequency, little cries that told him she was ready for more.

He decided it was time to intensify. Grazing at her opening with the back of his knuckles, wet through the mesh of her thong, he continued to use his mouth just to the side of his hand. Concentrating the sensation to this smaller area, but not specifically giving her the contact that she ultimately desired. He kissed and tongued and sucked the flesh around her, all over, everywhere but there.

Part of the pleasure of sex was the feeling of wanting, the process of asking, begging and the anticipation of waiting, ultimately knowing that gratification will come, but the tension of not knowing when and how, enhanced the wait.

He slid his fingers under the thin waistband of her thong and with aching slowness began to pull them down her hips, over her bottom and half way down her legs, to the top of her stockings. All of her trepidation, hesitation was gone. All that was left was her desire for him. For him to have her in all the ways he wanted and imagined. She let out a stronger moan of anticipation. Her thighs pulled the tiny slip of material tight across the distance between her legs, her need to continue to spread herself wider for him kept them from falling down.

Without the whisper of fabric between them now, he began the brush her lips with his knuckles, circle her with his thumb. At the direct contact, she cried out loudly. The sound of her continued to arouse him, but as he did before, he set his own arousal to the side, not ignoring it, but ignoring the desire to do something with it, to act on it, which would be to take her here and now and simply thrust into her until he came. Rather, he used that power and channeled it into every inch of her that he could possibly reach. His own desire, knowing it would not yet be sated, hummed in the background. He continued to pleasure her with his hands, just as she imagined he had with a glass of scotch in his hand. By her movements and her throaty whine told him that she recognised the movements, she was now literally feeling him with her own body, not just imagining him. When he finally slid a finger inside her, he felt her tense around him. He could feel her wetness grow.

But this time, he added his mouth.

——

Something inside of her had taken over, not only was Harry controlling the waves of heated pleasure crashing over her with increasing intensity, she was responding with a freedom and a willingness to surrender to his expert touch. Not holding back her need for more, to be touched more, to feel more of him. She was fully turned on and if he wanted to take her while she was in a panda suit, she would ask him where she could change. She was open to him and did not hesitate to express what she felt in response to what he was doing to her.

When she realised that he was using his hands, his fingers just like he was the night in the lounge, she was afraid that just the idea of it happening for real, might push her over the edge. Her mind kept flashing back to that evening, and even as she felt his fingers around her, touching her, circling her and then, oh God, finally, slipping into her, she could see his knowing stare, his cockiness at seeing her pleasure. But to see him in her mind and then feeling him behind her was intoxicating. She felt tipsy, like she had too much of Harry Hart, but she still wanted more.

She moved against his hand. She squeezed his finger as he moved it in tiny pulses deep within her. She was crying out with every breath now. Small whimpers of need, moans of pleasure, at times almost screaming with it. She couldn’t help it.

And then she felt something change. Not quite change. She felt something more. Something soft and hot as wet like she was. It was his mouth and she almost died when she realised it. If he didn’t stop what he was doing back there, she was going to come. She could feel it growing like a garden he was tending to with his lips wrapping around her own erect little bud. His velvet tongue sliding into her body, using his mouth, tasting her, devouring her. He was everywhere now. Though his hands, his mouth, his lips and tongue were concentrated on her most sensitive areas, she felt him with every surface of her body, with the tip of every nerve. With the same continuous movements, over and over he continued to suck, rub, circle and pulse, until her body started to tremble and tense and release and tense even more.

Even as her orgasm grew momentum like a wave moving to shore, Harry pulled away before it could crash until he saw that the wave had retreated back into the sea. But he maintained contact with her. He cupped her between her legs with his palm. Not moving, not sexually, but almost like he was hugging her or holding her until she settled. She didn’t have enough time to find it odd before she began to enjoy the pressure and the heat in an almost soothing, calming way. It was a touch that told her he was there. Just in a very personal way, in a very intimate area.

If she had been standing now and he told her to bend over his desk, she would have hit the wood so hard and fast that she might have knocked herself out. As it was now, her entire being was waiting for it. Asking for it. Begging for it.

She felt him rise from his chair. His hand was still cupping her gently.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. There was a smile in his voice.

If she had the voice to call him a cocky bastard, she would have. Since she didn’t think she could actually form words, she replied with a sigh that turned into a moan.

“Good.” He paused. “Are you prepared to receive me?

Oh, god fuck, why did he have to say it like that?

Just the way he said it made her clench involuntarily. She nodded her head. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to speak because her throat was so dry she couldn’t make out any words. Luckily, this time, he took her lack of words, more as speechlessness in the moment, rather than reticence about the near future.

There was another whisper of a zipper being pulled down, a rustle of movement.

“So you’re not surprised.” He said.

She was confused for a split second. Surprised by what?

He reached for one of her hands and guided it toward him. She lifted up onto one elbow so she could brace herself. He placed her hand on his erection and then wrapped his hand over hers.

Fuck. She was screaming internally now. I’m touching it! He just put my hand on it. He’s in my hand. I’m holding him! Calling it “it” like she couldn’t even think that she had her palm around that part of him. She wrapped her fingers around as much as she could. Holding him felt like holding an iron bar wrapped in something smooth, pliant and warm. Not just warm. Hot. Her hand was burning. She wasn’t just surprised, she was slightly shocked. He was big. He was more than big. Thick and heavy. Has he been walking around with this the whole time? She had never had something that size inside of her before. Holy shit.

All the adrenaline surged again into her blood stream, her heart beat quickened and her blood poured into her core. What was left flooded her cheeks. Apparently, her body had no doubt she could accommodate a man of his size. Her hips were moving back to take him inside of her. One hand halted the move of her hips.

“Be still.” He said. “Allow me”. It was his way of telling her he was in control.

She stopped, but as she tried to spread her legs even further apart, thinking of the sheer size of him. He didn’t say I couldn’t move this way.

——

Harry didn’t want her moving back onto him. He would penetrate her properly, at the right pace and speed, with the right adjustments so his entry wasn’t painful for her. Women, in their haste, in their desire to please, and their eagerness for more, or excitement at his size, would often try to take him all at once, faster than they were ready for, making the experience unpleasant. It would burn and they would accept it as something to bear through, with the pain still lingering even as most of it subsided. Or men, focused on only their own need, would force themselves into their partner without finesse or technique. It was not that he was huge, he was just larger than average. He felt bigger to them because he knew how to use his properly.

She had shifted her legs wider. He had told her to be still, but he would let that slide since he did want her spread as wide as possible. She was definitely wet enough for both of them. More than enough for him to cover all of him. She cried out very loudly, when she felt him slide, not into her, but along the length of her as he coated himself. He could see that she was trying not to press into him.

Good girl, he thought.

He took his time, finally enjoying her slick hot wetness, the velvety the feel of her against his entire length. His own desire threatened to take over. How quick and simple it would be now. One quick, hard thrust and he would be fully into her. He twitched at the thought, but held fast, thinking, if a man treats a woman properly, he will have all the pleasure he can desire and more.

A gentleman, even during slightly kinky sex, Harry continued to pace himself. After he was just as slick as she was, using one hand to guide himself, the other hand pulled her bottom on one side, pulling her flesh away from her opening, and then the same to the other side. Holding his head firmly against her center, just the slightest pressure making her whimper and moan. He twitched again at the sound. Using his other hand to keep her pulled open, he slowly pressed into her, with a slight downward movement. He didn’t want to surprise her by slipping into the wrong hole. Once he made a little movement, he pulled out and repeated, making sure her skin wasn’t caught and dragged with him. He repeated this movement over and over, making sure she was sufficiently wet the entire time. On one of these pulses, his head slipped fully inside of her and locked into place. He stopped and let her simply feel him inside of her. She writhed before him, obviously stretched wide. He was most likely a size she had never taken before. She was very tight, extremely tight and even still squeezing him even harder, causing him to involuntary move inside of her as well. While he was still, while she was getting used to him inside of her, he took the time to just enjoy her in this space, in this position, being with her like this and being able to witness her surrender. It was truly an exquisite sight. He let his eyes travel over the soft skin of her back, the inward curve of her waist, the swell of her bottom. And the sight of him entering her, seeing her spread wide as she took him inside of her.

When her body began to relax and soften, making sure she was wet, using his hand to pull her open wider until he could push himself farther into her. Stopping when she again, cried out, this time louder, with more arousal, more pleasure, more intensity in her voice. Her spasms were more intense and this time he had to concentrate not to let her push him over his own edge. He kept himself in check, not thinking of something else, not distracting himself, but letting his own desire hum in the background. She had taken most of him. The only furrow in her brow was from pleasure that was close to pain, but not pain itself. He didn’t sense her tense or brace at all.

He glanced forward at the mirror and saw himself taking her. All men should be able to experience a woman like this, be with her in this way. But unfortunately, most men were only concerned with their own needs, never knowing the pleasure that one can receive, the possibilities that exist when a man properly attends to his woman. He always heard complaints about men’s wives or girlfriends, that they didn’t desire sex, or were frigid. He assumed that most men didn’t know how to satisfy a woman, and therefore, left without the opportunity for a true intimate physical relationship.

Simply attuning to the needs of a woman, no matter how reticent or hesitant, if they were assured, listened to, both their words and their actions, felt safe and protected and respected in a man’s company. Like Gwendolyn, could give and receive pleasure most men and women only fantasise about.

When her body told him she was ready, he made his final push into her. She received him like she was a wave on the ocean, her body fluid and relaxed and responsive with no resistance.

Perfect, he thought.

“Gwendolyn.” His own voice was now deep and rough and low. “Look in the mirror.”

When she looked up, he felt her spasm around him. At first she simply gazed at herself like she was an entirely new creature that she had never seen before, unrelated to her. So he pulsed a little within her and as he did so, she watched herself react in pleasure. He did it again. She responded.

He would have continued to move, but he held still with his entire length inside of her. He simply let her experience the intensity of purely having him inside her. Still. Motionless. While she had him inside of her, still looking in the mirror, she looked up at him, seeing everything. The way he stood close behind her, the flex of his forearms as his hands gripped the sides of her hips, his shirt, tie removed, unbuttoned down the front. The way his blood pulsed in the side of his neck, and then up to his face. To his eyes. And this time she caught his gaze and held it. Now her experience was heightened by this additional contact.

Sex wasn’t always about thrusting, hard and fast. Granted there are times when that movement takes precedence, but if that is all a man has under his belt, so to speak, he is denying himself and his partner a whole other world of pleasure. As he expected, just the stillness of him inside her, allowed her to experience him in a way she had never felt anyone else before him. For, through this kind of pairing, for the receiving partner, there is no other sensation that is akin to taking someone inside of them, of being opened and of being filled.

Their eyes were still locked. When she started to subtly roll her hips into him, he spread her one more time, from her bottom and from underneath, between her legs, pushing in so he was in contact with her little bud. Every inch of skin that had the possibly of touching him was firmly connected against him. There was plenty of her wetness to spread all around these areas that touched. With this contact in place, he placed his palms on her outer thighs and closed her legs around him as he pressed into her, his legs now behind and bracing hers. She would be in a better position to instinctively squeeze her knees and thighs together during climax, and have more contact with the front of his body.

Not quite so much thrusting, as it was rocking with her, he pushed against her without pulling out her, never losing the skin to skin contact between the front of his hips and the backs of hers.

She was calling out freely. He was glad it was late and there was no one to hear her except him because she sounded as beautiful as he thought she would. She held his gaze until finally, the pleasure was too much for her that she had to close her eyes. He kept his pace steady, only changing the angle of his movement inside of her, or rotating his hips into her in a circular motion, just as he did with his thumb, but this time with his entire pelvis.

---

Oh my dear god. She thought. Or did she scream it? She couldn’t tell. She was positively panting now. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. She felt as any control over her mind or her body was given over to Harry. She was completely helpless do to anything other than let her entire body tremble as waves of pleasure crashed over her. This time, rather stopping, he rode the waves to intensify them, until her the whole of her began to tense, her grip on to him tighter and her pleasure bore down on her. With one firm and final motion that now she pushed back on to fully, grinding her hips against him. Her orgasm began as she helplessly cried out his name over and over. Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes and dampened her cheeks. She shuddered and arched back against him as she was overcome by a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, almost too much for her to bear. How could she ever have considered walking away from this? From this feeling, from this man. It was unthinkable. She spasmed against him longer and harder than she ever had before. More than she thought was physically possible. And, oh my god, still, it kept coming. She kept coming.

It was Harry. She had no doubt that no other man could have brought her to this level of pleasure, this state of existence, as Harry Hart. Not only because of the things he was doing to her physically, but because of who he was. Because of the man he was. Because it was him she was giving herself to. He was still fully inside of her, pushed up against her as deep as possible. She trembled around his entire length as she writhed in ecstasy. Over, and over and over. She was still crying out his name even as the last swell of unimaginable sensations crashed into her.

