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bee-kathony · 5 months ago

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Out of the Woods | Jane & Guildford

An alternate first meeting of Jane Grey and Guildford Dudley. What would happen if Jane followed Guildford after the chaos in the tavern?

For the first time in Jane’s entire life, no one knows where she is.

She is alone and free. She can finally escape, ride north, and create her destiny.

After thwarting the guards, Jane escaped on horseback promising to return home. But home was the last place she wished to return. Her own mother, now her dear cousin Edward had promised her to a marriage she did not want.

Jane wanted her freedom to do as she pleased. The last thing she wanted was to be tied to someone else for all eternity. So she fled!

As Jane rode on, she swore she could taste her freedom. But there was something in the woods. A light, and suddenly Jane saw them. Guards, a search party clearly sent by King Edward or her dratted mother. She needed somewhere to hide, somewhere no one would ever think to look.

Dashing off to the right, Jane rode deeper into the woods and thanked the gods as she approached a small village. As she tied up her horse outside a tavern, Jane took one quick glance around her before rushing inside.

It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. People were playing dice games, drinking, and laughing. Jane relaxed, leaning against the stairwell as she took everything in.

That’s when she spotted him from across the tavern. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. This dark-haired stranger.

Jane couldn’t decipher what argument he was dissolving between his friends, but suddenly he had jumped onto the table.

“And now we’re gonna gut ya!” She heard the man’s friend (or perhaps they weren’t friends) say.

“Gut me with what?” The dark-haired stranger asked as he reached behind him and grabbed what appeared to be the two squabbling drinkers’ knives.

“Are you looking for these?” Expertly, he tossed a knife and it landed bullseye on the dart board. And the next right beside it. The entire bar cheered, and Jane found herself smiling as she watched this man.

“And now I have your attention, shall I torture you with a poem?”

“No!” Shouted the rowdy tavern.

“Too late,” the man said, shrugging.

“I have decided to die in a tavern.” He was speaking in Latin. Well, he was attempting, but it impressed Jane.

“Where the wine will be close to my dying…” he continued, searching for the words and the crowd finished for him.

“Mouth!” They raised their glasses, drinking.

Jane was entranced, utterly besotted by the display she’d just witnessed. As she’d never been in an establishment quite like this one before, she wasn’t sure what to do next.

That was…

Until he laid eyes on her.

Jane looked around, surely he must be mistaken. This dark-haired stranger that had so easily diffused a fight couldn’t be looking at her.

She couldn’t remember her feet moving, but it was as if she was drawn to the man, and now she found herself standing directly in front of him.

“So, do you… come here often?” Two seconds later, judging by his gaze, she instantly regretted that question.

The man finished off his drink, turned back, and burped in her face.

“Wow,” Jane said, her opinions quickly changing.

“Oops.” The man covered his mouth.

“That’s your response? So you can recite the Archpoet standing on a table in a dirt-floor tavern, but you can’t muster a simple apology?”

The man shrugged, looking her up and down, “I said, ‘oops’”.

“You mispronounced ‘vina,’ by the way. It’s ‘Vee-na’’, where’d you learn your Latin? In a ditch?” Jane questioned him.

“Who would teach Latin in a ditch?” His body turned toward her, but Jane wouldn’t be persuaded.

“Oh, you’re missing the point.”

“The point being?” He took a sip of his drink.

Jane crossed her arms. “Your mediocre Latin and disappointing table manners.”

The man looked around, “Are we at a table? No.”

“Again, missing the point.”

The frustrating man stared down her her, just a breath away, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an insufferable pedant?”

“Oh, where I come from, pedantry is a virtue.”

“Where I come from amiability trumps semantics.”

“Amiability is for the meek.”

“Amiability is for the amiable.”

They squared off, their words quick as they sized one another up. It was clear Jane had been mistaken about this man. Sure, he seemed charming enough, but he was grating on her nerves.

“You are the rudest man I have ever met!” Jane rolled her eyes.

The man raised his glass, “Well, the night is young. Mingle.”

“Oh, I intend to. Goodnight.” Jane turned to leave, eager to leave him behind and never see him again.

