st_illunsmeared | [For Jack] I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Entry tags:

jack,
phryne

[For Jack] I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Jack's question and the exchange that followed, still lingered in Phryne's mind a half hour later when they arrived back at her room. He'd been very chary of anything that might sound like he was trying to tie her down, which she appreciated, but perhaps a bit too chary.

The nature of their relationship clearly had changed. No longer did she expect "no" when, as now, she asked, "Will you come in for a drink?" and opened her door to step through. If he did say "no" now, it would be because he concretely had something else to do, and even so, she would be put out to be deprived of his company--and his kisses.

Tonight, they'd already agreed he'd join her, so the invitation was mere nicety, a playful nod to all the many evenings past they'd spent in each other's company. So, she'd already sailed through the door and headed toward her boudoir without waiting for his response. "I'll be just a minute while I slip into something more comfortable."

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As always, they were in sync. Phryne let herself be pulled, let herself respond more strongly than she had done - they'd both been holding back, which was an oddly comforting thought even if it was nearly lost in the sudden rush of long-suppressed desire. As they had throughout this long courtship, they were in the same place together, albeit from different angles.

The negligee was short, and Jack let his free hand slide up her thigh and under that scandalously short hem almost immediately. Her skin was soft and warm, and he needed to touch her, needed to have more than her mouth and the back of her neck as points of contact.

Honestly, Phryne could have wept for the feel of his hands on her bare skin. It ached from lack of touch, from lack of his touch. In all her life she'd not waited so long for the caress of one man's hands. "Jack," she whispered against his mouth, affirmation, invitation, welcome, and slipped her hand into the back of his hair.

She could have slipped out of her drawers and onto him without so much as a stroke, but it would be over far too quickly, and Jack Robinson was a man to be savored. Appreciated. So she would. But first, she needed to be closer still, and slid up into his lap, straddling him.

Previously, that move would have signaled the beginning of the end, so to speak. That they would need to separate to maintain... sanity, he'd thought, but for the life of him Jack couldn't imagine now why that had been important.

Much more important was how easy it was to keep moving his hand, feeling warm skin under that ridiculously short nightdress. IT was even easier to get impatient and peel it off completely, even if he had to stop kissing her to do it.

It wasn't like Phryne to be impatient about having her mouth on her partner's, but everything about being with Jack was different. Kissing stopped functioning as a means of sharing sexual sensations and became a necessity, a means of breathing. So that when he pulled away from her, a quiet protest slipped from her lips, until she realized he meant to extend his attentions rather than cease them, and then she could scarcely be stopped from removing the slip herself.

Scarcely, but she did allow him the pleasure of undressing her, as there seemed no point in abandoning his timetable now, after all these many months. That was not to say, however, that she remained passive under his hands. Whenever his attentions permitted, she attended the removing of his shirt, and between heated breaths drifted among wisps of wonder that his chest beneath her hands and lips seemed more erotic than entire past encounters.

Getting clothing off was definitely the next order of business, but helping too much with that process by, say, pulling his arms out of sleeves meant taking his hands off Phryne. Being skin-to-skin with her was a worthwhile reward, yes, but not taking full advantage of a mostly-naked Phryne writhing against him still felt like too high a price.

Still, once his shirt was off, an actual thought managed to intrude. Was he really going to allow his first time with Phryne to be a desperate-if-satisfying encounter on her couch? When the full space of her bed was so nearby? No. Obscurely, it was important that taking Phryne to bed involved an actual bed.

Fortunately, that was a simple enough matter. He slid his arms around her and supporting her, incidentally encouraging her legs (bare legs, God, soft skin and firm muscle) to wrap around his waist, before picking them both up.

Phryne needed very little encouragement in the matter. In fact, when Jack's designs became apparent, she showed him a delighted (but small, intimate, true) smile and wound both arms and legs around him. "You're surprising me again, Jack," she accused breathlessly while her hand smoothed through his hair.

And why not? The nipples of her high, firm breasts pebbled against his bare chest, nothing separated him from her but her very fine silk drawers, and nothing separated her from him that couldn't be promptly dealt with provided he removed his shoes. Nothing touched her but air, Jack's clothes, and Jack. This was as fine a state of affairs as she could imagine, and one she'd ceased permitting herself to imagine would happen any time soon.

