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kinda-iconic · 4 months

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Our Last Hope

Author's Notes: And so it is here, the next instalment of Amelia and Ernest's story. I cannot begin to tell you how long I have been working on this - so much so that I have had to split it into two parts! I have loved writing this so much, even though I have broken my own heart once or twice. I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Amelia)

Word Count: Over 3'500

Tagging: @princess-geek

Additional Tag list (due to past interest): @bloodboundismylife, @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire, @nala-raines

Song inspiration: Thank You (youtube.com) From the 'Queen Charlotte' Soundtrack

TICK.

Luke makes his way along the darkened corridor, a beam of silvery moonlight illuminating his path. He walks in silence, the sudden chiming of the grandfather clock causing him to startle. He takes a moment to recover, rolling out his shoulders before continuing, only to stop in front of an all-too-familiar door. He softly raps on the wood, pressing his ear against the door as if listening for movement.

But he hears nothing.

He looks down, frowning as his gaze befalls a slither of light underneath the frame. He knocks once more, this time accompanying his efforts with the verbal announcement of his presence.

“I know that you are in there, Ernest,” he waits for a response, but he is met with crickets; after a moment, he speaks again, his hand gently grasping the doorknob, “I am coming in.”

He justles the handle, just for a familiar voice to call back to him from the other side.

“There is no need. I am fine.”

Luke shakes his head, a soft smile escaping him, “I am afraid that I cannot accept that until I see you with my own eyes.”

When he receives no answer, Luke enters the room, quickly spotting Ernest, who sits quietly in his armchair, a glass of scotch nestled between his fingertips. He appears dishevelled, his hair unkempt, dark circles making their home under his eyes. He lifts the glass to his lips, downing its contents.

“You have seen me now,” Ernest retorts, exhaling harshly; he reaches for the decanter, his eyes focusing on the auburn liquid as it swirls around its encasement, “are you satisfied?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Ernest scoffs, shaking his head in drunken amusement.

“We cannot help but be concerned, Er-“

“It’s Mr Sinclaire to you,” Ernest counters, “my given name is not one that I allow to be spoken that freely.”

“Other than by Amelia, you mean.”

“Amelia is my wife,” he refills his glass, taking a grateful sip; the liquor burns its way down his throat, causing him to grimace, “that certainly is stronger than I remember.”

“Is that not what you were drinking before?”

“I have finished that bottle already,’ he lifts his glass in the air, gesturing to the empty chair beside him with a tilt of his glass, “drink?”

“If it means that I can watch over you for a little while.”

Ernest doesn’t answer; instead, he rises from his perch, pondering over to his liquor cabinet. He retrieves a fresh glass from within, his fingers fumbling over the rim as he tries to better his grip. Luke frowns, walking over with an offer of assistance.

“Let me help you with that…”

He reaches forward, but is stopped by Ernest, who raises a hand in dismissal.

“I am capable of collecting a glass, Mr Harper.”

He places the vessel down, filling it near enough to the brim. Luke winces, the sound being swiftly rebuked by the quip of Ernest’s brow.

“Have I displeased you in some way?”

“N-no, I just…” Luke lifts the glass to his nose momentarily; he takes a swig, clearing his throat soon after, his eyes enlarging as he watches Ernest finish yet another glass, “maybe you should slow down a little bit.”

“I would say that I am going at a fairly reasonable pace.”

“I meant with the drinking, Sir.”

“I drink as I see fit.”

A comfortable silence passes between the pair for a moment, neither daring to so much as utter a single word. It is only after a couple of minutes that Luke speaks, his expression growing sombre as he studies the broken man before him.

“Normally, you would not hesitate to ask someone to join you in this endeavour.”

“Well, I…I guess I just wanted to be on my lonesome for a little while.”

Ernest walks back over to his chair, slumping back into the leather.

“Is there anything that you need?” Luke enquires, “I can get one of the maids to make you something to-“

“You could get me another scotch,” he looks down at his empty glass, his brows knitting together in a frown, “I…seem to be out.”

“Have mine. Or at least…half of it.”