“Wait!” He reached out for her. “Who are you?”

Jane evaded his question by asking him the same. “Who are you?”

But they were interrupted before either could say a name.

A soldier burst through the door. “Good evening!”

Everyone in the tavern hushed, and a few men at the bar looked nervous. Jane only hoped the guards weren’t there for her.

“Come with me,” the man whispered, taking her arm.

“As if!” She brushed him away.

“What?!”

“I said, good evening, my good people. We have it on excellent authority that a certain beast might be in here. Goes by the name of Archer. He’s wanted for robbery, arson, sedition.”

Jane breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t looking for her. But a beast?

“Hand him over or we dunk every last one of you.”

Suddenly a man close to Jane walked forward. “Why don’t you leave him alone, you bunch of thugs? I’m Archer.”

The guards rushed towards him, “Then you’re coming with me.”

“Not likely!” Just then Archer transformed into a bear.

“Ethian?” Jane’s eyes grew wide as she froze.

Everyone began to scream and run, it was complete chaos. Jane felt herself being pulled towards the door.

“Right. Let’s go!” The man grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the outbreak.

They dashed through the crowd, Jane was so curious. As she’d never actually seen an Ethian transform before her eyes. That was until just the other day when her maid Susannah had transformed into a hawk.

“This door leads outside,” the man said as they ducked under the stairs.

“This is madness. I never knew things were like this.”

“You’ve never seen a bear in a bar before?”

“Never,” Jane said softly.

The dark-haired man pulled her close, his eyes boring into hers. “Last chance. Come with me.”

“I can’t… I-“, someone smashed against the stairs. Jane screamed, and before she could protest further, the dark-haired man was dragging her outside into the cool night air. The chaos of the bar drifted behind them as they fled.

“Wait!” Jane struggled against his grip. “I can’t go with you!”

“I’m not stealing you,” the man laughed, leading them into the forest. “I’m simply making sure that a lady such as yourself doesn’t die. I can’t have that on my conscience you see.”

“Ah yes,” Jane tore her hand away from his. “I do see. I’m just another pretty girl you lure into the woods. I think I’ll take my chances with the bear!”

Jane turned to leave back towards the bar. After all, she had lost her sense of direction, and as much as she didn’t want to return home. She didn’t know where else to go at this exact moment.

“Not so fast, little one,” the man grabbed her arm, twisting her into him. They were face to face, their chests heaving from the excitement. “I know a safe place we can wait.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jane spoke softly. “Just let me go.”

The man stared at her, his eyes making an assessment.

“Seeing as how your conversational skills were so lacking-“

“I was not-“ Jane cut him off.

He held up a finger against her lips. “I’d wager that you’ve never been to a place like that. Never seen something like that before.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, perhaps,” the man let his hand slide down, taking her hand again. “You also don’t know that the King’s guards will be traversing this area all night until they find what they want.”

Jane couldn’t have that. Maybe staying with this man and letting her lead her somewhere safe was the only way she could make it to tomorrow.

“Fine,” Jane agreed, stamping her foot slightly. “Take me to wherever you are going. I’ll wait until dawn before I go my own way.”

“Very well,” the man said, sighing. “Stay close.”

He kept her hand in his as they walked quietly for another fifteen minutes. The sound of the crunching leaves under their feet was making Jane rather anxious. How did she get herself into this situation? Walking through the woods at midnight with a handsome stranger.

Jane’s mind kept drifting back to the events of the day. Not only had her mother gone behind her back and arranged a marriage she did not want. Her dearly beloved cousin Edward, who just so happened to be the King of England, had approved of the marriage and given his consent. Feeling worn down, all Jane could do was hope that this mysterious suitor died suddenly of the affliction and she wouldn’t have to attend the wedding.

“How much further?” Jane whispered. “It’s freezing!”

“We’re almost there,” the man said. “In fact, here we are.”

Jane had to squint to see what exactly she was looking at. It appeared to be a small cottage if one could call it that. Perhaps, a shack was a better term for it.

“Come,” the man said and pulled her along behind him. “No one will find us here.”