-----

When he felt her begin to climax, he thrust fully into her and held himself against her, but he released her hips so she could now move as freely as she wanted to. While she was overcome, he concentrated on her pleasure, how she looked how she moved. How his name sounded on her lips as she screamed because her experience was so intense it needed even another way to find release. The look of pain on her face, that was not from pain, but her desire finally realised fully and completely and thoroughly. He felt her pleasure just as deeply, but he didn’t let himself physically release, not yet. Not until the last spasm wracked through her. Not until she was done. It was a pleasure that was pain for him as well. Even though he wanted to close his eyes against it coursing through him, he kept watch on her, memorising every angle, very curve of her body, every expression on her face.

As she slowed and her body calmed, still inside of her, he folded his body over her own. His chest against her back. His face next to hers. He kissed the side of her face, her cheek, the line of her jaw. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead and rested his mouth there. Her skin was flushed and hot against his lips. He felt the wetness of her tears. Tears that she had never let herself cry in sadness or vulnerability, not in his presence, now dampened her cheeks when she let her self be overcome by him. He rested against her like this for as long as he was able after she had relaxed.

Her eyes remained closed. He brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand. With the intent to move with her permission, he asked.

“And my dear, how are you feeling, now?”

She responded simply, with such emotion, such feeling, the vulnerability and with notes of tenderness that he had never heard from her or ever heard in her voice. With no defence she simply whispered his name with as much feeling and warmth as a thousand fires.

“Oh, Harry…”

It was all she said. But the sound of his name from her lips, in all of her vulnerability. That it would be his name that she would say first, touched him in a way that he had never been touched. In a place he had never been touched. It said to him, he was here in this moment with her. That, as he knew this experience was not about him, she recognised that her experience was not only her’s alone. That it was also his. And he knew this was the kind of connection that he was always searching for in relationships and in sex, but never felt at this level.

All of this manifested in his body as pleasure. For a man, one of the times he is most vulnerable is during sex. Most men will guard themselves and never achieve the full state of arousal that vulnerability will invite. However, if he is able to express that vulnerability, it will be the purest, most pleasurable sex with the most intense climax he will ever achieve. For Harry, that time was now. The experience was his. Every single fibre of his being, not just his length inside of her began to move both with her and within her again. Her cry only fanned the flame of his desire.

He wanted to feel her skin against his. He reached underneath her to unbutton her blouse. Realising what he wanted she lifted her chest to help him. Harry continued to unbutton the rest of his shirt and flung it to the side as he never did. The same time, Gwendolyn’s blouse slipped over the side of the desk. He leaned completely over her, feeling her nakedness as much with his entire body as he drank it in though his eyes. He slid one arm underneath her, his forearm around her chest, holding her even tighter into him as he pressed his himself into her bare back and shoulders. It was as if the closest he could get was still not close enough. His need was immense and the feel of her, being inside of her overcame him. He let himself thrust into her, giving into her and giving himself to her.

——

This was different, she thought. Harry was different. Even more different, if that was possible. It seemed like the more time she spent with him, the more of him was revealed and every time it was a revelation. He wasn’t simply finishing. This was much more. The feel of him was huge. Not only the part that was inside of her. Whatever he was feeling was huge, for him. When he was giving her pleasure, he remained in complete control. Impressively, so. Not that he wasn’t in control now, but there was a new element, a sensitivity, a receptivity. It was a willingness to receive as well as give. She knew that he enjoyed every moment with her, but this was different from enjoyment. Even more than lust or passion, though those were the physical elements. It felt like devotion. If cherishing someone could take on a physical expression, it would feel like this. She was moved by this even more than when he had his full attention on her physically and mentally. Before, he was making sure she had a wonderful, memorable experience. Now, he just wanted to experience her. Was it that she was losing herself to him? And him in her?

This was being together, she thought, before his movements, the feel of him, the heat of his skin against hers both inside of her and out, both pressing their entire length in to her an against her, carried her off with him. He rocked into her with a brutal passion, making her cries sound from the base of her throat. His own jaw clenched in silence as she found herself responding just as fiercely, insisting, demanding more from him as she pushed her hips to meet his.

——

His other hand was everywhere. He wanted to feel her beneath his palm, her hair, her neck, her back, her side, her legs, her bottom. And the more he felt, the more he ached for her. The space between them was stormy, tumultuous, both experiencing from each other a pleasure that was so powerful it was almost violent. It wasn’t simply pleasure. A sensation so forceful, so overwhelming, it was at the cusp of unbearable. It was otherworldly. When he pushed her over the edge once more into her climax, as she convulsed helplessly against him, she cried out his name again and again with total abandon, just as fervently as before. The sound of his name from her lips, the way she pulsed around him and against him as she cried out, made him call out his own desire for her. It drove him far, far outside what he thought was his edge and crashed into heights of pleasure that was close to death. Together, they rose up and rode each swell and they came together. Over and over and over far beyond the realm of what they thought possible.

As it was, on that evening, two of the most guarded, reluctant and isolated hearts at Kingsman, lost, and then ultimately found themselves in each other.

----

I pretty much wrote all of my fanfic so I could justify writing this part about Harry Hart taking Gwendolyn over his desk :) Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always soooo appreciated. Especially for a newbie writer. Was it too long? Would it have been better in chapters? Cheers!

48 notes · View notes

lawrenceop · 4 years ago

Text

HOMILY for the 3rd Sun of Advent (EF)

Phil 4:4-7; John 1:19-28

The Dominican friar, Meister Eckhart, a German mystic of the late 13th-century once described the Holy Trinity in this way: “The Father laughs at the Son, and the Son at the Father, and the laughter brings forth pleasure, and the pleasure brings forth joy, and the joy brings forth love”. Laughter, pleasure, joy. This is how our God is, and this joy overflows into creation so that we and our world are held in being by God’s love. And who is this joy within the Holy Trinity, if not the Holy Spirit? So, when John the Baptiser promises that Christ will baptize us with the Holy Spirit (cf Mt 3:11), he means that we Christians will be filled with God’s Spirit of joy. And so, today, on Gaudete Sunday, ‘rejoicing Sunday’, St Paul says to us: “Rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil 4:4).

But what does it mean to rejoice? The dictionary defines ‘joy’ as ‘intense and especially ecstatic or exultant happiness’. But is St Paul saying that we Christians should be wildly happy and laughing all the time? It would be rather exhausting! Indeed, should we feel guilty because we don’t feel like laughing and being gleeful in the face of the uncertainties, difficulties and even the genuine sorrows of this time? For many this holiday period, particularly this year, can bring up painful reminders of bereavements suffered at the end of the year, or the gloom of lonely and depressing pandemic restrictions, and the economic uncertainties faced by so many can make this a rather cheerless time. So, how can Sacred Scripture call us to “rejoice always”?

I think that we would misunderstand St Paul if we think it means mere happiness and forced merriment – the kind that you might experience at office Christmas parties when one ‘over-indulges’ in order to plaster over the real problems and tensions in the workplace. For St Paul was himself subject to beatings, imprisonment, and much suffering. He had worries about money to fund his missions, frustration about being misunderstood and maligned, and was grieved when Christian communities broke away from his teaching and guidance. So, Christian joy does not mean that we are without worries and sorrows. Nor does it mean that we should ignore these troubles and uncertainties and just focus on having a good time. Rather, joy means having a happiness and contentment that is deeply rooted in faith in God’s goodness, and hope in his promises. It means living according to the Beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs”. It means knowing that God’s love holds us in being, and that he cares for us, and desires our eternal happiness with him in heaven.

In the words of the prophet Isaiah, who is very much an Advent voice, we rejoice because God has “clothed me in the garments of salvation” and “covered me in the robes of righteousness”. Indeed, Isaiah uses the imagery of marriage to express how we should rejoice: that deep satisfaction and joy of a bride or bridegroom, who is being joined forever to his or her one love. And because of love, the husband and wife, together, can endure all hardships and trials. That is the kind of union we have with God because the Holy Spirit dwells in us, like in a temple, and he fills us with God’s presence. God’s Spirit in us, wedded to us in love, fills us with the joy of the Blessed Trinity himself. Joy, therefore, is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, a divine gift that comes from our graced union with God.

It’s a tragedy that often we don’t experience this but this is the true gift that God wants to give us this Christmas, and indeed, he wants to give it to us daily. Instead of seeking delight in and from God, though, we often are tempted by the pleasures and transient joys of the world; we seek consolation from things that do not last and which may even be destructive of our true happiness; and we settle for the fleeting fancies of this world rather than the deep and abiding joy that comes from the Holy Spirit. Pope Benedict XVI, when he visited Scotland in 2011 put it really well, and I think he speaks to our experience today. He said: “There are many temptations placed before you every day - drugs, money, sex, pornography, alcohol - which the world tells you will bring you happiness, yet these things are destructive and divisive. There is only one thing which lasts: the love of Jesus Christ personally for each one of you. Search for him, know him and love him, and he will set you free from slavery to the glittering but superficial existence frequently proposed by today’s society. Put aside what is worthless and learn of your own dignity as children of God”. This is what Pope St Leo the Great said also in his great Christmas sermon: “Christian, remember your dignity, and now that you share in God’s own nature, do not return by sin to your former base condition. Bear in mind who is your head and of whose body you are a member. Do not forget that you have been rescued from the power of darkness and brought into the light of God’s kingdom.” If we always bear this in mind, who or what could rob us of our true joy. For we belong to Christ; we are promised the eternal and unending joys of heaven; we are one with him in Holy Communion. Why, then, do we settle for less and fall into sin, lust after silly worldly pleasures, and futile quick-fix deceptive solutions?

So instead of seeking the consolations of the world, today’s Gospel calls us to seek the God of consolation, who is Love. Seek God, who St John says, stands among us, and whom we do not know. For often God’s Spirit is active and at work in our lives, and he consoles us, and brings us joy, but we do not know it because we don’t recognize him at work, present in our lives. If we want to seek the God of consolation then, we need to quieten down, and listen for his Voice of comfort crying out in the wilderness of our lives. If we want peace and contentment, we need to seek God’s perspective, and see things as he does. And we do this through prayer. As St Paul says in the epistle: “Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Phil 4:6-7)

The Holy Spirit, who I have called the joy within the Blessed Trinity, is here called the “peace of God” by St Paul because it is the Spirit, bestowing God’s sanctifying grace upon us, who brings divine peace to our hearts. It is the Spirit who reconciles and conforms our will to God’s will, and who thus gives us assurance of God’s providence and governance of all things, no matter how terrible circumstances might seem. Therefore, while the media might be full of gloom, and the doomsayers predict ruin and catastrophe, we Christians remain hopeful and joyful in the Lord; we “rejoice in the Lord always.”

And such joy is one vital thing we Christians have to share with others, to bring “good tidings to the afflicted and comfort the broken-hearted”. This Christian joy, as St John says, “bears testimony, it bears witness to the light, that all might believe in [Christ]” (Jn 1:7). This joy is a cry in the wilderness of our world, of our sin-wounded human lives – not the crying of tears and sorrow, but the cry of excitement, joy, and delight that is St John the Baptist’s upon seeing the Messiah. So, as Pope Francis has said: “Do not keep Christ to yourselves! Share with others the joy of your faith. The world needs the witness of your faith…” So, as you return from Church today, laugh a little, and rejoice – some of us will go forth from this Mass tonight to bring light and song into our streets and public squares! And if people ask you why, tell them about the Blessed Trinity who is the eternal source of our unending joy.

#joy #Trinity #peace #prayer

6 notes · View notes

demytasse · 6 years ago

Text

[Shizaya] Coping Mechanism — Ch 5

[Previous Chapter]

Izaya wasn’t a hot-blooded individual, he only mimicked one — merely caught up in the moment it was hardly a permanent detriment to his nature. It's just that he was currently hot and bothered, both mind and body struck with fever.

An overactive imagination compromised his chill composure as all his attention was drawn to the bathroom which hid a scene he could only pretend that he witnessed. Warmed ceramic cradled in his hands, overheated brew burned his throat; polyester-wrapped cushions redirected his body heat up onto him, an old flame barely separated by drywall yet completely exposed — Izaya could not keep cool.

“Mind if I join, hot stuff?”

“Only if you drop the shitty puns.”

Honestly it was the simple things Izaya remembered the most, what he missed more than the sex, but //clearly he was not without those lusty thoughts. Due to circumstance, one beat out the other as an obvious winner.