He retrieves Ernest’s glass, dividing the untouched liquor equally. He places the glass on the end table before meandering over to the fireplace, holding his dainty glass in his outstretched palm. After a moment, Luke tilts his head towards the spirit, his expression unreadable.

“I know it is not much,” he admits, carefully pondering the appropriateness of his following admission, “but I thought that it would be best not to supply you with more should the Doctor need to discuss anything with you.”

Ernest collects his offering, bowing his head in quiet appreciation.

“Is that something that you have decided upon yourself, or did the others influence that decision?”

When he is met with no immediate reply, he shakes his head, a despondent sigh escaping his lips.

“The amount I drink is no concern of yours, nor should it have ever been a talking point for your gossip.”

“Forgive me, Sir,” Luke appears hesitant, aware as to the severity of Ernest’s emotional state, “but we had no choice but to discuss it.”

“My,” Ernest retorts, his response almost sarcastic, “has the rumour mill already run dry?”

He downs the contents of his glass without pause, heading back over to the decanter; his brows furrow in concentration as he fixes himself another drink. He takes a swig, only turning to face Luke once his second glass is almost fully depleted.

“I am sorry that you have drawn the short straw tonight, Mr Harper,” his tone is hollow, “I am not exactly what one would call ‘pleasant’ company right now.”

Luke frowns, “that is not true in the slightest.”

“You were previously close to referring to me as a drunkard.”

“We are worried about you,” Luke takes another step towards to his counterpart, yet choosing to remain at a respectable distance, “if ever you would like anyone to step in and look after the child or sit at Amelia’s bedside-“

“I have no desire for either,” he stops himself short, giving in to his frustration, “I will take care of my family. They are my responsibility.” Ernest takes one last sip of his drink, the glass shaking slightly in his grasp as he forcefully slams it onto the table, “I’ll be damned if anyone else shoulders that.”

“You need rest, Ernest,” Luke approaches cautiously, placing a comforting hand on Ernest’s arm, “you have not slept since Amelia delivered, neither have you been eating properly.” He replaces the lid on the decanter, holding it by its neck before moving it elsewhere, “I can go and ask Briar or one of the kitchen maids if they could prepare-“

“I will eat when my wife is well and not a moment before.”

“What if Amelia doesn’t get better?”

The two men regard one another before Ernest looks away, casting his gaze out the window and to the ground below.

“I do not wish to talk about that.”

“But that is exactly why it needs to be spoken about,” Luke counteracts, “we have all spoken to the Doctor. We know the prognosis-“

“He had no right to discuss Amelia’s condition with any of you,” his exclamation is one of anger, his words laced with emotion and unwarranted venom, “the only one that has any right to know what is going on is me; nobody else.”

“So her brother doesn’t have any right to know how critical her condition is? Her family deserve to-“

“They are not the ones that will feel the impact of her absence the most.”

“No,” Luke’s face falls, his voice taking a sombre tone, “they’re not.”

Ernest retires to his chair, his fingertips gently grasping onto the hem of its material.

“How are you doing? I-I know that is a daft question, but…”

“I honestly cannot recall the last time that someone asked how I was,” Ernest murmurs, “that is not to say that people have not bothered with me, but rather…at least not verbally.”

Luke smiles sadly; Ernest takes his silence as an opportunity to continue.

“Amelia has never been one for fuss,” he smiles sadly as his mind begins to reminisce, “all of this…” he gestures softly with his hand, “all the doting and constant upheaval…it is the last thing that she would have wanted.”

“We do this because we care about her,” Luke interjects, “Amelia is one of us; she is, for better words, the glue that holds us all together.”

“That would be a beautiful sentiment if my wife was not lying unconscious in her death bed.”

“Ernest…”

He stands once more, his unsteady feet subconsciously carrying him over to the window, paying the drop of his name no mind. He remains stood in silence for a moment, his eyes fixated on the curtains before he speaks softly, his voice quiet and sombre, as if his hopefulness has diminished entirely.

“My wife…she is going to die. I cannot and will not sugar-coat it.”

“There is still hope that-“

“Hope?!” Ernest scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, “if that is what you truly believe, then maybe you really are just like the rest.”