Inside the small shack, Jane was surprised to see it wasn’t entirely falling apart. In fact, there was a cozy fireplace on one wall, shelves of books, and a bed off in the corner. It looked like someone lived here.

“Is this your home?” Jane asked as the stranger rid himself of his jacket and laid it across the chair by the fire.

“Maybe,” the man shrugged.

“It’s so…”

“Small? Ugly? Strange?” The man offered.

“No,” Jane looked around once again. “Cozy.”

“Hmph,” the man looked at Jane quizzically before squatting down to the fire. “We can hide here for a few hours. But I must leave before the sun rises.”

“Oh yes, I had better return home as soon as I’m able,” Jane sighed and took a seat in the chair, watching at the man started a small fire. “If we are to stay here for the next several hours, then will you at least tell me your name?”

“Tell me yours,” he looked up at her through his falling hair.

Jane rolled her eyes, expecting nothing less. She wanted to tell this man everything. Nothing but the truth, which was odd seeing as how he was a complete stranger. But there was something about him, the way he looked at her and made her feel seen and alive.

“Elizabeth,” Jane lied. While yes, she felt she could trust him. One could never be too careful.

“John,” the man put his hand on his chest. Little did Jane know that this man was also lying about his real name.

They were silent as John finished the fire and sat in the chair opposite her.

“Do you really live here?” Jane asked, curiosity sparking once again.

“Sometimes,” John said. “My family…” he started, looking down at his crossed hands. “My family doesn’t provide much peace you see. So I built this place as a sort of refuge to get away every now and then.”

Jane knew he wasn’t being completely truthful, but she hadn’t exactly been either. Seeing how harsh the soldiers had been on the Ethians in the bar, Jane understood that you couldn’t trust anyone these days.

“Where did you come from Elizabeth? I’ve never seen you at that bar before tonight.” John questioned.

Lie or truth?

“I ran away,” she said, deciding to tell the truth.

“From who?”

“My family,” Jane sighed, sinking into the chair. “They want me to do something, and I absolutely will not! My mother,” Jane growled. “She thinks she can determine my future, but I won’t allow it.”

John blinked before responding. “Well, they would be insane to go against you. Then why would you return home?”

Jane did not want to go home and admit defeat, but she didn’t see another option. Yes, she could ride off into the night and disappear, but she didn’t have any money, nor any idea of how to get some. It was a nice dream she’d had to determine her own destiny, but perhaps destiny wasn’t something one made for themselves after all.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Jane shrugged. “I’m a woman, and since I am unmarried I cannot do anything for myself.”

“A shame,” John shook his head. “I would love to see the man that could come up against you.”

“I don’t believe there is any such man,” Jane laughed. Certainly not this man her mother wanted her to marry, Guildford Dudley.

“You should rest,” John said, nodding to the bed in the corner. “I’ll sit watch by the fire here.”

The bed did look awfully cozy. Jane had had a tiring day. An exhausting day of having her hopes and dreams dashed. Betrayed by the very people she thought she could trust.

“Perhaps just a little rest,” Jane agreed and stood up, only her feet caught under her dress and she stumbled. Right into the arms of John. He was sturdy, and he smelled good, oh did he ever!

“Oh bollocks,” Jane tried to right herself, but her hand pushed against something hard, and John winced, crying out. It was only then as he screwed his face in pain that she realized she’d pushed against his member.

“I’m sorry!” Jane blushed, her arms flailing out trying to push against anything else but his body.

“Elizabeth,” John caught her arms, steadying her as he leaned forward in the chair. “Just relax.”

Before she could process what was happening, Jane had been swept up into John’s strong arms and he carried her over to the bed, gently placing her down. His hands lingered, caressing her cheek, a thumb running over her lips.

“John,” she whispered, feeling that same intense pull as before in the bar.

His lips crashed into hers, and Jane moaned, her arms winding around his neck. This was certainly not what Jane had envisioned when she’d come to this cabin. In fact, Jane had just sworn off all men earlier that day. But John felt so good. He tasted so good.