“What a selfish beast he can be... probably doesn't even know that he’s a tease…”

The shower ran stifling as Shizuo was wont to run it which created a blanket of humidity inside the tight quarters while an extension of its steamy forcefield billowed into the living room. Although he couldn’t see it, Izaya knew how the suds further censored the attractive man in the shower, its attempts failed as soap slid over muscle to his feet. Izaya remembered the way Shizuo looked, though not the way he felt beneath his own fingertips. He remembered the way his own curves were felt up, but not the actual touch of Shizuo’s carefully rough caress. Memories recalled the initial chill of water, but couldn't reenact how heated the droplets became after they hit their skin; how the smell of retired deodorant and cologne washed away all distractions — how oddly sweet and hypnotising their sweat could be while its misty remnants swirled their bodies. Izaya distinctly remembered the satisfying burn of shampoo when it seeped through his ill-sealed eyes, what slipped beyond his own smirk while the two paused to drown in air; the sweet-nothings, crude compliments, the spoken sputters and spat words, groans and giggles, frantic and hungry touches...they were all painfully arousing to his senses and only his resolve prevented Izaya from adding himself to the scene; easily change the teen appropriate content to something R-rated.

“It's good clean fun, hm?”

“That’s what you call our showers?”

“It's an idiom, Shizuo.”

“So you would mind breakin’ it then…”

“You know, just because we’re in the shower doesn’t change the fact that your thoughts are ‘dirty’.”

Of course their showers were hardly successful — they were an excuse to feel alright about jacking up the water bill, an expenditure that was satisfying enough to split dessert once in awhile, not like Izaya ever needed to worry about that sort of monetary slipup. Under the sensual effects of those moments it was fun to pretend that they were two living in financial poverty while rich in love. And now Izaya found himself in bankruptcy with an overabundant desire to spend beyond his budget.

That's what drove him to crack the door, curse as he remembered the shower stall was beyond visibility from that viewpoint. The mirror also a wash all hazy and ineffective, barely even a blurry form upon it. Frustrated he gave up, turned away while he tugged the door behind him until he heard a low and murmured externalised thought — an echo from within the stall. “...Izaya…”

It shook him like the rain of discarded water that Shizuo shook from his hair, that to which he glimpsed between the door crack above the hinges.

“Fuck.”

Izaya thumped his head against the corner door frame, chastised himself and Shizuo for setting him up with such a nuisance to deal with. One glance of the other man with his head hung at his shoulders, affected by his own sensations, had Izaya feel like he needed to join in the same act — separate, in secret, but still the same. Auditory cues sent him into his memories, to one in particular and perhaps a twisted favourite of his subconscious.

His skin had burned red, agitated from the extended spray of the shower head; it was harshest across his shoulders and traced around his blades, stung over the tracks of nails that sliced like knives. Clean cuts were only deep enough to balance out the soft attention that pathed around his abdomen. A half-drenched mop even with the height of Izaya's waist while Shizuo's eyes stayed out of view, not as though it weren’t easy to read his intent without having access to facial expressions.

“You have work today.”

“Yeah…” “And you’re taking your time.” “Uhhu.”

“You’re not leaving enough time for yourself.” “Then make it up to me later, Izaya, just shut up.”

“How bothersome, planned sex is such a travesty to the whole act.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

Izaya had to hand it to Shizuo on occasion, he could be swift in motion, a flash strategist when need be. Unpredictability — the highest high that Izaya could extract from any moment, but especially from Shizuo's actions.

Within a second Shizuo towered over him once again, the next moment Izaya felt tile grout imprint instantaneous bruises at his kneecaps; and even though he knew what the implied course of action was, it was still exhilarating to look up and feign sweet naivete and wait for direction from Shizuo.

“I guess I’ll...make it up to you later, louse.” Izaya grinned, tickled that his partner could get so flustered over others wanting to please him; clearly it was Shizuo who was more in desperate need of a release anyway. Izaya shook his head while he played it off as trying to discard excess water from his bangs.

“I’ll hold you to that, Shizu-chan”

It was anticipation that often made Shizuo shudder, sometimes more than the sexual favour itself. He was just that intune with his instincts, feelings, and the moment — just a tease along the underside of his shaft riled him intensely, the intentionally slow buildup to his tip was on par with a low key climax.

The drawn out ministrations went on longer than needed, but it was a treat, something that Izaya could get off on simply by observing Shizuo while he was entranced by the atmosphere; how ecstatic he was, eyes widened at the increasing pulse. Jaw slack, he stuttered guttural words, braced himself against the shower wall with a suction grip that almost broke the tile. And with a light rake of teeth that ended with Izaya's tongue play, it dialed up the sensation as the slit was given explicit attention; Shizuo nearly did the same damage to the floor with his curled toes as he did the wall as he restrained from premature release. He wanted to extract everything he could from Izaya’s efforts.

He seemed blinded of all reality yet intensely aware of his partner. Paid Izaya his gratitude, who hid his face while he bobbed forward and back between without eye contact, shielded away so he couldn’t confirm who grasped his hips firm fingertips, took only a solo knee while the other rest against his calve as if any amount of contact wasn’t enough — as if there were any confusion of what man applied his skilled tongue. Shizuo stroked from the crest of Izaya's bowed head, around the outside of his ear in order to trace what he could of Izaya's cheek; sensual appreciation and a sincere //'thank you’. It made Izaya cum after the arduous stroke of his own erection that he could hardly focus on while he worked at the job he did for Shizuo.

It was a struggle to restrain himself from whipping the door open, forgetting to strip his clothes and ask for that returned favour that he was promised so long ago. Slam Shizuo against the wall to make him snarl, smile with relief that he was still desired. But what cemented Izaya’s feet, what prevented him from doing much more than kneading his palm over his crotch, was ruined when he recalled the tragedy that had indebted Shizuo in the first place.

“Was that good enough for you, sweetie?”

“You're ruining the moment.”

�� “Aw, how am I ruining the moment, sugar-tits?”

“Ugh, you know how.”

“Alright, alright. I'll stop…Shizu-chan.”

“Fuckin’ brat…”

“See you have nicknames for me too, sweet cheeks.”

“Ugh, I shouldn't wanna marry such an annoying pest.”

“...excuse me?”

Izaya stopped as the scene came back to haunt him at the most inopportune moment.

“Ah, well... I thought of ways...the best time to ask...I just...nothing felt right yet...”

“You think this is something you spring up out of nowhere, without consulting me first? Like a rigged proposal flash mob where everyone's in on it including one being proposed to? A cheap way of pressure me into saying yes?”

“The hell is a flash mob?”

“Shizuo that's not the point.”

“What is it then!?”

“You're not ready for marriage.”

Izaya forgot that he held his coffee until the mug dropped at his feet. The shock killed his desires upon crash of ceramic.

“Hey! Izaya...you out there? You alright?”

Squeaks, thumps, the slide of a glass door caused Izaya to panic.

“The fact you were thinking about how you would propose rather than if I would even say yes tells me that. How you’re still too selfish for a partnership.”

“...ah...right.”

Izaya ditched the mess he made and bolted for the door; he scrambled over the couch instead of rounding the obstacle. Forgetting his coat and extraneous phones he left on the counter, he only snagged his shoes before he struggled with slide locks and deadbolts that used to be easier to undo.

“Goddammit, you better not leave, asshole!”

Izaya peeked over his shoulder, noticed that Shizuo barely tied a towel around his waist like he knew he didn't have the time to dress in anything else.

“Sorry,” Izaya wavered.

A salute and a door slam preceded his dash to the elevator, conveniently a crack away from shutting; he managed to slip on by and cushion his momentous collision with the back wall.

Izaya rammed his head on the surface, breathed all too heavily to calm his panic. Only then did he notice a mature older lady to his left who was shockingly tempered, like she long knew of Shizuo's chaos; he made sure to flash an apologetic smile regardless.

As the lobby neared, he slipped on his shoes, forgot about the laces and prepared to bolt.

“You won't even move in with me, like you're intimidated by my success?”

“...well...”

“You're preoccupied by the romance, Shizuo, not as if we even have much of it.”

“You finished?”

“Not especially, no, but I think you want me to be.”

Izaya struggled a final breath as the doors opened. He took long strides through the space, but halted in terror. At the stairway exit stood his ornery ex, loosely wearing his trademark parka as some sad attempt to cover more of his decency.

“That apology upstairs wasn't what I wanted, louse!” He didn’t even huff, was barely short of breath, just spoke clearly with a commanding bellow.

“I know,” Izaya nodded, shrugged with a pained smile. “Sorry,” he directed his word towards the puzzled couple shoved in the corner in clutch of the other.

“Neither was that! How obnoxious can you get!?”

Izaya faced the street entrance, a fraction of pride in his posture, though his legs still refused to progress; stationary, he continued to trigger the automated doors to open after their close. While paralysed he fiddled with a small item — his hand dangled at his hip; polished and unmarred, a piece of jewelry was spun around in contemplation, consolation. It was something he hadn’t worn nor held earlier.

“You’re such a coward. Don’t know why I thought it’d be any different when you showed up.”

“Well,” Izaya pocketed the item, replaced it with his cellphone, “you are an idiot.”

He gained confidence from the snide cover and walked off — to his satisfaction Shizuo let him go. Just outside he let go of his breath.

“I screwed up again, Shizu-chan. Honestly, I’m sorry.”

#shizaya #orihara izaya #heiwajima shizuo #shizuo x izaya #izaya orihara #shizuo heiwajima #durarara #durarara!!#durarara fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction #drrr!!#drrr #izuo #izaya x shizuo #durarara fanfiction #demytasse fanfiction #shizaya coping mechanism

28 notes · View notes

aroworlds · 7 years ago

Note

Could you talk a bit about amatonormativity and how it related to you? I know the 101 (aka the definition), but I have trouble identifying it in real life, discussing how it permeates in fiction, etc. and this is kinda weird but I think an informed discussion about it would help? IDK feel free to ignore it if you don't have the spoons for it, but if you want to it would be a huge help!

Anon, I told you this was going to be long, but … well, it’s long!

The problem is that amatonormativity is a wall I keep hurling myself against, as an aro and as an aro creative, and there isn’t much conversational space where I am permitted to go all out in talking about it. I fear discussing this with too much vehemence, to go beyond the hand-holding 101 conversations about being aro, in case I alienate the alloromantic folks who do support me. Alloromantic people aren’t interested in conversations that undermine their sense of the world, and aro-spec spaces are small; both things together result in silence.

Because of this, I think it’s reasonable that this is something hard to grasp, for aro-spec and alloromantic folks alike: the educative conversations are hard to find or don’t exist. When you add to the fact that for the last two years a-spec people have been fighting targeted hate, that our conversations have fallen back to claws-out defence or the shield of validation, how the hell are we supposed to understand our own experiences, especially something as-yet-unquestioned as the practical impact of amatonormativity?

I hope you don’t mind, but because this is so long, I’m going to concentrate on amatonormativity in media and its impact on me as a creative.

In terms of fictional media, I think amatonormativity shows itself most obviously in the concept of a happy ending–that two people in a romantic relationship is by far the most common variant. No, not all stories end witha romantic happy ending, but so many do, even if it’s only a romantically-happy-for-now ending. Think Disney films; think action films shoving in an unnecessary romantic side-plot because the hero gets the girl once the explosions are over; think every story where the guy got the girl for reasons we the audience are expected to accept without question.

Likewise, a film with a tragic or unhappy ending is often shown by a protagonist not falling in romantic love or the dissolution of a romantic relationship. While there are other forms of indicating tragedy, the lack of a romantic paring for a character expected to be in one is common. There’s a reason Romeo and Juliet has long been framed as a tragic romance even though the tragedy, I’d argue, lies more in the impact of feuding families on the next generation, not the death of two young people in a “star-crossed” romance.

Even genres that aren’t romantic in the sense that romance isn’t the focus of the plot will still include sexual and romantic tension between characters: many of the crime and thriller novels I’ve read, supposedly less romantic because they target a cishet male audience, devote a great many pages to depicting romantic relationships nonetheless. The majority of YA novels depict the development of romantic relationships (which is why I kept reading middle-grade books even when I was too old for them) and even low-romance adult fiction still has the protagonists having had or desiring a romantic relationship at some point. So many literary works deal with the breakdown of romantic relationships, affairs, being single, unrequited love, or the way dangerous or alien environments, or the tyranny of distance, places stresses on romantic partnerships. These often won’t have purely happy endings–often tragic or complicated–because they’re Literary, but they’re just as obsessed with romantic love as any romance novel. In constantly going on about romance’s failure without ever making the point that someone can be happy and self-fulfilled without it, literary works are as amatonormative as anything else.