"I'll take any opportunity that comes to me in that respect," Jack replied, not even remotely as evenly as he might have in other circumstances, since in this circumstance his mouth had better things to do than frame words. Such as trace her jawline and down her throat with kisses.

And further down to her collarbone and breasts once he actually got her on the bed. For a second, whatever parts of him weren't occupied reeled. Even here in the Inn, even after they'd had more than one near miss, he couldn't quite believe that he was really in Phryne Fisher's bed.

Fortunately Phryne read "Jack" far more fluently than she spoke him, and when her mind ceased whirling for a moment, she had no trouble translating words, deeds, motions into Jack incredulous and... happy, she thought. Maybe surprised to find himself in this position tonight. Less fortunately, body aflame with his kisses--not tentative but exploratory, her disfluency with "Jack" made speaking more difficult.

So she spoke "Phryne" instead, not content to be the passive subject of his worship, and drew her toes up the back of his leg in an exploration of her own. She'd waited as long as he had, after all, and doubtless had the more vivid fantasies of moving beneath him, over him, beside him and in every other possible alignment of their bodies. She did manage to translate for him with the caress of her fingertips against the side of his face and jaw and a murmured, "You may have all the opportunities you wish, as long as I don't have to pretend I don't want this with you anymore."

"Never." Had they really pretended? Jack hadn't thought so, but perhaps to someone like Phryne wanting something and deliberately turning away from it was the same thing as pretending not to want it at all. Either way, the prospect of having all the opportunities he wanted was enticing enough not to seriously consider arguing semantics.

And there was plenty of bare skin to taste, which he did with what he hoped was acceptable finesse while toeing off his shoes with far less care than he usually took with them.

Jack's lips and tongue ghosted over her skin and her body arched into him without need for her conscious direction. That was, in all, rather fortunate, since her brain had lodged somewhere between wanting and having and seemed rather firmly stuck there.

She did manage to place the twin thuds as his shoes finding the floor, and greeted the event with a heated sigh. "I've grown tired of satisfying myself with thoughts of you, Jack." And as she spoke, she stroked her fingertips down the cut of his hips and then between them to his belt. "I'm afraid nothing but the genuine article will suffice."

Jack actually chuckled against her skin. How Phryne could make him laugh, in a moment as serious as both of them getting what they'd wanted for who knew how much of their acquaintance, was a mystery. Not one he felt compelled to solve, to boot - it was simply Phryne, as much so as her moving to meet his mouth as perfectly as they finished each other's thoughts at times. "You say that as though I've some intention of leaving."

"No, darling--"

Her voice dropped off as she got his belt open and finally got a hand around him. For a few very heated moments, she could only breathe against his neck and jaw while she learned the intimate feel of him. Strange that she'd held so many men this way, but none had ever provoked such a storm of arousal and emotion that she had to take shelter in kissing and mouthing bare skin and finally in sealing their mouths together again.

At length, she released him from the kiss (without releasing him from her intimate explorations) to finish her earlier thought. "I say that as though I refuse to be dreaming again."

God, just her hand was heaven. Somehow, in the (usually guilty) fantasies he'd entertained in the past he'd never actually tried to imagine what any part of Phryne Fisher would feel like: not hands, nor mouth, nor any part. He'd known, perhaps, that any imagining would fall short of the actual feeling. "If you were dreaming, love, you'd have had my trousers off long before now."

"I'll have you know, I was very patient with undressing you in my dreams. Such delights are to be savored," she countered and proceeded to demonstrate by pushing him over to uncover him one inch, one kiss, one caress at a time.

When at last she had him stripped, that patience had run out. Every sense was replete with him, and she herself filled to bursting with desire. Much to his credit, Jack sensed it as it happened, as he often did with her other needs and moved to answer the ache in her core and her chest as confidently as he'd kissed her the first day she found him. And for the next several hours, neither mystery, nor crisis, nor even Dot intruded on the world they found together.