There is a short hesitation before Luke stands, brushing away the creases in his jacket.

“I will let that comment pass given the circumstance.”

Ernest remains quiet, his gaze set on the horizon as the sun begins to set once more. Knowing that there is nothing else that he can say to lift Ernest’s spirits, Luke collects his satchel from the ground, eyeing the insignia that has been skilfully carved into the leather.

“You may have given up, My Lord…but I have not,” he pauses momentarily, shouldering the bag, “I promised her father that I would watch over her, and that is what I intend to do.”

He makes his way over to the door, but he is stopped in his path by the sudden intrusion of Miss Sutton, her mouth hanging agape in surprise.

“Forgive me for the interruption…”

“Not at all, M’Lady,” Luke bows his head in acknowledgment before looking over at Ernest, his face aglow with disappointment, “I have nothing more to say.”

He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. As if sensing that he is still not alone, Ernest turns to Teresa, taking yet another sip of the liquor, “to what do I owe the pleasure, Viscountess?”

“The Doctor would like a word. He believes that Amelia might wake soon.”

“Has anything changed since I saw her last?”

“She is less clammy…and a little bit of colour has returned to her cheeks,” Teresa smiles warmly, “Percival is at her bedside with Harry and Briar.”

“I told Nanny Weskit to take him upstairs to bed.”

“He wanted to see his Mama,” she frowns, her brows furrowing slightly, “is that not a good enough reason for him to stay up past his bedtime?”

“Amelia is not his mother.”

“And you are not his father,” Teresa retorts, “but he treats you as such.”

Ernest falls silent, contemplating her words. She folds her arms across her chest, waiting for a response, but receives none. After a few minutes, she sighs in defeat, looking to the floor as she collects her bearings.

“Look…I understand that you are hurting…” she takes a cautious step forward, “but punishing yourself and taking out your frustrations on others…it is not helping, Ernest.”

He turns at the sound of his name, having not expected its use.

“I cannot begin to fathom what you are going through…but pushing us all away when you need us the most? It is not going to help you. It is not what Amelia would want.”

“I…understand.”

“Then let us in,” she walks over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “allow us to help you. We can watch over Amelia…take care of the children-“

“That is my responsibility.”

“This is not something that you should have to shoulder on your own. We are here to support you.”

He smiles sadly, “I highly doubt that our mother-in-law would agree with that.”

“Henrietta refuses to agree with anything unless it directly benefits her,” she returns his smile, “I know that as much as anyone.”

“I am sorry that you have to endure her temperament so frequently.”

She shakes her head dismissively, “both yourself and Amelia have been subjected to much more than I, believe me.” She beams with pride, interlacing her arm with his own, “and with regards to Henrietta, I must insist that you remember that we are both interlinked. Neither you nor I need to face the brunt of her crassness alone.”

“How is that?”

“We married into this family,” her smile brightens as she looks down at her wedding ring, seemingly becoming lost in a memory, “we may not agree with how our mother-in-law chooses to present herself, but we endure her and everything that she throws our way out of the love and respect we have for her children.”

She exhales softly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

“Now, how about you and I join Harry for dinner. I dare not leave him alone with his mother and her meddlesome nature too long.”

“Henrietta is here?”

“Mmmm,” she nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line, “she arrived shortly after the dinner bell was rung.”

“I did not expect her to visit, especially not when Amelia is gravely ill.”

“I am afraid that I do not believe her visit to be for Amelia’s sake but rather her own.”

“She probably wants to witness Amelia herself, seeing as she so desperately clings to the idea that Edgewater rightfully belongs to the Viscount.”

Teresa frowns, casting her gaze downward, “I do wish that you would refrain from discussing Amelia like that, but I…I will not question your grievance.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the dining room, I believe.”

“Then I shall need you to deliver my apologies to the Viscount, for I do not wish to see her face at this given time.” He pauses, “nor will I sit for a meal whilst my beloved is unwell.”

“At least escort me down there,” her words befall that of a plea, “that way you are not left to stew in your own thoughts any longer than you have to be.”