“Elizabeth,” he sighed against her lips, pressing her to lay flat on her back. Her head rested against the pillows as John’s body covered hers. Just as her hand had felt him just a few moments earlier, she now felt his hard member against her thigh.

Jane had no experience with men unless one counted kissing the stable boy when she was twelve. Which Jane did not.

John slid his hand along her body, over the thick layers of her dress until his hand rested on her neck. His tongue opened her mouth, and she let him in. Jane wanted more of him, more of him everywhere.

Their breathing escalated as they began to undress. John reached for the laces of her dress, and she reached for the buckle of his pants. As Jane sat back and watched him take his shirt off, she began to get nervous.

“Wait,” she whispered, not knowing if he’d heard her.

“What’s wrong?” John tossed his shirt aside, his hands coming to her face, gently.

“I’ve never…” she said shyly. “I don’t…”

“Ah,” John smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “That makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Jane asked, only feeling somewhat offended.

John smirked, his thumb rubbing across her lips and down her neck.

“All that pent-up frustration,” John kissed her lightly. “That spark. No one’s taken it yet.”

Jane melted against him as he twisted his body and laid down beside her. He kept one hand on her neck, the other in her hair. “I won’t bed you Elizabeth. That honor deserves to be for your husband.”

“Well aren’t you suddenly a gentlemen,” Jane laughed, feeling relief but also a sense of sadness and regret. While she wasn’t prepared to have sex tonight with a near stranger, she also wanted to do it on her terms.

“Don’t think I don’t want to,” John kissed her bare shoulder, pulling up the sheet around her. “Gods, I want to.”

“Will you hold me?” Jane asked, unable to feel him let go.

John gathered her close, pulling her to his chest as he rested his chin atop her head. Jane pulled the sheet over the both of them.

“My family wants me to do something I don’t want to either,” John admitted in the silence. Jane couldn’t see his face now, but she listened, feeling his voice reverberate through her whole body.

“It’s for my protection, and theirs,” he continued. “I only hope it works.”

“What works?” Jane asked, wrapping her arm tighter around his middle.

“The solution to all my problems,” he sighed and Jane didn’t want to press further.

Silence fell on the small shack, the low rumble of the fire flickering as they both fell into a peaceful sleep. Jane had never slept as well as she had those few hours in John’s arms. As she opened her eyes to the cracks of the first light, she noticed she was alone.

“How chivalrous,” Jane sighed, knowing it was too good to be true. At some point, she had felt John stir next to her in the night, but she’d quickly fallen back asleep. Now she knew he had been sneaking out to leave her.

It wasn’t as if she knew him, or that they had even been intimate together. But there was something there, something she couldn’t quite place.

Jane gathered up her few belongings and left the little shack, closing the door behind her. Attached to the front door was a piece of parchment with a nail drive through it.

“Dearest Elizabeth,

I hate to have left you alone, you seemed so peaceful. Those few hours in your arms were the most peace I have felt in so long. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance… however tumultuous our first meeting began.”

Yours, John G.D.

Jane felt what could only be described as butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Folding the note neatly, she slid it into the pocket of her cloak. The sun had risen now, and lit a path to a nearby road. Surely if her mother and Edward were looking for her, she could find them along the main path.

As Jane began to make her way through the forest, thinking of her night spent with the mysterious John, she heard a sort of snuffle beside her.

It was a horse!

A dark brown horse, with a black mane and tail. He was feet away to her left, and he was staring at her. Jane froze, a sense of familiarity striking. Jane began to walk towards the horse, but he shook his mane and ran off deeper into the woods.

How odd.

#my lady jane #jane grey #guildford dudley #janeford #jane x guildford #my lady jane fanfic #my lady jane fic

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a-little-bit-of-my-everythingg · 4 months ago

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Heart wrenchingly brilliant! BRAVO! 🥹🥹🥹

It's Enough, It's Enough - chapter five

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: E Chapter: 5 / 6

Summary: Five times Jane and Guildford pretend to have sex, and one time it’s for real.

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She's been reading all along. Guildford doesn't know that. She didn't want him to think she wasn't prioritizing the texts on curing Ethianism, and she never wanted him to know that, despite their conversation about marital obligations on the first night of their honeymoon, she's been contemplating the idea of fucking him this whole time. And not just contemplating it, reading about it—which, for Jane Grey, is about as serious as you can get.