Much later, sprawled decadently and quite fantastically nude on her bed, she recalled his words about his trousers and, more particularly, recalled a particular word that hadn't distressed her at all. Smiling intimately against the skin of his chest, she murmured, "I'm convinced. This is no dream."

"I shudder to think what more proof you'd need." The word Jack used was 'shudder', but the idea of proving this wasn't a dream all over again was an attractive one. After a brief rest, of course. He kissed Phryne's hair, likely more relaxed than he'd been in... years, possibly. "Fortunately you're not that skeptical."

"I could be," she offered and propped herself up to smile down at him. Because she could, she trailed her fingers over his chest, caressing the defining lines of muscle. "If it would induce you to prove it again." The smile she gave him was soft, ineffably fond and intimate, and it curled with a sweet, forgotten warmth all through her. "Love, wasn't it?"

"I've every intention of proving it to you repeatedly." Over the long-term, though as repeatedly in one night as Jack could manage. They had been doing their seduction waltz for a long time, after all. "And it was, unless you prefer not." There were, after all, other endearments.

There was a vast difference, Phryne discovered, in hearing such words from Jack than in hearing them from any other man. Many men desired her, but Jack had been the unreachable pinnacle, the Mt. Kilmanjaro of men. That he felt comfortable enough to tease her with intimate promises sent a delicious shiver down her spine. And she felt no prospect of that peak being any less exciting to ascend now that she'd done so. In fact, she quite liked the view from here.

"If you'd asked me beforehand, I would have objected thoroughly." Which now seemed a curious and incomprehensible fact. "But I think I like being your 'love', Jack. If you mean it."

"Have I ever said anything I didn't mean?" Yes, but only when what he actually did mean was entirely obvious, and the contrary words just underscored it. This was definitely not one of those times. "I absolutely mean this."

Phryne went still and very quiet. It was one thing to tease, quite another to have him come so close to saying it. Her fingers trembled where they rested on his chest from a surfeit of emotion, and a wild surge of nerves.

It was close to a minute before she said quietly, "Do you know," voice lifting in half a question. "I haven't let a man confess that sort of feeling for me for..." The trembling in her fingers increased and she pressed them down against his skin to make them stop. "A very long time." He knew how long, or could guess at least. "I like hearing it from you, but you won't be hurt, will you, if I can't say them in return now?" God knew she loved him as much as she'd loved any man, but she needed time and much more of this before she could tell him.

Rather than answer immediately, Jack considered. It was a serious question, worth considering, and a quick answer would (rightfully) also be a suspicious one.

Almost certainly, the last man that Phryne had allowed the word 'love' from was the detestable René, who hadn't known or been capable of it. And while Jack was absolutely certain that Phryne knew he was nothing like that, it was still going to come up. The habits and instincts of years, particularly those born of self-defense, didn't disappear after one night. Jack had little doubt of her feelings, now, and the fact that she didn't squirm under his... "No, love," he said finally, punctuating the assurance with a kiss, "I don't expect or require words from you until you choose to say them."

This was precisely how he'd gotten under her skin in the first place, by knowing her even when she didn't reveal herself, by being observant enough to understand that courting her required every bit as much patience after the having as it had him before it. The answer she gave came first in kisses, warm and intimate against his throat and shoulder, then in the look in her eyes when she lifted her head, soft and shining, and then in the tender trace of her fingertips over his jaw and face.

Speaking took a long while, but when she did, it was to say simple, "Thank you for that, Jack."

Why would he need words when he had her mouth, and her eyes, and her touch? Even just before their marriage had ended, right up to the day she'd moved out, I love yous had been punctuation for him and Rosie - part of saying hello, or goodbye, or phone conversations. Jack, of all people, knew how little the words actually meant. The substance, which Phryne was more than willing to provide, was the important part.

Not that he didn't intend to tease her, occasionally and gently. "Of course. It gives me something to look forward to, you know."

Darling Jack. It was so like him to tease that she felt the tension of the moment receding, the sentiments still potent but without the fear. But if he would tease, she could also. "Darling, how long has it been since you've been with a woman? Trust me--" She drew her kisses down his chest and when she'd neared his belly, she flipped the blanket over her shoulders and grinned up at him. "You have plenty to look forward to."

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[For Jack] I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

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