Ernest hesitates, the notion causing him to bristle…but eventually, he nods.

“I…alright.”

The pair begin to walk down the hall towards the dining room, Teresa trying to engage Ernest in gregarious conversation, but as they turn the corner, a frosty voice calls out to them from ahead. Teresa stops almost immediately, her eyes met by an icy blue glare.

“I see that you have taken it upon yourself to entertain your wiles, Miss Sutton.”

“I was simply checking on Mr Sinclaire, Mother,” her last word spoken hastily with a hint of frustration, “it is his family that we are here to see.”

“Keeping company with your sister’s husband alone?” She tuts slightly, “whatever will the servants think?”

“I should hope that they would appreciate my compassion for the Countess’ husband and her children whilst she is ill.”

Henrietta huffs in annoyance, having not expecting Teresa’s witty retort.

“Careful now, Miss Sutton,” she smiles smugly, her words harsh and condescending, “the last thing you want is to be labelled as his dalliance.”

“To even suggest the notion-“

Henrietta chuckles to herself, swiftly changing the target of her bemusement as Ernest stutters, his cheeks reddening with anger.

“Why are you getting so defensive over a baseless accusation?” She feigns surprise, a gasp of shock escaping her lips, “unless…unless there is some truth to it…”

“I have not and will never entertain the company of another woman. I am faithful to my wife!”

“But is she faithful to you, my Lord?”

Ernest inhales sharply, his eyes widening as his anger begins to boil over. After a moment of silence, he calls out to a member of his household as the lady passes him by.

“Forgive me for troubling you, Cecelia, but I am afraid that I am in need of a favour most urgently.”

The young woman bows her head in acknowledgement, “of course, Sir. What is it that you require?”

“Have a note sent to the Marlcaster estate. Tell them that my darling Mother-in-Law requires a carriage to escort her home at the earliest convenience.”

“But that is not-“

He holds up his hand, the gesture seeming to silence her immediately.

“Tell him that his mother has grown tired and wishes to rest in the comfort of her guest bed.”

“That is a LIE!” Henrietta snipes, turning swiftly with a scowl to face the maid, “I am not some old crone that takes naps in the daylight or needs assistance to complete the smallest of tasks. I am the mother of a Viscount! I DEMAND to be treated as such, even by YOU, Mr Sinclaire.” She smirks coyly, “you are forgetting your station, Sir.”

“And you seem to have forgotten whose home you currently reside.”

He regards Cecelia once more, his expression shifting to one of warmth, “I have changed my mind. Please forget everything that I told you to write down.”

“Do you…not request a carriage, My Lord?”

“On the contrary,” he looks down at his wrists as he speaks, reaching to adjust the cuffs of his shirt, “I do still require a carriage, though I am afraid that the wait is too long for my taste.” He lifts his gaze once more, fixing it on Henrietta, “ask Mr Harris if he would be so kind as to escort her ladyship back to her residence instead. Tell him that I shall pay him triple for his service.”

“And the note?”

“Kindly inform Edmund that his mother is no longer welcome at the Edgewater estate, for neither myself nor my staff are able to entertain her inexcusable and downright insulting presence any longer.”

“H-how dare you-“

“I am not finished,” he interjects, retrieving a pouch of coins from his pocket; he passes it over to Cecelia, his eyes still fixed on Henrietta, “this is a gesture of goodwill, see to it that Mr Marlcaster receives it. Maybe he might be able to purchase himself some earplugs to drown out her irritating voice.”

“Would you please just stop with that incessant whining,” he replies coldly, “my wife is on her death bed, and rather than be by her side I am stood here with you. Do you still not see why I am insulted by your mere presence at this hour?”

To Teresa’s surprise, Henrietta quietens. A young stable-hand approaches, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

“My Lord.”

“See to it that the lady finds her way to a carriage and out of my sight.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

Ernest responds with a curt nod; he spares her no second glance, instead turning on his heel and making his way back along the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing as Henrietta is removed from the house. Teresa follows along after him, her footsteps hurried.

“Sir, you are going the wrong way!”

