Confessions
Author: persephone33
Rating: G
Word count: 1454
Pairing: Roger/Astoria
Spoilers: None for canon. This is all in my head.
Warnings: Weird POV. Sorry. And it's unbeta'd.
Author's Note: I hadn't written anything for months and months. And then this. You know, sometimes you're just inspired. *shrug*
He sees her through the throngs of people, and his hand moves instantly to the tie at his collar, tucking in a finger and loosening the silk noose slightly. There are a million people here, all of them her sort and not his, and it takes everything in him not to walk up to her directly and ask her to come down to the corner bar with him to talk for a bit.
But that isn’t subtle. She’d commented on his lack of subtlety and boorishness before, and he was damned if he’d let himself do that again.
He’s surprised when he’s stopped at one of her parties by a few of his fans, and he signs autographs, shakes some hands, and by the time he gets to her, he’s feeling slightly more at ease and a bit more confident than when he’d arrived.
Until she turns around.
She’s exquisite, like carved alabaster, her dark curls tumbling down her back, all wrapped up in a scrap of lace and doused with something feminine scented, and it wipes his mind of anything coherent that might be fortunate enough to come out of his mouth. Her lips form an o of surprise for a split second before she recovers and quirks a brow at him, smoothing her dress primly.
“I didn’t realize you’d be here this evening.”
So he wasn’t welcome. He feels his shoulders sag a bit and rolls his eyes at himself. He could have any other girl he wanted, but this one was the one he always comes back to, this one was the one he sees behind his eyelids before he falls asleep, this one was the one he wanted in his bed - to stay, not just for an evening.
She’s looking at him expectantly, and he presses his lips together before answering, “I was sent an invitation.”
That was his opening salvo. Brilliant. It was a wonder the girl wasn’t throwing herself at his feet. Besides, it was obvious that she hadn’t sent it. Some assistant, or other paperwork flunkie would have handled that for her, and he was on a charitable donor list, he supposed. In any case, he looked like a first rate arse, crashing her party.
“I know you were sent an invitation. I didn’t think you’d come.”
He frowns. Is it possible that this woman has absolutely no idea what she does to him? She kills him a bit inside each and every time she’s near him. With a look, or a touch, or -God forbid- a smile, he dies.
“Why wouldn’t I come?”
She fixes him with the gaze that makes want curl in his chest and says, “I think a better question might be ‘Why would you?’”
She doesn’t. She doesn’t know. And now this is his opportunity to not be a colossal coward and actually tell her. He takes two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and offers one to her. She politely puts her still half full glass on the bar behind her and accepts his, taking a dainty sip.
“I’m here because-”
And he’s interrupted by a well-wisher, a donor and then a wealthy patron, and he smiles as she greets each one deftly in turn. He can’t take up her time with his petty issues tonight. This is her evening. The one she’s waited so long for, and he had no right to show up here with his heart in his hand, longing for a moment to right all his wrongs and reverse his mistakes.
Tonight isn’t that night. He stands on the fringes of the crowd, having forgettable conversations with several people, always watching her, and never having her make eye contact with him. He tortures himself for nearly two hours before he finishes his drink, tosses a tip on the bar and heads out into the night.
The cold air is bracing; at least it goes a little way to clearing his head of muddled thoughts and half-cocked dreams. He flips up his collar up against the wind and hunkers down into his coat, walking briskly toward somewhere, anywhere else.
“Where are you off to?”
Her voice rings through the stillness of the night, and as he turns, he can see her, cheeks pink in the cold, wrapping a fur trimmed cloak around her and fastening it as she walks toward him. Her voice is disappointed. “You’re leaving.”
He’s upset her. He’s done it again, and he’s not even meant to. It’s one of the only things in the world that he’s brilliant at.
“I - yeah. I was. Leaving, that is.” He nods sheepishly.
She stares at him again, and he can see her make a decision behind her lovely brown eyes. She nods back at him, and then closes the distance between them. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you how much it meant to me that you came at all.” She leans up and places her lips against the stubble of his cheek - Why the hell hadn’t he shaved?- and kisses him chastely, leaning up on her tiptoes as she does so.
He can smell her perfume, feel the warmth radiating off of her, sense her own unique energy that comes off of her in waves, and as it always has, it paralyzes him. She leans back and looks at him for a moment, then her face goes blank again. Whatever decision she’s made, it’s over. When she turns to go, his heart screams at him, and it jerks him out of his reverie. He reaches out and gently takes her wrist. “Please, don’t go.”
Her expression is shock and surprise and utter astonishment, and fearing that he’s hurt her somehow, even as he was careful not to, he drops her wrist. “Sorry. But, please. I- just- I mean, I-”
She sighs. Not heavily, but it’s a delicately frustrated sigh, and it’s all he can do not to scream. Why is it so hard around this woman? The only one that he couldn’t seem to charm at twenty paces?