Every time she starts to surrender to what her body wants and Guildford stops her, it's embarrassing. Her own fault, of course; even if the eager way she leans in whenever his face comes near totally contradicts them, her words have communicated things like “As if” and “I want a divorce.” Despite her actions, it seems that he heard her from the start and decided to listen. He's not confused. Clearly, Guildford lives in a world where people say a thing and follow through, set their own rules and then abide by them. And Jane lives in a world where her spine dissolves like wet sugar when Guildford stands just a little too close to her. Or smirks at her. Or does anything with his hands, really. Or refers to her as his wife. That gets her too.

The books on sex are as unromantic as Jane imagines is possible. This is maddening, and also probably the reason she doesn't feel like they're helping. She wants to understand, but not like that, or that, or that—flipping through pages on anatomy (she's seen a diagram of a member before) and diseases of the genitalia and their proposed treatments (her eyes widen in horror at repeated suggestions to place plants she knows to be poisonous in extremely delicate areas). It's all just too clinical, and she usually loves clinical! She loves when books present things unemotionally, letting the facts speak for themselves! But that doesn't work for her here. As much as Jane reads about blood and stiffening and insertion, she feels as though she's seeing less than half of the picture. Nothing like the way she feels around Guildford is captured in these pages. Because of that, they're almost no good to her at all.

Getting attempted-murdered in broad moonlight is an unwelcome yet extremely effective distraction. Oh yes, she's considered scenarios that would lead to her waking up on her back in the warm grass, but it was always Guildford who had something to do with that, not Mary. It takes Jane some time before she's able to figure out why she can hardly breathe: the result of Mary's thumbs mashing her windpipe, or fear that someone with stronger thumbs (or maybe a sword) was sent after Guildford to dispatch him too?

But Guildford is alive. For now. Lately, Jane feels as though everything has only been “for now.” She is continually wrong-footed in a world of impermanence. They gain access to the rest of Mary and Seymour's letters, Mary steals them back. Jane awakens from failed assassination-induced unconsciousness, ready to tell Guildford what happened (or maybe that she's starting to understand that thing he sensed she didn't yet the last time they kissed), and he's already a horse. Nothing is certain!

Guildford's father counsels her towards certainty, but it's a certainty of his own desiring, not hers. Neither giving birth to a son nor naming Guildford King (though that's not the order Lord Dudley has in mind) could be easily undone—yet the possibility exists, with so many would-be killers darting about the palace. Regardless, neither action is one she wants to take. Except for maybe the bit about making the son. In this political climate though? Jane doesn't like the idea of using a baby as a tool, even if that is the gig, part and parcel of being a monarch. Again, it's too clinical, making her think of those books with their dispassionate descriptions of the marital act. Does everything in her life need a motive? Must she always pretend to be anticipating something five steps ahead? Will she forever be expected to enjoy scheming as much as the people around her? Why is certainty synonymous with power and never happiness? Can she not fucking live?

Even the project that gives meaning to her marriage, if not her life, is revealed to be pointless; Susannah visits and assures Jane there is no cure to Ethianism. Not being able to disclose to Susannah exactly why that's such bad news makes Jane ache. She needs a friend. She needs Susannah to ask how she is, like she did after Jane's father died. Jane has no clue how to impart this information to Guildford. Is there a way, if she wants to be kind? Can he care for her if she stops being his means to a cure? If she's just a person, full of flaws, letting him down? Is there anything real left between them without their deal? They've done so much pretending. They've built a version of themselves on the lies they've told, and Jane doesn't know whether there is another version.

Leave it to her mother to force the issue. With her usual disregard for what the consequences will be for anyone other than herself, she makes two statements: Guildford is a horse, and Jane is in love with him. Though Jane manages to storm out of the room, her thoughts lack the same decisiveness. It feels to her as if her mother has thrown a knife that skewered the fundamental truth about each of them, Guildford and Jane. He is a horse, and his identity obsesses him, steers him, rides him; everything he values is valued because of its potential to either cure his Ethianism or dull his suffering while he endures the condition that is consumingly hateful to him. She loves him, and the feeling makes her ignore trial, ignore failure; his need for what she is supposed to be able to offer sustains them both. Will he want her if he doesn't need her? Will she stop being afraid long enough to let him?