“My apologies, Miss Sutton.” He continues on, quickening his pace as he heads towards the stairwell, “but I must bid you goodnight.”

“What about escorting me to dinner?”

“I have spent so long dwelling on what may come to pass that I have forgotten to focus on the present,” he regards Teresa over his shoulder, “I am sorry, Miss Sutton. I know that I agreed to accompany you, but my priority must be my wife and child.”

Before she can get a word out, Ernest disappears up the stairs, completely blanking those that he passes on his way. Dejected, Teresa turns back in the direction to which she came, only to bump into Mr Harper.

“Where has he gone now?”

“Upstairs,” she sighs softly, looking at the flowers that decorate the railings, “he has gone to be with her.”

“Without dinner?”

“He will not eat, Mr Harper. He will not eat or drink…I fear that he is unwell.”

“He is concerned for Amelia’s welfare. We all are.”

“And what if he decides to journey down the wrong path? I worry for him.”

“As do I,” Luke smiles sadly, “but he is tending to Amelia. He will not leave her side.”

“He should be resting."

“I agree,” he tips his head, “but it is also a good thing.”

“How? I am afraid that I do not follow."

“If he is with Amelia, then we know where to find him.”

“And if he starts to spiral?”

“Then we will be there to catch him,” Luke’s gaze travels to the landing above, his smile softening as he notes the opening and closing of Amelia’s chamber door, “I made a promise…and I intend to keep it.”

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #choices d&d #desire and decorum #ernest sinclaire #ernest sinclaire x mc

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missameliep · 2 years

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You're my oasis (Desire and Decorum AU! - Prince Hamid x OC)

Book: Desire and Decorum - Modern AU

Pairing: Hamid Osmanoglu x Elizabeth Foredale (OC)

Rating: PG (tw: kissing)

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Fast-forward to a couple of weeks into their new and unlabelled relationship, Hamid is coming back to London earlier from a trip because all he wants is to see his not-girlfriend Elizabeth.

Notes:

Prince Hamid belongs to Pixelberry;

This fic belongs to the Second Chances-verse;

Fic inspired by the prompt: "I could kiss you for hours" by @screnwriter (kissing starters);

This is my late submission to Day 02: ladybug | potion | Love Confession of @choicesjuly2022challenge (thanks for hosting it @peonyblossom ☺️);

English is not my first language.

I dedicate this fic to my dear friend and birthday girl @lorirwritesfanfic - my dearest, I know this is not a Damid fic, but I hope some fluff for Elizabeth x Hamid makes you smile today. I'm wishing you the happiest of birthdays and many wonderful things. Happy birthday! 🥳🎂💐🎉🧁🎁💝

The cab parked outside the building, Hamid paid the driver and got out with the carry-on luggage. The moment he stepped into the pavement, he pulled at the lapel of his overcoat to protect his neck from the gust of wind. He was back at London.

He was home.

His gaze travelled upwards, hoping the lights at his flat would be on, indicating Elizabeth’s presence. The brightness in his room prompted the corners of his lips to pull in an unabashed smile that almost reached his ears.

Ten days.

This is the longest they’ve been apart since their friendship morphed into this new and unlabelled relationship. The ache and longing in his heart indicate it was too soon to be away from her now that they finally got together. However, considering how much he yearns for her, would it ever be any different? He hopes not. Why would he ever want this flame inside his chest to die off?

Anyone who’s ever been in love can understand the feeling and why he’s changed his flight back to London. Not his mother, of course. Even though the odds of her being understanding about his choice were practically zero to begin with, he was not expecting her to be so vocal and make it everyone's problem. Last minute changes of plans were a common occurrence when it comes to Raisa's only son, but he assumes the issue is not so much about missing two days of his company rather than why he's going back earlier.

His sisters, on the other hand, were all but supportive. Not only did they book this flight for him, but Malak drove him to the airport and with Nesrim gave him plenty of relationship advice to not mess things up despite never even meeting Elizabeth personally. This is the first time in many years his sisters are invested in one of his relationship, and this being the one brings him immense joy.