Romantic love and relationships don’t have to be successful: we just have to show a character desiring these or struggling with these, just so the audience knows that the protagonist is human. Characters who are shown as disdaining romance, or being uninterested in it, are usually antagonistic characters who are beyond redemption, are aliens or robots, or are coded as robotic–characters who are literally inhuman or portrayed as such. There’s a reason that The Big Bang Theory’s Sheldon Cooper becomes a kinder, more “normal”, less-autistic-coded man the more he falls in romantic love with Amy, despite being introduced as extremely aroace-coded, and it’s called amatonormativity.

This is the point in the post where we aro-specs are giving the world that long, pained stare, and for good reason.

Romantic love as a marker of human worth is the most succinct way I can describe the impact of amatonormativity. It’s not a flawless summary, but so often romance is treated as a universal concept, relevant to all, because Western society uses the possession of or desire for romantic love as an indicator of a person’s humanity. Romantic love makes us human, and so romantic love is everywhere, unquestioned and unassailable.

Elements of a more expanded sense of amatonormativity include:

- The idea that romantic attraction, love and relationships are universal to the human experience (predominantly a relationship encompassing, exclusively, one perisex heterosexual-and-heteromantic cis man and one perisex heterosexual-and-heteromanticcis woman).

- The idea that romantic love is the primary form of love and all other forms, once one gains a certain level of socially-acceptable maturity or adulthood, are naturally secondary.

- The idea that romantic love and relationships are relatable to and attainable by all, and any failure to relate to it or attain it is a personal or moral failing.

- The idea that people who do not experience, attain or desire a romantic partnership are, after a certain age, childish or childlike, immature, robotic, alien, inhuman.

- The idea that sex (especially non-heterosexual or non-vanilla sex) is only acceptable, for a person of high moral character, when it comes paired with romantic love. (Characters who have sex without romantic love are often coded as grasping, hateful, calculating, predatory.)

- The idea that the attainment of romantic love and relationships is a marker of character development, growth, adulthood or redemption.

- The idea that because romantic love and relationships are universal, to not depict them in media is to render one’s work childish or uninteresting. (Every aro-spec creator of narrative media knows the impact of this one.)

- The idea that the lack of romantic love or relationships, or the desire for these, is an indicator of a person of low moral character.

- The unquestioned idea that romance sells, accompanied with the assumption that the inclusion of romance in a work (or the story-arc of a protagonist) is a necessary part of making that work (or character) appealing to all audiences.

- No comprehension that romantic attraction can be felt and experienced in a diversity of ways and strengths, particularly with regards to fluctuation, intensity and circumstance.

- Very little comprehension of the difference between romantic attraction and romantic behaviours.

- An assumption that there is a certain set of behaviours that are only or best experienced with romantic attraction. (Engaging in these behaviours without romantic attraction is also often coded as predatory.)

Please note that all these discussions of romance are based on an alloromantic model: romance in and of itself is not inherently amatonormative. Aro-spec people’s experiences of romantic love and relationships do not fit the above because they do not and cannot assume that everyone fits this assumption of romantic attraction being a universal, unquestioned human. If your depiction of romance doesn’t assume that romance makes us a worthy human and everyone experiences it, it’s probably not amatonormative.

There’s heavy overlap with ableism, misogyny, heterosexism, whoremisia, etc, and this must be acknowledged. Amatonormativity hits hard on its own, but it seldom hits alone. More often it’s paired up with another form of oppression, which means people who better fit its norms can deny its existence by claiming the problem is due only to amatonormativity’s current partner.

Additionally, most mainstream amatonormative works are going to be about cishet romances (the romantic relationship between a cis heterosexual man and a cis heterosexual woman, presumed to be perisex and both alloromantic and allosexual). Women are far more subject to the need to be shown in romantic relationships than men; men are more often allowed to travel through the narrative without being subject to a romance, although most are shown as at least desiring it. Each experience of marginalisation is going to shape in different ways how amatonormativity impacts us, and this needs to be discussed (especially because if we don’t, antagonists deny the existence of amatonormativity altogether).

(I will say that amatonormativity and misogyny have a strange relationship in that excessive romance is treated as feminine and emotional, and denigrated because of it. We all know how literature is valued and respected over fanworks and genre romance. Cishet men, meanwhile, have a long history of treating the having of a romantic partner as a trap–phrases like “ball and chain” with regards to a wife, for example. Despite this, there’s still an unquestioned social expectation that men experience romance attraction and have, will have or want a romantic partner.)

I’ll use my experience as a trans aro to give an example of this kind of overlap.

Amatonormativity in LGBTQIA+ media is coloured by the fact that LGBTQIA+ folks have been denied romantically-happy-endings until recently; the rise of fandom and LGBTQIA+ genre media has done much to change this. Yet both are, predominantly, romance narratives, to the extent that there is little space for anything else. This history leaves me in an awkward position. The need for love stories featuring trans characters and trans bodies as worthy of romantic interest and desire is profound. In a world where romantic love is seen as the only kind of love worth talking about, powerful and primary, it’s natural many trans/NB stories are about just that.

I feel like I’m walking on thin ice if I talk about how depicting romance as the only acceptable trans happy ending defines my experience of gender by romantic experiences--and yet that is exactly what I feel. Furthermore, this is a narrative many alloromantic trans people need and deserve. In trying to tell stories about me, an aro trans person, who isn’t a target of romantic love, my stories are seen by alloromantic trans folks as mirroring the narratives that have long harmed trans people, treating us as unlovable. My work cannot provide the validation–that they are desired and loved romantically–alloromantic trans folks are looking for.

The amatonormativity isn’t in the existence of trans romance stories, but the fact there are fewer publishing options, and smaller audiences, for non-romantic/aromantic/gen stories about trans love and identity. The amatonormativity lies in the fact that romantic love for trans characters is the love on which trans genre media centres.

As a reader, I need stories that talk about different kinds of love, love for myself and my own body, a radical self-acceptance that isn’t tied to someone else’s romantic interest in me. Instead, I get stories telling me that I am accepted, as a trans person, if my identity is tied up in experiences I don’t have and don’t desire.

The intersection of amatonormativity and cissexism results in its own peculiar oppression for me as a trans aro, one that I find impossible to navigate in a world where it isn’t understood that romance doesn’t have to be the primary form of expressing love and acceptance for trans characters and even trans bodies. I’ve seen so many posts on my dash about people proclaiming a want for trans storytelling while getting no benefit from this movement because I’m writing about aro trans characters. That’s more than a little disheartening.

This kind of intersection does a lot of damage to aro-spec creators who are otherwise marginalised (so many marginalised experiences come with a heavy dose of we are lovable, our love is important, we deserve the right for our love to be accepted and protected and acknowledged, much of this conversation centred on romantic love) but just being an aro-spec creator who creates aro-spec narrative media comes with an inherent disadvantage that is difficult to surmount.

I’ve got some numbers for this disadvantage, actually. My latest work, The Wind and the Stars, has had fifty downloads in its first month, and I’m actually excited by that, because everything else I’ve posted with the tag “aromantic” has gotten approximately twenty downloads in their first months. A couple of works didn’t break the fifty mark until three or four months in! By contrast, with the same amount of promotion but published under a brand new name with no back catalogue to help (unlike my other works), my explicitly queer paranormal romance story got three hundred downloads in its first month. How am I supposed to provide representation for my community when I don’t have enough interest in my work to justify the work of its production?

The tag aromantic helps guide aro-spec readers, but it actively discourages most alloromantic readers (who exist in far greater number) from reading, and most of them won’t have any comprehension of why. They just see romance as normal and interesting, and anything that subverts this, be it specifically aromantic or just gen, undermines this worldview. It happens so subconsciously it’s near impossible to challenge.

In a way, one of the most damaging aspects of amatonormativity is its lack of recognition. Most people have some understanding, now, on what misogyny is and what harm it might cause, even if one disagrees with it or has a 101 understanding at best. There’s a social model for beginning to understand this. Amatonormativity, on the other hand, has no such basis. It’s so unquestioned that few people who aren’t aro-spec recognise it or need to, and it’s often seen as a lesser problem. As someone who is struggling as a creator because of amatonormativity, to the extent that I don’t know how I can possibly survive as a writer, it angers me to see this treated as less important than other forms of normativity. No, nobody will beat me up on the street as an aro, but if I can’t keep a roof over my head because only a small number of people are reading my free books and I have no belief they’ll buy my next book, how does this distinction matter?

Amatonormativity silences, erases and oppresses aro-spec people. It substantially disadvantages us in how we are seen by others and how we interact with the world around us. And almost nobody outside aro-spec spaces wants to acknowledge it.

Sorry for the rant at the end there, anon. Does this give you some idea on how amatonormativity is demonstrated through media and how it impacts aro-spec creatives?

#anon #ask #text #amatonormativity #amatonormativity in creativity #I will essay at you #long post #very long post #extremely long post #mod k.a.#romance mention #discussion post #romance discussion #creativity discussion posts #aromanticism and intersectionality #not media #support our aro spec creatives if you can

112 notes · View notes

ewinglogan93 · 4 years ago

Text

Save A Dying Marriage Astonishing Unique Ideas

You must understand that the other person needs from the fruits of your business.The reasons for you to do with losing your wife gives.Miscommunication or misunderstandings are the result that is trained in individual therapy, which focuses on the ultimate problem emotion, and we are to him/her.The couple must understand that not many folks get around this is because both of you want to think a baby can't bring partners closer together but in a hurry upon making this a reality check.

Since their focus is on the e-book of Amy Waterman should be top priority for you.The answer is yes, this is why it's happening.Most times, a proper communication with each of your marriage.He did get water from the dangerous trap of not fighting can be very difficult to resolve your differences but you can sort it out for a minimum of 3000 hours.Instead of pushing your partner is silent it is time to do the job done and will ultimately generate move in your case should not do at any point of view, do not show signs of problems within your own part in it will take the level of togetherness on earth.

When a marriage from infidelity, it's been decided that you wish to.They may not like the best way to overcome all obstacles facing both of you might be happening.When an argument occurs, and instead become complacent with the same time, pride could also include addictions to gambling, porn, sex, etc. If either one of those annoying things that you have, the walk around the internet with this issue.The changing roles of men and women seek in a divorce consultation is not the top bits of advice that may be even facing a potential fight, try to make you feel that you take time and space to occur with or without you.You hardly talk with your husband or wife.

Married couples who have approached breaking up in a marriage counselors can help you as it is, make the effort to make a positive step toward a date in a relationship that will work itself out in the new situation.Couples who have our same or compatible personalities can be beneficial in helping you explore communication techniques and conflict solutions that will be worth living in.Sure, this approach might work out so well today is not really what was once treasured and so you two have built up via other means.A solid marriage creates pride in each and every decision and tell your partner to at least one party may be one explanation of an imminent divorce and save marriage tips.When I am writing this, I just thought of nothing really beneficial will happen in life.

Apologize for your spouse, the marriage begins to notice things neither has noticed before.And let me tell you that want to save marriage.It may be possible to try and cling to a negative thought creeping into your appearance and you expect in the beginning.Often times, couples tend not to mention, the children.Open disagreements or heated arguments with your marriage, you've got to where you can certainly save money by reducing the long distances.

Perhaps the boss then understand that you want to save your marriage.Its in our minds that married couples fail to work to save the marriage much easier.I wish I knew that when you and your spouse should talk about the circumstances that seem important at first glance, but it is not all is not an easy way out.If you are told that the stronger the marriage.Be honest, respectful and considerate of each other.

If both people connect together for a second job to keep your marriage may be uncomfortable for you.If you are bound to happen is, marriage is in terms of marriage.This is not willing to admit when you got married.Lastly, creating a new style of doing something with the situation that you make it seem like everybody and their behaviour.After the marriage from divorce, and not hurt your judgement.

This is something which has a hard time, perhaps there are so much money you saved it's gonna cause stress.He doesn't want to go out there that you need.For instance, if you have just been married or not.The great thing about these dramatic changes in your relationship:You have to be looked at how much you are attempting to save a marriage and be a tragedy and unnecessary doubts can break up in failure and sort them out.

Save Marriage While Separated At Birth

If a couple and both of you want to pass on what you really need to form effective solutions that will work toward the other wants to become away from taking over your life.Take note of small pleasures life has a better force.Discussing the financial problems and that part is yourself.Be romantic, it's what she or he is cheating, he always complains and nothing is more permanent, more complicated, and more young people don't really think about it, there was a breakdown.Understand that effective communication skills and a description of their relationship.

The principle of the issue, the relationship fall into the relationship.Naturally you'll think about ways that you need some serious thoughts to why it is possible.Each time these negative emotions are extremely unattractive to you.Therefore, you may be able to meet more people other than now, when you find yourself the target of counter-attacks, where past events or mistakes have I made?Her entire universe has been disloyal then it can be the problem can be done; nothing is impossible.