There are no answers to these questions that she could find in books. There are only her rushing feet—along stone corridors, and then shushing across the lawn. Jane doesn't know how to stop Mary trying to kill her, and she doesn't know how to get justice for Edward, and she doesn't know if Susannah is right about Ethianism or simply angry at what appeared to be Jane's dismissal of their right to exist as themselves. Night has come on and the grass is damp as her dress drags across it. With all Jane's unknowns, at last, she has her certainty: she does not want a divorce. She wants Guildford to stay with her, to be with her, and to be with him, and to let him see that she is afraid, but that she will stay, if he will have her.

It's all circling around her head, so that, when she finds her husband standing at the back of the stables, she isn't sure she even says hello to him before putting a nix on divorce and demanding he kiss her.

She doesn't say she loves him. She doesn't want to talk, she isn't ready. But she's here. Jane's presence is her grand declaration. After all her hesitation, all her needless care, she can't undress him fast enough—can't make him undress her fast enough. She always thought the decision to give in would be difficult, but it's easy, easy, easy. Guildford's mouth on hers is heavy like ripe fruit. His fingers trip over the fastenings that do her up, keep her together, but once he steadies himself, this seems easy too; she wonders if he's pictured it all before: studied her clothing in moments when she was distracted and imagined what it would be like to dismantle his queen's lace and brocade armour. Has he been reading her while she read books?

This, by the way, is what the books couldn't get right: the swoop in her stomach when Guildford pulls her onto his lap, the overwhelming affection in her when she feels him smiling against her lips. Suddenly, Jane registers sympathy for those poor authors. How could they have put this on paper? How could anyone? For all the things that are meant to be read and studied and learned, what's happening between Jane and Guildford, here, now, is only meant to be felt. To transcribe would be to dilute.

She isn't ashamed to be naked before him, and there's nothing clinical about the heat of his member pressed to her thigh when he lies down on top of her in this bed he's maintained in the stables. It smells like him, even here, where the scents of hay and wood and animal are strong. The scent of the bed is exhaustion and resignation, but also refuge. This is where Guildford is both selves, the one he wants and the one he doesn't. He comes here every night when he leaves her. This bed has held her husband when he deemed it unsafe for Jane to do the same. She has a sudden urge to find out what sleep smells like on him, when his body relaxes into the bed that cradles her now. How does he look entirely disarmed? Does being here now mean he'll let her spend the night? She doesn't say she loves him, but she strokes his back while he kisses her hotly and imagines stroking it again while he sleeps.

When the time has nearly come, Jane can tell. She panics. She admits it. And Guildford, who she has seen snide, self-assured, sarcastic, and short-tempered in daily life (or... nightly life), could not be more tender, more sweet. Jane wishes their wedding could have been like this, but in a way, this is a union, and one of their own choosing. He'll show her, no condescension. She'll let him, no injured pride.

He's barely hovering over her as his fingers trace up her thigh. Guildford's touch is so light it almost tickles like his leg hair does—a sensation she's surprised to find comforting, but it reminds her of their first bedding ceremony, his clever deception that spared them both some humiliation. She has always been a consideration for him. His pledge of thoughtfulness is there in his fingertips, in the parting of her, in the caress of the place the arousing fact of his body on hers has made damp. Jane grips his shoulders. Her hands flutter like confused butterflies up to the back of his neck as she trusts him and trusts him and trusts him. She writhes beneath him so much as he runs his careful fingers over and through and into her that he makes as if to climb off her, to give her room. Alight with a pleasure that feels like ringing the rim of a glass, Jane doesn't want room. She wants her husband right here, pressing her down, working her up. She winds her legs around the back of Guildford's calves and holds fast.