From the pavement he sprinted inside the building, shoe soles clicking sharply against the lobby’s floor, making one of his neighbours jump with surprise on his way out of the lift with his Pomeranian. The tiny bouncing ball of fluff almost entangled its leash around Hamid’s legs in its eagerness to go outside, while he was crowding the way with his luggage.

Chuckling, Hamid apologised, getting out of the way, and rushed into the lift once it’s empty.

His eyes stare at the numbers at the display. 1.

Was it always this slow?

His fingers unbutton his overcoat quickly and he shrugs it off. His body is tingling with anticipation. He’s practically bouncing inside the metal box.

When could he ever imagine coming home would become so thrilling, something he longs for!

When the doors finally open, instead of rolling the luggage, he pulls it up from the floor and dashes forward, stopping a few metres before getting to the end of the hallway where the flat is located. Taking a deep breath, his fingers pull his dark hair back, and he walks carefully to not give away he’s getting home, because catching Elizabeth by surprise is one of his favourite things, and even more so watching her comfortably lounging in his place, unaware of his gaze. It always makes him think about a more permanent arrangement, one where she would stay.

Too soon, he chides himself.

The same cautious procedure is adopted when he slips out of his shoes and unlocks the door. With a soft click he closes it behind him, leaving his shoes, overcoat and luggage by the door without a second thought.

Gliding in his socks, he discerns the light by the end of the corridor in the otherwise dark flat.

Softly, the song Bir Pazar Kahvaltısıpop plays in the bedroom, and he smiles at the realization she’s probably listening to the playlist he made for her when they were just friends but he wished to be so much more.

When he reaches the door, he lingers in silence, enjoying the view: sitting cross-legged at the bed, Elizabeth's hair is pulled up in a high bun, she's wearing his orange jumper, which hangs loose on her smaller frame, the sleeves much too large for her arms, yet completely perfect. An open notebook lies on her lap and her eyes are fixed on the e-reader in one hand. Without tearing her eyes off from what she’s reading, her free hand gently strokes his cat Leia, who sleeps curled against her thigh. Staring at the scene, his smile becomes a wide grin at how absolutely perfect this is.

His heart is full of what he hasn’t declared with proper words - at least not ones in a language she can understand. Despite being eager to confess his love in all the languages he’s familiar with, he knows he should wait for the perfect occasion. Wait until she's comfortable with the changes and to not shy her away. He'll wait until she's ready.

However, waiting becomes more challenging by the day.

His sisters, who know him better than anyone, saw right through him and recognized the way his heart was not in most things he was doing these past days. Not that he was unhappy to spend days with his family, on the contrary. He had a wonderful time with all of them and particularly with his nephew; Cemil is such an energetic baby and hearing him say Hamid dayı just made his days brighter. He definitely enjoyed meeting his friends from university and partying with Kerem and Ozan in their fancy home with their glamourous friends at Muğla. But even at times like those, when he was completely in his element, his mind drifted to Elizabeth. Every funny joke or awestruck sight he wished to share with her. Whenever they texted and video chatted, he wished they were together. The evening she fell asleep before he could call her was dreadful. He needed to hear her voice like he needs air. He longed to be with her like he never longed to be with anyone else. He missed even the most mundane activities they did together, like going grocery shopping or binge-watching series in his couch.

Now that he’s here and she’s at the reach of his hands, it’s like completing a puzzle. His heart soars.

His presence seems to draw Leia’s attention. The cat’s blue eyes flutter open and she sniffs the air for a second, then stretches her paws, curling her back and launches herself to the floor, meowing loudly in his direction, like she always does when he comes back home.

Startled by the sudden movement and noise, Elizabeth’s gaze tears from the reading to follow the cat and find Hamid standing by the door with one of his bright and perfect smiles.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes shining with adoration. “Is that my jumper?” His index finger points at her, and her eyes widen.

“You’re back!” the surprise echoing in her voice makes her statement sound more like a question.

“Did you miss me?”

Placing the e-reader down, she slides off the bed. In her eagerness, she forgets about the notebook in her lap, that drops with a dull thump to the floor, startling them. But it’s not enough to break the spell.