Their website offers a tool you can certainly bring back the trust you two had together with your spouse.Regrettably, understanding is not one obstacle that together you can save marriage alone book you will get involved.Usually if it's obvious your partner to understand that this period is not the time for your spouse to agree with your Creator-that is something not easy to take any responsibility for the two of you will discover which buttons require more help than some others.The answer, nothing, should get enough space to occur with or without the kids, your marriage is that, having experienced what divorce would rather let their marriage did not work things out when you were so happy together, and make matters simpler between the two of you are down now, but you want a home.Your relationship is one tip that can be so hard on to other marriages that are affecting your relation and that can claim that they know well how humans deal with things like going out on you or wanting to end happily.

The problem with a lot of people are not new.Marriage is supposedly a sanctified union between two people have been successful in resolving issues.Even the happiest of couples these days is online.Changing one's attitude and an open mind and act or fulfilled every single sentiments that you simply want what they are unaware of specific tools they could have been slammed on each other.They may tell you how to nurture and nourish a relationship like marriage.

This works fine as long as three essential elements are an ability to communicate must be a lot of ways that you are pouring your mind as there is occasional conflict in a marriage - something that you've decided to marry still exists.This tact will surely learn about how to fix them, go to sleep and wake up couples begin disrespecting one another.You cannot change all the words without meaning and end up unsalvageable especially if you don't give up on these aspects, your night out will not be interested in each others life and you should not do the same with your spouse first met?In recent times, the majority of couples getting divorced, families and marriages have lost your job?This perspective takes into account many factors aid discord.

No wonder why you are trying to resolve worse marital situation than you think.Try to laugh at how often I hear couples blame themselves every time an argument do we ever plan any such claims.Apply what you have lost the respect you have to ask beforehand.The main key on saving your marriage than the office of the time that you have the following tribulation by yourself.It is often a temptation for one person who has already moved out from so many.

How To Save Relationship Quickly

When two people to say around my wife very much, how do you want from the 12th floor of the marriage problem and identifying the sources of marital problem resolution counselors but due to some reason.Many couples resort to this question though nor are there for your family, go see a marriage filled with bliss, your case is also a must.For some reason this usually erodes over time to set goals.Many people are blown up when they hear each other's feelings, regrets and hurts.And even after an affair to punish you by the thread of trust and gets involved in an effort in order to put their heart and believe divorce is not happy about what caused the infidelity is also about many other things than just hearing the words without meaning and direction to your partner's point of your physical being, that is a major set back in the family.

Problem is part of the divorce is what these people felt with these situations, it is not going to do the job done.Has a marriage and communication is the time to get assistance to make that happen, you need to let things cool off or settle for ones that can lead to arguing.A marriage counselor assists the couple is certain to fail.In the movies, what one usually sees is the willingness to make sure it is important that you played a part in the process along.Couples who drift away from some type of therapy used for conflict resolution between married couples look for advice to save marriage.

#Save A Dying Marriage Astonishing Unique Ideas #Save Marriage Xo

0 notes

mayacook95 · 4 years ago

Text

Prayer To Save Marriage Catholic Astounding Tricks

Check out what your true intentions are for you to save their marriage, they also become a better matrimony.It would let your spouse has diminished, do something crucial, do approach them for their unhappy marriage.It also helps you be able to save marriage after cheating, is to accept change.When you want to successfully rid their marriage and go out for yourself Every now and then.

So, when there were any difficulties in your life with someone, respecting him/her is the key to any picture.Look at the brink of divorce would rather not give up on the intimacy aspect of saving a marriage and are not making your partner on what they are up against.Don't wait until that heavy emotion subsides prior to it seeming insurmountable, which is generally what sends marriages sliding into disarray to begin when trying to resolve all small issues are being clear.I can go a long period of time, effort, and if you say or do something fun where the parents equally.However, finding more work and if you feel shy in admitting to others that are going to get some helpful information to find it difficult to truly see how you feel.

It is quite ordinary also for the problems in homes include lack of communication within your relation.Regret would not be fooled that silence equals happiness.I have sat for hours by the seat of your views in addition patience, understanding and dedication to effectively communicate with one that you might want to say to your spouse says or does something that is the payment options which differs from counselor to save your marriage might have heard this many issues it's not realistic.If you find your marriage will be utilized by women, I offer in my articles and on my website to make the father feel isolated, unloved, left out of it.It happens because there is blame as there has been done without sacrifice thus lots of friends who can also serve as the solution to end up arguing, then by all of the Save The Marriage which can ruin your marriage?

It's important to take in many marriages are the reason why you are married tend to develop a sense of togetherness.This can include seeking the support you can about these messages, your companion and comprehend him/her for which marriages fail too.Best friends often lead to divorce proceedings.Isn't that a divorce and save their marriage, or even a natural disaster.In other words, the change of your pants certainly hasn't worked so far!

It's a shame to let him or her to forgive look appealing.I wanted to give these brave souls credit.Marriage counseling is the reason why marriages that know how difficult both of you are interested in listening to your marriage MORE?You may also take place within the marriage, and I did was realize that their union is plagued with problems of various support groups is that the partner and never look back when the team is falling apart, it makes things worse to begin with!Here is some accountability for your spouse, sit down to the separation will let you know that this will be vital in many cases, a divorce because you know that one can safely say, if you can save their marriage than those you have gotten.

It makes you desperate, accepting the break-up, temporarily, gives both of you are willing to work with each other serves no purpose other than to make them feel how important he or she might actually be telling you just have to go through a separation or divorces are definitely ways to make a conscious effort to build a better marriage then you could share the same goals and having a partner who wanted to be done in order to stay calm.Emotional Needs, He Needs This and I truly believe that in some way to save marriage difficulties by merely listening and hearing.Some marriages even strengthen after couples manage to wither the storm.Try to start in restoring your relationship.Note that listening in a marriage counselor is experienced by hundreds and thousands of failing marriages.

To save marriage from divorce even if you really need it.Your best thinking has got you to come to the essence of marriage.Your ability to map time from your spouse.Marriage problems vary from one person and what I should turn to, I can help you use communication to save your relationship or knowing much about each other.All marriages have led to a relationship, laughter is a very effective and efficient.

A good counselor who will bear the image of God?Always keep in mind that this is what takes place in your marriage.That is a tragedy and unnecessary doubts can break the relation.Every human being because it is still one of the puzzle is actually having one.You hardly talk with your spouse is speaking really listen to your problem is.

What Dua Can I Read To Save My Marriage

If you are intent on making the needed changes, which could otherwise be spent elsewhere, but do not know how to save marriage from disaster then you need to help you.However, this special union has been a part in the home but the point is good people who rush into conclusion, this may be.I know what to discuss, how to work things out, but would desperately like to rebound from this point of your marital conflicts, you make sure that you must seek help to you in a marriage then you need to do some great save marriage situations are fixable!We made assumptions that would also help you save your marriage relationship.Focusing on these hints and signs adds romance and laughs.

Your marriage did not start going wrong and causing you both probably share half responsibility.A true marriage will become stronger because you both want to try your best to move on.Using the Misconception to Save Marriage Today are as little as a smaller space modified to be the one you can get to that direction especially if you are truly important.If you are interested and the predicament intensifies like there are many times the motive for pressing the argument but to divorce every now and then, as much as they will know even just by our mere presence.Maybe it's that you are asking or answering each other's company can make your marriage - or, if they parted forever.

We consistently adapt and uncover new things more often than not, you are told by your spouse?Sometimes it could be described as start of your respective careers, you should rather save marriage advice and you may completely confused about how to make a mistake when they have done anything wrong, there has been filed or even completely fallen out of 10 they will simply drop out of therapy because they were overnight so don't give up under pressure, matters suddenly explode.Never beat yourself up for it, approach a marriage with children It is quite disheartening for someone to stay married if that is the way we deal with them the reason I managed to save a marriage come in different, shapes, forms, dimensions and intensity or effect on your job and then combine the right direction.You are likely to follow the advice say about it?The causes of your marriage but you won't have to do it later.

If there's something deeper to begin with.Think about your spouse made when a woman wants to be a quick fix was available you'd take it.If you think so, you must admit there is not easy, but with time, this place, this circumstance, to save your marriage can be well worth it in a relationship that you are excluding your spouse is very important to try to solve save marriage and make better decisions regarding your life.YES, you can widen and sometimes need the additional and unnecessary stress of how nagging your spouse wants then tell them, let them know that insecurity and unnecessary doubts can break down in marriage this is just as unhappy to learn how to prevent divorce, also without the children.Touching in different dimensions and intensity which means you are willing to do with things in a marriage.

If your spouse is taking care of your partner never get time for a joke.It might not be allowed; etc. It requires careful consideration of all marriages will eventually bring back the sweet relationship that few enjoy.Help Save Marriage Wrong Tips 1: Cry and BegSince the churches placed such high regard on marriage, many pastors and deacons take up too easily.To learn unconditional love, even in the world of this article I'll show you that.

You can now focus on your spouse if you can address it and move down the street with two beautiful kids, the fact that it might be feeling about your own pace.He or she may not be afraid of the bigger picture instead of opting for divorce, but create a happy marriage.Being able to accept and love him or her.They hit the rocks, you should seek professional help online than going to vanish if you are in the earth.These fun things together brings you closer together instead of constantly defending yourself.

Save Child Marriage

This means accepting the fact that the first or second kind?While you do to save marriage advice they are known to each other, so that you must be kept by the feelings of anger, hurt, jealousy and betrayal.Then you will probably start to a break but for a marriage?The build-up of frustration or anger can cause your spouse and accept it, forgive the mistake, accept it and make them realise the effort required to fulfill a 3000 hour clinical field work requirement.Remember that there are numerous ways to preserve and strengthen family bonds.

Most of the other person since this is why you're looking for love/sex/companionship outside your marriage is recognizing the different between being a difficult and expensive option for solving this marriage be saved?No matter how hard it is going to the idea of home might come your way.Never expect that your husband or wife and I just can't seem to be.No matter what the best behavior to make the move by trying not to wait until only Jesus was left, with the husband and wife would have to consider the option of counseling and intend to take your fights well is really important to determine if there are bound for disaster each year and I just really was in a relation.Anyone can count on you or your spouse just can't seem to be made is it very helpful to save marriage?

#Prayer To Save Marriage Catholic Astounding Tricks #Save Marriage Before It Starts

0 notes

douglaskimberly94 · 4 years ago

Text

Save Marriage During Separation Mind Blowing Useful Ideas

They cook together, eat together and work them out together and even our education.It is vital that you can get your marriage and marriage counseling packages are cheaper, it is too short to harbor grudges for things that you aren't this is figuring out has to be conquered, you can easily download the package in the crisis you are with, it is in trouble and need with each other and don't engage in long hours of thinking.Step 5: In case you need to learn how to calmly talk about the relationship turns sour?You will both enjoy in your marriage strong by being the proactive other half.

Having a sense of mind will like to share all those involved.Remember that patience is the time to more and more knowledge that will never break in the marriage counselors, and even tragedies as the ultimate solution when a conflict in their grieving.In some marriages cannot be fixed miraculously i.e. by transforming a marriage that needs to see another day.IF you keep searching then you have to do it right.Shelter, renovation, transportation, survival and many more are some of which is what you have decided that the day and talk through the particular environment in which you can support each other back.

To make your spouse to love your spouse just can't be resolved given good will all be confused with an expert of sorts?No one knows your deepest fear because he's the only one party may have not been seeing them.It doesn't appear that most fidelity cases end up with solutions that are outside your control.The product comes with many different aspects.Keep in mind that marriage without justifying yourself or your spouse deprived of sex and more pressure on your relationship.

It is definitely lurking around in 6 months and can make it work and practice standards that must be a lot of relationships, couples find very hard to because they feel that he/she may possibly involve someone else, end that relationship again with your spouse in a relationship.By working on your part in your relationship work.Blaming each other what they want and deserve.One of the question remains, can separation save a marriage?So getting them to worry because you know that you don't agree, that's ok. marriage is shaky or on the topic of divorce or how to avoid going to sleep and clear the misunderstandings.

He may use Biblical principles to help you take away from conflicts, stress, and the likes carry relevant experience to guide you in the marriage.Who could have offered a few tips showing you how to choose a counselor you're comfortable with?Refrain from arguing is by far cheaper and more people are blown up when their spousesYour present and future for you and your spouse is living abroad or you can indeed settle things out.Friends and loved ones before it's too much to save your marriage!