His tongue is in her mouth when she finds release in his bed for the first time. Though he drags his sopping fingers out of her, he continues touching her gently while they kiss. On her end, the kisses are nearly formless in the aftermath of the nervous burst that cascaded through her body, and yet Guildford's mouth is patient and forgiving. He grins when her lips meet his teeth, and licks at her, teasingly, when she attempts to slip her tongue into his mouth. Between her thighs, she feels his wedding ring. The smooth metal band bumps over her clitoris, scattering sparks which threaten to start fires; Jane bites her husband's lip to get his attention, then makes him watch her eyes as she rubs herself against the ring that says they are bound before God and England. There will be no divorce, her eyes insist. You were given to me as much as they gave me to you. When he's apparently unable to endure any more, Guildford grasps the base of Jane's skull and devours her mouth. She comes again when he sucks the tip of her tongue. At this rate, he's going to swallow everything her body can't contain.

If she's annoyed to realize she's unwittingly following her mother's advice—mouth closed, legs open—it's a distant annoyance, and it passes. Jane reaches a hand down between them, brushing warm skin on both sides. Their mouths slide apart until Guildford's lips rest against her cheek, not quite kissing. She stops to explore the hirsute path below his navel with her fingertips, lightly scratching her nails forward and back against the texture of his hair. On top of her, Guildford's breathing changes, rough and hitching, wanting her fingers right where they are, but also elsewhere. It's not dissimilar to intoxication, Jane thinks: this warm, loose feeling within her, the way her worries and reticence have left without conscious shedding. She reaches a bit farther (Hold anything firm firmly, and anything soft softly.) and wraps her fingers around his girth.

Her husband is patient, still—if tense—while Jane keeps his member lightly encircled in her grasp as she shuffles her legs apart. The cool sheet under her warm thighs is a relief that won't last. Smoothing her other hand over Guildford's hip, she guides him into the space she's made for him. She gasps when the blunt, wet end of him prods her. When he kisses her, she doesn't know if it's supposed to distract her, but his hand closes over hers and she feels everything.

Instinctually, Jane tilts her hips as he begins to insert himself. Her eyes go wide with surprise at the sensation it was impossible to prepare herself for (not that any of the male authors of those books even thought of soliciting a female perspective on the acts they describe). She can't help laughing at the strangeness. Guildford's (knife-slinging tavern lust-object) member (thick, rigid, twitching against her abdomen while they kissed) is inside her body! They're joined together! And it doesn't even hurt! Logically, Jane understands that this has more than a little to do with Guildford's unhurried fingers preparing her, but it's tempting to surrender herself to the illogical, to romance: it doesn't hurt because he never would, never could, hurt her. Gradually, Guildford sinks deeper. Breathing shakily, Jane bends her knees to hold his hips between her thighs, and then he's fully inside her.

But the end of that part is just the beginning of so much more. Jane loops her arms around Guildford's waist, spreads her hands on his back, feels his muscles go taut as he starts the slow, rhythmic process of consummation. This is their bodies in conversation. It's another way to know one another, and a transformation of them both; Jane can tell by his face, which hovers over hers, his eyes looking down at her with something he doesn't seem able to voice either. But it's there. It's there with them in this bed, in this stable, on this night when nobody told them what to do, or how, or why. Jane hears the soft grunts huffing past her own lips. Latin, Greek, Italian—now she speaks this. It's their own language, and apparently, she's fluent.

In a moment that passes before she can catch it, the sensation of Guildford thrusting within her evolves from feeling strange but good to very, very good. She can feel how wet she is, how steadily he's gliding through, and yet there's suddenly this friction. Her grunts crack open and become breathy cries. It's because she's squeezing him, from within. She's been kneading the muscles of his back, but her own muscles, there inside her, are at least as powerful. They have the power to make Guildford pant like an animal, his hips jerking shallowly against hers until she stops clenching. She offers a slack smile in return for his stunned expression, and then they surge together, grabbing each other's face as they kiss, fingers catching on chins and ears and hair already unkempt from one another's caresses.