Moving around the outraged cat, Hamid starts in her direction, and she lunges forward to meet his open arms.

His arms encircle her tightly around the waist, pulling her body flush against his chest, and he twirls her around. A little squeal escapes her lips. The bedroom is filled with the sounds of their laughs, and the protests of the cat before Leia scurries away.

When he puts Elizabeth down, she throws her arms around his neck and gaze up at him with a joyful smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.

Allah, she looks even more beautiful than when I left!

He dips his head and kisses her, his Elizabeth.

His soft lips glide against hers smoothly, and she sighs with contentment. At first, they are smiling too much into the kiss to enjoy it properly. It takes but a moment for them to adjust and revel on each other's touch.

Elizabeth is an oasis. Like a thirsty man who braved the inhospitable desert, he returns to her, drinking her in, his only need.

Raising on her tiptoes, she returns the gesture with similar passion. Delving her fingers into the hair of the back of his head, she keeps their faces close, until breathless they must part.

Pulling away just enough to look into her eyes, he cups her cheeks, grinning. “I’m assuming the answer to my question is ‘yes’…”

“Less talking and more kissing, dude,” she chides him, but there’s only glee in her tone.

“As you wish,” he whispers and closes the gap between them to pepper her lips, jaw and neck with another round of kisses, increasingly longer and more passionate.

He inhales deeply, her perfume mixed with his own, and he sighs against her neck, “I could kiss you for hours.”

“I would like that very much,” she whispers. “Unfortunately, I have a test tomorrow morning…”

“I consider awfully rude of your professor to schedule a test when I have plans to make up for lost time…”

“I’m sure Mrs. Larsson can be blamed for a number of things, but definitely not for this, considering you were not supposed to be back at London before Saturday afternoon…” she jokes, stroking his hair. “I’m not complaining or anything, but… did something happen?”

Raising his face from the crook of her neck, he met her slightly concerned stare.

“Yes, it did,” he stated in a serious manner, that made her flinch a little. “My sisters and basically everyone around me were annoyed by my incessant chatter about my girlfriend and decided to kick me out of Turkey. I’m only allowed to ever go back if I take you with me.”

“Oh!” Her green eyes rounded, and he wondered if he said anything wrong or too scary. His hands grasped at the jumper tightly to keep her steady.

“Girlfriend?” she asked tentatively.

Rubbing the back of his head with one hand, he questioned, “Too soon?”

The alluring hue of pink he adores spread over her cheeks, and she shook her head. When her eyes met his, they were sparkling with a hint of elation, and he let out a relieved sigh.

“Does that mean you missed me?” she asked softly, gazing into his eyes.

“I changed my flight…”

“You do love travelling…”

He chuckled. “I do,” he said while his thumb caressed the outer corner of her lips, tracing its outline, and lingering on the perfect shape of her cupid’s bow. Lowering his voice to a softer tone, he continued, “But, if you must know, lately I’ve been more enraptured with coming back home than going away. And you’re the reason.”

Her gaze lowered, as if she needed a moment to really take in what he was saying, then she looked back up, beaming.

“Why don’t I prepare you something to eat, while you take a shower, and you can fill me in all your adventures? I have many follow-up questions about the yacht incident.”

“That sounds wonderful!" He kissed the tip of her nose. "I have the best girlfriend in the whole world.”

“She’s simply happy to have her boyfriend back.”

“I like the sound of it.” He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her gently. “Say it again.”

“Boyfriend,” she whispered against his lips, and he smiled. “Now, go shower.”

“Just one more kiss...” he pleaded with puppy dog eyes, and she cupped his face and pulled him into a lingering kiss.

When he tried to pin her to the wall, she wiggled and escaped his hands. Her chuckles contrasted with his whinnying.

"Don't keep me waiting," she dared.

Pouting, he let her walk away.

When she looked at him over her shoulder, he winked, and she smiled and blew him a kiss.

Judging by the big smile curling her mouth, this step was much easier than he anticipated. Alas, the next chapters of their story will go as smoothly.

---------------------------------------

Note:

dayı - Turkish word meaning uncle.

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