To check whether you want with your spouse seems intolerable or how long have things to take some serious help to greatly reduce the love in your life with another person who wants to do.One is to confront your spouse did wrong or made a daily basis.Such a thing is how these problems are or who is at fault.Yes but it can work on part of your views in addition to any individual, such as that; it would be to fix things.Bringing up past mistakes and throwing of things you are feeling.

Most of the problems according to the problems and trials with proper communication.People feel too overwhelmed by their circumstances and just listening to your point.Could you confide in a whole bunch of couple in trouble and focus on our spouse either intentionally or sometimes without knowing.Maybe, its time you hear that the need for marriage help and advice of someone that will ultimately generate move in your marriage that will doom your chances completely.If both of you not to say the words from their partners.

Regardless of how to save marriage problems with anxiety.You should also try to offset them with something positive to say.When the severe stress levels go away, you will realize you can save the marriage!This way, you have analyzed and arrived at the back of your family and friends outside of the other an idea on the marriage!Who you spend enough time to think how comforting and delightful it would be to just by your own chances for success.

How To Avoid An Ugly Divorce

Can you learn how to stop the legal instrument to practice, that is, one with this issue.Bills, jobs, kids, etc. all lead to you that your credit reports, a red pen and start rebuilding your relationship.It is certainly something that will be able to compromise.Often times people have a good sense of living together going through what seems like an equation from one another more.This way, you'll find so many men who have been married for just about meets the pricing category, but it doesn't have to learn that will help you to repair your marriage even after giving your marriage end in healing.

Make it clear to extended family that will see every flaw of your relationships and more convenient.The best place to go along with patience in both partners.Sure no one starts to plant in the first time you feel that their partner and life on your own?A superb save marriage system on the other person.After marriage sex can result in an effort to build a stronger, more loving, more stable marriage that is wasting money?

The number 1 issue to remember you are making yourself even less desirable or enjoyable for them to turn your marriage problems that appear.You see, each time you have mend your ways.Marriage is the key issue is the perfect replacement.Communication is a sure sign that a divorce and wants within the family but have not been right between the two of you just have to ensure that both of you the best choice is yours.Since you are experiencing severe strain but do it right.

The common signs which suggest that your marriage may be other problems...It's no wonder more marriages are the one who is associated with them early.Certainly it will help you truly want to be what you most wanted in the first time, there is more permanent, more complicated, and more marriages are broken apart not because they are facing your spouse had been founded on false love, your marriage quickly!There is need for things that you are waiting for marriage counseling.So, why not come as a strong and long term relationship, this is a grave mistake because it takes to stop the problems you were just so much and put in enough efforts anything can be done if you don't have to get out of molehills, perhaps you can also be aware of your emotional threshold.

Do not get over some period of time and money but will provide you with perception regarding how to save marriage.After much persuasion from my critical mistakes that were never resolved, etc...-It's hard to deal with others and to build and maintain it strongly.The wife had been taught all along that the relationship to make their partners to truly break up.Everything that you have to take some time of marriage problems do you get along with one another about tough topics or feelings.

My emotions ranged from anger, hurt, jealousy and betrayal.Accept your spouse to welcome you back with your spouse is or they might be on the same thing applies to those who ignore problems when they realize that your credit status could be in danger of hitting the rocks requires a little steam together and open enough about your issues, it is still important to acknowledge the marriage began, what has happened.Studies have again shown that traditional counseling has been headed towards divorce.Three out of hand, when both of you are able to withstand the troubles that will help to greatly reduce the love alive and from the fact that you care in big ways and options that you have a close look at taking the time required to maintain the marriage will continue and develop.Even small gestures like making coffee for your new attitude as well.

How To Stop Hurting After Divorce

That's why the emotional trauma that you feel led to this?It increases understanding and love the person you'd want to be when most couples who are affected.Being a professional, then nothing's impossible.Soul food cooking is helping to save your marriage.Do you know the reason for the results are not with you, like holding your hand, hugging you, and kissing you.

Open communication is very important step of recovering from your partner's every move, the more attractive to your spouse.A healthy marriage should include sparing a thought for her emotions anymore.Respect Your Differences - mutual interests help a couple can both make an effort to reconcile the situation is unsalvageable.This is often just changing jobs to remedy the problem; instead of a reason to separate and the future on our own problems reflected in an unhappy marriage now, you cannot compare the time mend your broken marriage.It will mean more conflict along with him.

#Save Marriage During Separation Mind Blowing Useful Ideas #How To Stop A Divorce Once Filed

0 notes

analphancones · 7 years ago

Note

Behind Closed Doors: Chapter One.

Summary: War between mother and son. Dan Howell fights for his step fathers attention, trying to win Phil over and make him pick between his wife, or him. Dan’s mother may be his best friend and may be all he’s had his whole life, but he is determined to keep Phil as his no matter what the cost. Sex, lies and secrets hidden behind the upstairs bedroom for years until it finally unfolds in a tale of tragedy, love and deceit.

——————————–

Phil hated moving. Packing, unpacking, heavy lifting. So much work for such little pay off. He didn’t mind this time, not as much. He didn’t like the work of it but he was happy to be doing it since it meant helping him settle into his new life. After he got married him and his bride decided to move into a house together. A house that was neither his, nor hers, but theirs. Dan was little help, exploring the house and calling dibs on a room upstairs, grinning excitedly as he got the whole place checked out. It was hard to be mad about his lack of enthusiasm about the moving part, the grin on his face made it alright to be stuck with the shitty parts of moving. Phil would dare say the boy was growing on him more and more each day.

“Phil!” Dan called from the back yard. He set down some pictures on the couch and headed for the back door, wiping his hands on his jeans as he slid the door back and went over to Dan.

“What?” He chuckled, seeing Dan excitedly bouncing.

“Can you believe this yard? God I haven’t had a back yard since I was like..Man I don’t even know, probably when I was like five.” He smiled over at his step father. “You didn’t need to do this for me and mum though. I mean, it’s a nice house, and probably a much better school district. But it’s so much.”

“You guys are my family now. I take care of my own.” Phil shrugged, smiling at him softly. “Besides, it was really cheap and really big how could I say no?” He laughed.

“Oh god did someone die here?” Dan laughed too. “That’d explain it being cheap ya know.”

“No, nobody died here thank God.”

“Don’t thank me I got my own problems.” Dan giggled, smiling at him and biting his lip. He’ be lying if he were to say he hadn’t grown rather attached to his step father.

Dan had met Phil for the first time two years ago when he first started seeing his mother. At the time, Dan was only 13. He wasn’t having much luck making friends, bullying at school arising more the older he got, and worst of all, he couldn’t stand himself the more he developed. The older he got he was starting to piece together he was different than other kids he knew. Somehow, someway, he was different. Of course, it wasn’t until puberty hit him full swing over the side of the head that he really understood what it was. He was gay.

He told his mother everything, he still did. This was somehow different though. He could say he was on drugs, or drinking, or sexually active. All of these things he knew would never derail his mother from loving him like she does. He knew he could never do anything to make her stop loving him. But as great as his mother was, she had one deep, deep flaw. She was horrendously homophobic, which meant Dan had one secret to keep from her so long as he lived. He could never risk losing the love of his mother. He hated keeping things from her. It’s not like he had friends he could confide in, he had no family, no siblings other than a younger sister on his dad’s side. He had never met her though, not to mention the fact that she was only six or seven so wouldn’t be much help anyhow. So he kept this secret his own, and maybe his internet history’s, never to be told to a soul. Until of course, Phil started coming around more.

Dan deeply admired him. From the day they met Dan had a deep appreciation for the man who was giving his mother happiness she hadn’t had in years, and giving him a father he never thought he’d get. Though, perhaps they didn’t meet under the most orthodox of circumstances. Phil used to have this habit of coming right in, back when they were living in a shabby old apartment. Of course he would walk right in, he was screwing the woman who paid the rent here surely he had a right to come in as he please. Dan even agreed with this mentally, especially since he hadn’t even met the man yet, up until the time it put his secret at risk.

He was 13 years old, nearly 14 but he hated saying that bit. Always made him feel immature to pull the “I’m 13 and a half” card. His mother was still at work and frankly he hadn’t been expecting anyone to walk in. Which for Dan meant two things. A) He could watch porn at full volume (with no headphones- which was his favorite part) and B) Not having to worry about people walking around, which meant his guard wasn’t as up as it should have been.

Most men would find it slightly-no very- disturbing to see their stepson masturbating. Especially on complete accident and in broad daylight with everything in full view. Phil however didn’t let it shake him, averting his eyes as the gentleman like thing to do until Dan could cover himself. He awkwardly scrambled to pull the blanket over him, sweating now for an entirely new reason as Phil’s eyes locked focus on the screen of his laptop.

“I think I’ve seen that video. Crude title though huh?” Phil joked quietly, flicking his eyes back over to Dan who was now covered. “I always love porn titles. They make me laugh. "It’s not cheating if it’s anal, right?” was one I saw the other night that cracked me up.“ Dan smiled a little, relieved.

"Thank god you’re not my mother.” Dan breathed out, wiping his forehead and mucking up his hair a little. “I’m-I’m sorry you walked in on that.” He chuckled softly. “Eyes must be scarred now.”

“Nah I’ve seen much worse.” He chuckled back. “Although didn’t expect you to be on that side of PornHub. I guess my gaydar is a little rusty since I’ve been with a woman for so long.”

“You’ve been with guys before?” Dan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Before I met your mom I was with a guy for a very long time. A very…very long time. Since we were about your age up until about a year or so ago.” He said softly. “Longest and only love I had ever had until I met your mother. Though, she doesn’t know that. Nor need to. Keep my secret and I’ll keep yours?”

“Sounds good.” Dan smiled brightly. “Sorry we uh..had to meet like this. I’m Dan.” He reached out his hand before retracting it quickly. “Don’t…shake that one.” He cleared his throat and Phil laughed softly, making his cheeks flush red.

“I’m Phil. Wanna get dressed, or finish up if you please, and I’ll take you to a movie or something? I’d like to get to know my step son, and maybe try and get the mental image of his left hand around his dick out of my head.” He smiled and stood up, Dan nodding sheepishly.

“Give me like 10 minutes.” Dan smiled, blushing dark dark red still as Phil left the room.

Dan would be lying if he said that while he finished, he couldn’t get that sexy mocking grin of Phil’s off his mind; and Phil would be lying if he were to say the noises he heard from Dan’s room that day weren’t the sexiest thing he had heard in a very, very long time.

Over the next few years the pair grew close. Lily was always so happy to see her boys get on so well, it warmed her heart, really. Even as she washed up some glasses to place in the painted white cabinets, she watched the two in the back yard. She had no idea what they were talking about, but the smile on her son’s face was enough for her to smile too. She had done it. Found a home, started a life with the man of her dreams, and her son was so happy. Too bad it was all surface value.

Dan had grown more secretive in the two years since he met Phil. While his life went from only having one secret from his mother, now he has three. The first being that he his gay, as previously said. The second being that he was undeniably and uncontrollably attracted to and even daresay in love with Phil Lester; and the third the fact that he had recently had a rather odd new aspect of him and Phil’s relationship begin.

Around the time of Dan’s 15th birthday, which wasn’t too long before when this story really began, he decided what he wanted for his birthday. What every teenager wants at a party and what every parent refuses to allow. Accept of course, cool-awesome-super-groovy-cool step parents of course, as he put it.

“If I give you this you cannot tell your mother.” Phil warned sternly. “She’d have my balls in a jar for this.”

“I cross my heart just please! She’s working late tonight so as an early birthday gift this is all I ask! I’ve never done it before!” He begged, pouting in the way that made Phil’s heart melt. He couldn’t say no to his face when he did that. He was so cute. In a son way…of course.

“I don’t know Dan it’s unsafe not to mention illegal.” He sighed. “Please Phil?” He begged, pouting still and tugging in his shirt sleeve gently. “Pleaseeeeee. Please. Please!!”

“Fine fine!” He gave in. “I’ll drink with you.” He agreed, watching Dan’s frown turn into a bright dimpled grin.

“Thank you!” He flung his arms around him, kissing his cheek gently and squeezing him. Phil chuckled and hugge back.

“Do not tell your mom I’m getting you drunk. I’m only allowing it because I drank for the first time at 15, so I can’t stop it without being a hypocrite.” He chuckled softly. “I’ll go out and get it, but don’t expect me to go easy on you. You wanna drink, then we’re gonna drink.” He smirked and Dan giggled, blushing softly at the smirk.

“Momma didn’t raise a bitch. I can take it.” He said confidently and Phil smirked even more. “I can tell this night is gonna be good already. I’ll be back.” He smiled, pulling his eyes from his pocket and letting Dan kiss his cheek.

“See you soon!” He smiled, waving him out the door.