Guildford begins rolling his hips into hers harder—not fast, but less restrained. Jane can tell there's so much more he'll show her, something raw she won't see this first time, suppressed so he can give her no more than what she's ready to receive. But it's thrilling to feel him letting go. Her back arches as she tries to meet him in his thrusts, and his curves, his forehead pressed somewhere around her collarbone. He exhales against her skin, hot gusts of air. When he widens his legs, braced up on his knees, it pushes hers farther apart too. There's nothing coy or secret now; her body is held wide for him, and she welcomes it. She digs her fingers into his hair and closes them in a fist. Guildford's lips rub against her skin as he cries out. With quick, mindless snaps of his hips, he finishes inside her.

Feeling as if she's just been awoken from the dead (but no, that was this morning), Jane's heart beats at a rapid pace. Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably. She's overwhelmed. She wants to both crush Guildford against her and shove him away so she can order her thoughts. This is what it feels like, then, to experience someone else's pleasure so close at hand and not achieve her own end. It'll be fine in a minute—he brought her off twice before—but right now, she feels insane.

But Guildford sees it—of course he does. He lifts his head and the hazy bliss in his dark eyes sharpens as he notes the state she's in. He grips himself on withdrawal, and Jane nearly has a fit at the thought of his fingers remaining down there, massaging between her legs again (oh, she wants it, but it might be more than her overstimulated sex can bear). He doesn't do that though. Her husband holds himself heavily on top of her and starts kissing her everywhere but her mouth. He presses his thigh between hers, just presses, and makes his meandering way down her neck, lips below her jaw, lips on her throat, lips where her hair's stuck to her skin with sweat, lips where her body has surely taken on the scent of his. He explores her chest. His mouth skims the breadth of it before going lower. When he gets to her breasts, there's tongue. Guildford licks her—the underside curve, the nipples stiff with sensation—and his thin necklaces hang against her ribs, catching the candlelight when she looks. Between his curious tongue and the pressure of his thigh, Jane shuts her eyes and shudders to quiet release.

She comes back to herself with Guildford stroking her hair.

They lie side by side for a while, not speaking. She wonders if he reads much at night, or if these hours are always kept for silent contemplation. She wonders if he feels as alone here as she does up in the palace.

The bed cools, but their legs are intertwined, and Guildford runs hot. Jane has just learned that, having never lain beside him before, except for the bedding ceremony, which shouldn't count. Anyway, they weren't naked then, and they are now. She feels a bit shy, but mostly, it's nice. He touches her just because, hand sliding down her arm. He touches her like it's the only important thing. Does he love her? She wants him to love her. She wants him to love her whether or not there's a cure.

They kiss when they think they're falling asleep, but the kissing wakes them back up. Their breathing grows rough and their mouths meet with increasing need. They grab at each other, pulling themselves into greater contact. Jane's aroused like she always is when they kiss, but the familiar throb is gone, replaced by the larger, more distinct ache that says her body knows exactly what it's missing—knows Guildford's size and shape.

Very softly, he asks, “Are you too sore?”

Jane shakes her head firmly.

She is kind of sore, but a strained-muscle soreness, a blunt, tired twinge. She knows pain of all varieties. She knows the difference between pains that will hurt more and less the next morning. Tomorrow, what she's feeling now might feel worse, but this is a special circumstance. Guildford is a special circumstance.

So, Jane hooks her thigh over her husband's hip. He groans to re-enter her. He's tired and pliant and starving for her after the time they've spent wanting and not having; he pours all this feeling into her, thrusts breaking against her like deep currents churned up into waves. She rocks with him. Her limbs fold him close to her, but his thrusts get wilder, and she pulls him over her again. There is no separation, she decides. No line between what is the human world and what the natural. She wants to know everything her husband is, especially when he takes her like this—taking her with him, it feels like, wherever he plans for them to go. Good, Jane thinks. You decide.

She likes being here. She puts herself in his hands.

—

Author's Note:

I'm doing the 5 + 1 out of order (this chapter is the + 1). Though Jane and Guildford have now had sex for real, there is one more instance of pretending in their future. It ain't over yet!

#GOD this was amazing!!!#this masterpiece is my new favourite read #i love love love it #my lady jane #jane and guildford #my lady jane fanfic

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