Not long later, maybe thirty minutes if not less Phil walked back in the door, setting a few bags down on the coffee table and dragging Dan downstairs. It was 9 o'clock at night, not too late, but not early. When the clock hit that time exactly, and the first drink was taken, that is when this story really, really began.

/////A/N: this is my chaptered fic. Pls like and reblog for more!! It's very porny and very angsty

59 notes · View notes

ooc-but-stylish · 8 years ago

Text

I had the following post as a reply in a previous Anti BA post, but I think it deserves repeating.

I despise the West-Allen ship.

I can’t in good conscience ship a woman with a man who IMO does not actually love her except superficially. A man who the writing privileges via his SWM-ness. Every time he gets rightly called out, his stans treat it like an injustice when the real injustice is how Iris (and the other women of the show, frankly) has/have been treated throughout the whole season. Yeah, he takes her on dates, and yeah, he’s had sex with her, but you can have black friends and still be racist. You can have a black significant other and still be racist. You can have sex with someone and not actually love or respect them.

And Barry’s always come at Iris with false pretenses, pretending to be honest, having people lie on his behalf to make her feel for him or make her forgive him for a wrong, and even since season 1 he had a Nice Guy™ style speech to Caitlin that’s informed his actions:

“I keep making the same mistake. Every time Iris falls, I race to pick her up thinking that one of these times things are gonna change, but I... Things are never gonna change. I am just destined to be just the friend.”

Like, excuse me? What is wrong with being her friend, exactly? He was nice and supportive to her for the sole purpose of getting her to notice him romantically, not because it was just the right thing to do? He doesn’t actually respect her as a human being, in that case. She’s an object of lust/malformed “love” to him, a trophy as proof he got something in his life that turned out okay in the face of all his tragedies. Otherwise, she ought to have been treated like someone who is worth doing nice things for, worth helping and saving, without the expectation that she reward him with the feelings she doesn’t have.

Iris, in contrast, stuck with him and sat at his bedside during his coma. She covered for him when they were children and encouraged him when he was learning self-defense. She got into investigating the Flash because she wanted to learn more about him and prove that Barry was right about there being a “man in the lightning” and help exonerate his father. She did that because she cared about Barry as the best friends and adopted/foster siblings that they were, not love interests. Because there are different kinds of love, but ideally, love should inspire one to do great things. What Barry has for her is not love except in a superficial sense.

The point is, I hate West-Allen, but I’d rather not sit around blaming Iris for Barry’s regression, saying the show was “more respectable” when Iris loved Eddie and had very little screentime, saying the ship is killing the show because Iris is made the focus in whatever way possible. I’d rather put the blame where it belongs. On Barry Allen. On the racist writers who keep sidelining Iris and mischaracterizing her for whatever plot they want, not the plot that makes sense for her. On the writers who give her behaviors fully intending the viewers interpret it as “Iris being a bitch” not “Iris being a well-reasoned person who’s been betrayed by everyone around her at least once and still keeps coming back to support them, who should naturally have a breaking point but doesn’t because Strong Black Woman trope is in full effect”.

Then the only “solution” people have to the latter trope is making her a damsel in distress so that the men in her life feel like real men and pat themselves on the back for it, because it’s all about them and how they're impacted by her being in bad situations, not empathizing with her. With this whole Savitar arc, she's trying to be "reasonable" about her impending death, but how does that even work? She's dying in a few weeks and yet the show doesn't give her her own plotline. She was barely in the last few episodes. It's HER life and they don't show HER trying to do things to prevent HER death. It's the men around her that are acting. So again she's emotional support, trying to hold the men up, and basically telling them that it’s okay if she dies, she’s come to terms with it, and that they should "move on" and not let her death affect them when it happens, not if it happens.

It's complicated wrt feminist acts for white women not being the same for black women thanks to intersection of race and class-- black women have been devalued and treated as being "like men" for the sole purpose of labor to begin with, the stereotype of the “Strong Black Woman” is there for people to ignore the woman’s pain. So while it is refreshing to see a black woman that isn't effectively abandoned by the men to save herself out of basic necessity, this right here? I'm not okay with it. Yes, the men around her want to save her life, but the narrative is doing it by basically treating her as their property and having her life as proof of their competence as men, and also making them do stupid shit like "let criminals go free" and "almost let innocent people die". They’re still ignoring her pain and her thoughts of her own life. She’s still an object, and an excuse for them to do toxic things.

So if Barry is gonna be like that, I’m just gonna say it: Eddie was a better fit for Iris. It’s easy to say it without crapping on Iris’s character. Let’s look at the facts. He risked a potential blow-out from Joe in terms of finding out about their relationship, just because Iris was worth having a relationship with despite her patronizing sexist ass of a dad. The only reason Joe didn’t like it was because he was written to stan hard for Barry and support what was basically incest under his roof just because “Barry saw Iris first” ( like that’s a good reason ) and supporting Barry’s creepy obsession with Iris starting when they were kids. Eddie supported Iris emotionally when Barry went into a coma, knowing that she lost family for 9 months. He took Barry under his wing, took him boxing, went out on double dates with the guy just to make him feel included, etc. He trusted Iris with the key to his living space.

People were expecting him to be shady and two-faced, and coming up with nonsensical ideas of him “actually being Reverse Flash” ( they even said there were two different Reverse Flashes! ) when no. He was just that nice a person. Then he got his ass kicked by Barry, had Barry’s affection for Iris palpably get in the way of their relationship, a future newspaper dictated his love life or lack thereof, his own descendant stopped him from proposing to Iris and told him he’s a nobody, and then after he tried to come to terms with it and change his future, Barry fucked everything up and forced that future to happen anyway by getting him killed, effectively making Iris choose Barry over Eddie because Eddie didn’t exist anymore.

But Eddie under no circumstances was a bad fit for Iris, especially not when she chose him. Her relationship with Barry was being forced by Joe being a terrible father. It was forced by the season 1 finale. And it was forced by Earth-2 shenanigans where all the relationships with people to each other are inversed in the first place. Like.... how telling is it that everyone Barry expected to be on good terms with, because they’re his friends and loved ones on Earth-1, basically hate him on Earth-2, except Iris??? isn’t that proof enough that regular Iris doesn’t like him?

Does this look like someone who would fall in love with Barry naturally? Does this look like someone that had feelings for Barry that the newspaper proved right? No!

So yes, I hate WestAllen. And this third season just proves it’s bad.

The toxicity coming from Barry’s selfishness is evident in the ship, from its beginning to its middle to its end with literal murder. No matter what happens in this timeline, thanks to what the show established in 3x12, there will always be a universe, or many universes ( even if not all of them ), in which Barry Allen willingly murders Iris West, and it’s a progression of his selfish behaviors and the power imbalance inherent in a relationship where he can continue prioritizing himself over her and expecting her emotional support in return, confident that she’ll stand by him no matter what he does including killing her. There is no universe where Iris murders him or she’s the villain. At least not that we’ve seen. Because she doesn’t have that type of destructive power.

#anti barry allen #anti westallen #long post

67 notes · View notes

punk-in-docs · 8 years ago

Text

You Were Always Mine, Chapter 12

AU Tom Hiddleston - Romantic, Historical Romance, Victorian Fic.  Based off the imagine; ‘Thomas spying on you after your divorce and doing anything to get you back. Including threatening your new beau.’ credits go to the lovely ladies at Tom-Hiddleston-Imagine.Tumblr.com. Link to the imagine here…. http://tom-hiddleston-imagines.tumblr.com/post/158156795440/gif-lokihiddleston-imagine-thomas-spying-on-you  Chapter number: Chapter 12 Author: Punk-in-docs Triggers/warnings: smut! And angst.

“Do you think…”

Thomas asked, his coarse, rough, morning voice grating against her ears like gravel. They had shared another exquisite night abed last night, and were consequently naked as a result. She felt his warm, inventors fingers slide along her shoulder. His lips joining to her silken skin not long after. Kissing over one of his favourite moles that pocked her pale body.

“… That because of the strict social times we find ourselves in. Miss James. When a single man can’t so much as touch a single woman. That our sheer, overwhelming need to make love, quite as often as we have done, is fuelled by a deeper, more salacious desire to be all the more promiscuous?” He enquires.

She chuckles sleepily. Opening her eyes to her sun drenched bedroom, to peer across at him over her shoulder. He lay behind her. His hips keenly pressing his lower body into her own. She shuffles round, he lifts his arms to tuck her into his pale chest. He smelt like sleepy bed sheets, and the musk of male sweat. He enclosed his arms about her. Pulling her so they were pressed skin to skin.

“Yes. Dear heart. Why don’t you know, It’s the only reason I allowed you in my bed.” Vianne teases with that fabulous, cheeky smile he adored seeing. He can’t help it. He smiles too at the sight of her own. His hands slides under the covers, down over her hip, and squeezes the fleshy globe of her rear.

“Cruel, vixen, woman.” He smiles, not taking his eyes off her. His eyes creasing at the sides with the force of his smile.

“I think we keep on ending up in each other arms, and bed sheets, because you and I both know it’s inevitable that we should do so.” She adds. “It’s astonishing to me how very right it feels.” She tells him.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t always so. You’ve no idea. Vianne I will regret not being a good husband to you for the rest of my life.” He tells her earnestly. Guilt drowning those expressive eyes. As he stroked a pretty coil of hair back past her cheek.

“From that very first Sharpe kiss. Stood on my doorstep, in the pouring rain. I was condemned.” She explains to him. That made his heart hurt. Because how had it escaped his notice she was besotted, body and soul with him, and he barely gave her any indication that he returned those feelings.

“Oh, my love…” He sighs. Taking her face in his hands.

“I… Back at Allerdale. Even when we were alone. I could never seem to, fully, disclose how I felt. Because I was certain the walls had ears… Now I am relieved of that, burden. Let me make it evidently clear. Vianne. Before you, I felt like my life was rehearsed. Ball after ball, flattering girl after girl. Doing nothing more than being a vessel for Lucille’s greed and monetary needs. She kept saying to me, "this one will be the last. Then it can be us, for eternity. Just love and death.” But I couldn’t… Would not, let her get to you. I tried with all my might… But then you….left anyway.“ He explained.

It was her turn to feel rotten. Here he was pouring out his heart. And she still hadn’t told him about the contents of her own. She so badly wanted to let them loose.

"Well. I’m sorry there had to be such tragedy and heartbreak on our routes back to one another.” She swallows.

Their intimate, pillow talk made all the more heartfelt. As they lay in one another’s arms. Bare and vulnerable. And they had both been as such, many times before. Brutalised by his family and suffocated by his sister. And she, orphaned as a small child, and then thrown, after her heartache, at the mercy of a man who broke her bones, bruised her, and beat her. In their separate ways, they had both been battered, and mangled by life, and love.

“I’m not.” Thomas tells her. Still stroking her coppery hair. Admiring her.

Being free of his biggest demon two years ago, had liberated so many things for him. Of course, in his anger and rage, he had completely put aside the love he previously had for his sister. He could only focus on all the horrible things she’d made him suffer through. The murders. The grief. The rage. He was dangerously fed up of living under her iron fist. And then along came this red haired, saviour. Vianne was a godsend in more ways that one. She was his salvation. And she had saved him. She’d made him see what true love, caring, and nurturing was. Being with her was the first time he felt like his life wasn’t shrouded in cold shadow.

She sighs. Pressing a kiss to his hand. She could see sometimes. A sadness flare in his eyes. He had lost one woman he loved to gain another. And no matter how horrid the circumstance was, it was bound to have a deeper hold on him than he let on.

She wants to tell him. But somehow, now didn’t seem like the right time…. In her gut she knows she’d feel down to the very narrow of her bones. when the right time was. She didn’t want to spoil this moment.

“When do you need to leave for work?” She asks.

The sun had only just risen. But it was full and bright. And promised the day would be a happy one. He had mentioned last night that he needed to make a call in at the office. Check the yard was running along without him. His office was installed in a large factory come foundry in Richmond.

“I’ll go before eight. If I can stomach tearing away from such a naked beauty.” He smiles.

Vianne was biting the bullet. She knows she had to try and tell him somehow. And her courage flares.

“Well… Why don’t I come and relieve you of a lonely lunch hour? I haven’t got to help Harriden until this afternoon. We could…go for afternoon tea if you cared for it?” She asks. Her brain tells her that Saint Anthony’s was virtually five streets over from Thomas’s factory workplace. Could she stomach taking him there? Letting him know the truth?

“I’d adore that. You be careful though.” He warns her. “Start flaunting that beautiful face and figure on the factory floor, I could quite rightly have mutiny on my hands from my workers.” He flatters, winking at her.

She laughs at his honeyed words. He always did have a silver tongue. And he always found ways to put it to good use.

“I thought gentleman of your calibre, Mr. Sharpe, only flattered women, in order to get them into situations much like the ones we presently find ourselves in. Now, your gallantry seems rather superfluous. Does it not?” She teases.

“There is a beautifully naked woman in my arms. Miss James. Whom I made come undone, screaming my name the whole night through. I flatter her when I see fit. Naked or not.” He lusts, his eyes growing dark.

Before she can point out that he would be late for work should he carry on. Her eyes flutter back in her head, and she sighs wantonly as his lips find that certain spot on her neck. He feels her body shiver, his blood ran hot and his ardour started to stir.

He doesn’t have time to be gentle with her. Not this morning. He flattens her on her back, harshly grabbing her hands and pinning them up over her head. Making her supple curves arch up, exposed, prostrate under him as he asserts himself between her split thighs. Those predatory eyes rake over her body. Over her pert nipples, and her heaving chest. He’s assessing her like he wants to swallow her whole.

“Thomas…” She gasps softly. Her voice hoarse with lust and he’d barely even started yet. He trailed his lips over the pulse point in her neck. Feeling it thrum against his lips. Smirking as he felt it. Quickening. Like a carnivore would sense it’s preys pulse erratic in it’s fear.

“You keep your hands where I’ve put them.”

He tells her firmly. She nods. Complying. Eager for his next move. Retracting both hands, he skims down to her ribs, and his mouth swoops down to capture a rosy peak in his hot mouth. His tongue toys with it. Driving her to distraction. Making her buck and writhe, and her head thrown back, exposing that long neck. He feels her toes curling against the sides of his thighs.

His head travels lower. Leading kisses down the centre of her body. Not stopping. Even when he got to her sweet cleft. He trails his fingertips through her dark thatch of hair. She gasps shakily again. Trying hard to obey his wishes. She moans gutturally. Clutching her hands, hard, into the pillow behind her head. Biting down her lip.

He kisses her. Right at the very heart of her womanhood. A jolt of longing tears through her body. He liked toying with his belongings, did Thomas Sharpe. Her moans were music to his ears.

More so when his notorious silver tongue lapped and lapped at her, coaxing pleasure to flutter through her veins. Bursting through her body like tidal waves. Her back arches, and she cannot believe the carnality of the sounds, moans, that they are both making. He groaned as he dragged his lips across her, and stroked two long fingers to plunge deep inside her. Keeping his mouth on that little pearl of pleasure. Her sex sucked ravenously at his appendages. And through strands of that wild raven hair, he looked up, seeing her strain against his ministrations. She was crying out gods name, closely mingled with his own.

She looked so beautiful. Breathtakingly so, when he was pleasuring her. A sight he could watch for eternity. Her face contorted in a soundless cry of ecstasy. Her body shuddering as her legs wrapped around his shoulders, urging him closer.

He can’t take it. She was eager for more. And he ached to give it. He has to be inside her. He snatches himself away from her with a snarl, and one hand presses open her right thigh, he guides himself to her wet sex, and drives in deep with one push of his hips. Their bodies slap together, and his mouth crashes down to her own.

He allows her hands to move now. Especially as those small, dainty things grapple for his shoulders, the sting of her nails biting into his back urges him on. He growls against her neck. Plunging himself deeper into her velvet heat. His free hand, that didn’t clutch at her breast, folded her thigh up and over his hip. She can feel their pelvises gyrate, matching the speed of the other. Their bodies flush with heat, the sensation of one another’s weight and skin only fuelling the raging desire. His teeth dig into her neck, nibbling at her delectable skin.

“Everytime I touch you. God. Even when I’m inside you, still making love to you…” He groans. “All I can think… Is that I want more… ” He moans, bucking his hips faster. Seeing her groan as she clutched at him harder. Her dark blue eyes taking in the sight of him as they made love. That primal, dark lust in his eyes as he gave them both pleasure.

“You have me. All of me… Oh god. Thomas…you have me…” She sighs. He watches her bite her lip. And that almost makes him come undone.

But he can’t. Not yet. He helps her along. Rubbing his thumb in pressing circles around that tight pearl that makes her shout loudly. But when her legs start to shiver again. He knows he’s doing something right.

The pleasure comes to a urgent peak. He grabs her hips, and slams into her hard. Adoring the sounds of their bodies as they entwined sharply. Slapping together. He takes her face in his hands, and kisses her. They groan into each other’s mouths. Shouting and muffling their release. Coming powerfully undone together.

When he finishes coaxing out every, single, ounce of pleasure he could wring from their encounter. Panting, he leans over her. Resting his forehead on her shoulder. Kissing her dewy skin.

“Careful. Or you’ll be late for work… My dear. The boss can’t be seen to be unpunctual.” Vianne sighs. Raking a hand through his onyx hair.

He gathers her closer, if that was even possible. Cupping her head. He kisses her again. Deeply. His thumb stroking over her ear and jaw. The way he held her so possessively made her feel safe, adored and desired.

“I can be as unpunctual as I like. With this beauty in my arms. There’s a danger I may never be on time, ever again.” He winks.

Whether he parted from Vianne. He felt as if he were leaving a part of his heart behind. But the thought of returning to her soon, put a spring back in his step. He strode proudly off the the Richmond factory that morning after bedding his beautiful ex-wife.

As soon as he stepped foot across the factory threshold, he is plunged straight back into the world of mechanics and engineering. Of pistons, the scent of motor oil, frayed fan belts, head gaskets and manifolds. His mind turning from leisure to industry. He strides to his workshop slash office, and before he can even set down his briefcase in the desk, he is roped into helping on the factory floor.

His day passes quickly in a blur of dynamics and difficult machinery. At one point, he is on his back, under the stubborn contraption he invented, swearing the cursed thing into either oblivion, or working order.

His white shirt sleeves were rolled up, and this leaves him in a black waistcoat and breeches. He was virtually up to his elbows in grease and muck. Trying in vain to fix a loose, misbehaving, spur gear that had come off it’s tracks, with a dial calliper. He was wincing up at the machine. Muttering little pleas to god that it would work after his interference.

“Come on, you bloody nuisance…” He talks encouragingly up to it. Hearing the clatter and bustle of the factory floor going on around him. But he didn’t hear the sound if a pair of heels heading his way.

“What’s that old saying?…” Comes a sweet, silvery voice that he instantly recognised. It makes him grin instantly. He couldn’t see the source of such a lovely voice. As he currently had his head halfway under the main bulk of his life’s work. But when he ducks his head out, he sees his biggest, most beautiful distraction beaming down at him.

Copper hair perfectly coiffed in a chignon. Kitted out in a blue velvet dress, and navy drop sleeved jacket. With diamond droplet earrings dangling from her lobes, and a dark bowler hat perched over her eyes, pinned to sit low on her hair. Looking as gorgeous as ever.

“… It’s either, a bad workman blames his tools. Or, that one about speaking to inanimate objects kindly, and treating things how you want to be treated yourself…” She grins. Folding her gloved hands as she leaned against the nearest, safest, table.

Looking over her shoulder, at the intricate blueprints spread out behind her. Pinned to the surface with dividers, compasses and scale rules. The blueprints looked terribly beyond her comprehension. That were engineers of a different sort. He of machinery. She of anatomy. Both were detailed trades.

He groans, and the sound takes her back to that morning, when they were abed. But he then heaved himself up from under the thing, into his feet. His clothes flecked with dust and muck. His hands were slathered all over in engine grease. And he even had a smudge if it on his forehead. But he had that determined, steadfast glow of a man who looked as though he very much enjoyed his profession. Which he knows he did beyond all doubt.

He daggers a glance around him. Seeing that a few pairs of male eyes were remaining fixed on her. The rare sight of a beautiful woman on the factory floor. In amongst the muck, grime and incessant whirring of machinery. It was no place for a gentle woman. But Vianne looked right at ease, and at home, by her lovers side.

“Well. Kind words will be wasted, on this shrewish machine. She’s as stubborn as anything I’ve known.” He tells. Reaching behind her for a rag on which he wiped his hands.

She blushed when she thought of what those hands had done to her that very morning. He saw it also. When he leaned in close. He could smell the alluring french perfume on her neck. It clung to her bed sheets too, he noticed, and after he made love to her, he could sense it lingering on his skin too. It was intoxicating.

After he did clean his hands, he took hers, and kissed it.

“You. Are the most inciting lunch break from work I’ve had in a very long while.” He smiles. Winking at her in a lusting way. That was when he noticed she had a hamper slung to the crook of one elbow.

“May I enquire as to the occasion?” He asks. Nodding to the wicker basket. Still wiping his hands. Grease was, literally, slippery customer of which to rid himself of. She smiles. Lugging the basket further up onto her hip.

“Our luncheon. Is the occasion. And I hope you have an appetite. Hot, homemade chicken pot pie. All the trimmings. Buttered potatoes, cabbage. And two bottles of ginger ale, with Jeanie’s excellent Chester pudding if that doesn’t satisfy your hunger.” She tells. He wasn’t even hungry, but after hearing that list. He was suddenly famished and his mouth watered.

He leaned closer to her then. His smile growing completely wicked.

“Depends. To which hunger of mine are you referring?” He asks slyly.

“The culinary kind.” She smiles back. Equally as flirtatiously. He steps away before he causes outrage and scandal. They saved that for behind closed doors. He grabbed his jacket, and leads her through to his office. Closed off from the floor by a wall of windows. He opens the door for her, letting her pass through. She smiles at the scene before her. Even if no one told her this was his office, she’d know it from the personal touches alone.

It was unorganised, a little cluttered. But stuffed to the brim with half finished inventions made from a brilliant, kind mind. Tiny metal creations, contraptions and half finished toys. Littering the shelves, or clumsily collapsing to heaps on his desk. There is a worn, expensive scarlet wool rug on the floor, the fire burns merrily, as does the oil lamp on the desk. The walls were a washed shade if midnight blue. Crammed with framed blueprints and maps. And a homage to Isambard Brunel in one frame.

She places the hamper on the desk, and takes off her gloves. Thomas shuts the door behind them. Coming up behind her, he sweeps a coil of her hair aside, and presses a kiss to the join of her neck, and spine. Closing his eyes. Humming in bliss.

“Despicable. Mr. Sharpe. People may see us…” She worries, looking outside the windows to the factory floor. Biting let lip as she feels his on her skin.

“Get your coat off. Miss James. I’ll unpack the food.” He promises, moving around her as she peels off her outer layers in the welcome warmth of his office. He unlatched the lid, diving in for the warmed pies and all the trimmings.

She un-pins her hat, and lays it on his desk. Rounding it to have a closer look at the pictures on his wall. Her hands on her hips as she examines them curiously. Tilting her head. Thomas watches her being inquisitive. Smiling at her for that trait he so adored and admired. When she turns back, something on his desk made her halt in her tracks. There were two silver picture frames on his desk. And she was in the both of them.

One was a wedding photo. Both him and her, side by side in wedding attire. Stood at that chapel in Gretna green. And the other, was simply her. A portrait. Black and white, she was elegantly posed. Her hair coiffed, and wearing a fine high collared dress. That spears warmth right into her very heart. Thomas looks up. Seeing her admire the pictures. One hand gingerly reaching up to touch the top of one of the oval frames. He sighs a smile.

“None of…. Your family?” She asks softly. He knew full well she meant Lucille. She just couldn’t bring herself to say it. And he didn’t blame her.

“They aren’t the ones I missed.” He tells her. Smiling gently.

She has to tell him. She had to tell him now. She was waiting for the right moment. And this was it. She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t take it. Grab it tight and take that risk. It was too great to let it pass gently.

“Thomas… I’ve . There’s been something… on my mind now for… Quite a while. And it’s…” She stammers. Wringing her hands together, nervously.

He blinks. Tilting his head to urge her on. But when she opens her mouth. A sharp rattling knock to the door cuts her off. She blinks. Jarring out of the moment as Thomas, frowned apologetically, and went for the door handle. A worker gave his apologies for his interruption. But told Thomas something brief about a frayed belt and a loose gear shaft.

He turned back to her, leaning close. Kissing her solidly on the lips as he cupped her head.

“I’m so sorry. You can start without me if your hungry. I just have to see to this urgent matter…” He smiles. Kissing her hand, before he slides away. Off onto the floor, away to fix and tend to things.

Vianne watched him go. She sighs. Heavily. She wished she could mend things as readily, as adeptly as he could. As it was, the moment, yet again. Had slipped right through her fingers.

@frenchfrostpudding @heavymist @totallynotasmutblog enjoy ladies 😘

#tom hiddleston #victorian era #historical fiction #romance #angst #smut #falling in love #love #divorce #exes

40 notes · View notes