“You what?” she asks patiently, her eyes casting downward where their hands met moments earlier.
“I’m an idiot.”
Her lips curl in a smile, and shakes her head. “No. Try again.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Her eyes actually sparkle in the lamplight, and she laughs softly. “There. Was that so very hard?”
“Harder than you might think.”
She softens, and reaches for his hand, which her gives her readily, squeezing it gently.
When she replies with, “I’ve missed you, too,” he thinks that his heart might stop with the shock of it all. “You- what?”
“I have.” She begins to lead him back towards the party and the throngs of people. He knows she’s cold and can’t stand to keep her out in the weather any longer than he has to, but there’s one more thing, and it doesn’t want to have it happen in front of her guests.
Before they get to the heavy wooden doors, he tugs her back a step. She stops compliantly and looks up at him, and he smiles at her. An easy smile. One he’s given to her countless times, only this time, it means something different. She’s achingly beautiful, a sculpture all to herself, and he raises a hand to her cheek, marvelling in it’s smoothness. She’s small, so when he leans in to her there can be no mistaking what he’s going to do, his lips find hers and they’re as sweet as he remembers, her body as pliant when he pulls her close to him and her hands curled in his coat lapels every bit as tenacious. He was an idiot for staying away from her, no matter what she thinks.
After several minutes of letting him get reacquainted with her lips, she pulls away, leaving a last, soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Come back in,” she says, nodding her head toward the party.
He starts to demur, to say that he’s got to be up early and needs to be home, until she tilts her head and fixes him with that stare of hers. “Come in with me. As my date.”
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Well, strictly speaking, he does, but sharing her with those people for the next hour seems a small price to pay for getting her all to himself afterward.
He nods and she rewards him with a kiss, slipping her arms inside his coat and resting them at his waist. “I’m glad you came, you know.”
He looks down at her, this perfect, porcelain girl who’s held his heart since he could remember. He smiles and whispers a heartfelt, “I am, too.”
Rating: G
Word count: 1454
Pairing: Roger/Astoria
Spoilers: None for canon. This is all in my head.
Warnings: Weird POV. Sorry. And it's unbeta'd.
Author's Note: I hadn't written anything for months and months. And then this. You know, sometimes you're just inspired. *shrug*
He sees her through the throngs of people, and his hand moves instantly to the tie at his collar, tucking in a finger and loosening the silk noose slightly. There are a million people here, all of them her sort and not his, and it takes everything in him not to walk up to her directly and ask her to come down to the corner bar with him to talk for a bit.
But that isn’t subtle. She’d commented on his lack of subtlety and boorishness before, and he was damned if he’d let himself do that again.
He’s surprised when he’s stopped at one of her parties by a few of his fans, and he signs autographs, shakes some hands, and by the time he gets to her, he’s feeling slightly more at ease and a bit more confident than when he’d arrived.
Until she turns around.
She’s exquisite, like carved alabaster, her dark curls tumbling down her back, all wrapped up in a scrap of lace and doused with something feminine scented, and it wipes his mind of anything coherent that might be fortunate enough to come out of his mouth. Her lips form an o of surprise for a split second before she recovers and quirks a brow at him, smoothing her dress primly.
“I didn’t realize you’d be here this evening.”
So he wasn’t welcome. He feels his shoulders sag a bit and rolls his eyes at himself. He could have any other girl he wanted, but this one was the one he always comes back to, this one was the one he sees behind his eyelids before he falls asleep, this one was the one he wanted in his bed - to stay, not just for an evening.
She’s looking at him expectantly, and he presses his lips together before answering, “I was sent an invitation.”
That was his opening salvo. Brilliant. It was a wonder the girl wasn’t throwing herself at his feet. Besides, it was obvious that she hadn’t sent it. Some assistant, or other paperwork flunkie would have handled that for her, and he was on a charitable donor list, he supposed. In any case, he looked like a first rate arse, crashing her party.
“I know you were sent an invitation. I didn’t think you’d come.”
He frowns. Is it possible that this woman has absolutely no idea what she does to him? She kills him a bit inside each and every time she’s near him. With a look, or a touch, or -God forbid- a smile, he dies.
“Why wouldn’t I come?”
She fixes him with the gaze that makes want curl in his chest and says, “I think a better question might be ‘Why would you?’”
She doesn’t. She doesn’t know. And now this is his opportunity to not be a colossal coward and actually tell her. He takes two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and offers one to her. She politely puts her still half full glass on the bar behind her and accepts his, taking a dainty sip.
“I’m here because-”
And he’s interrupted by a well-wisher, a donor and then a wealthy patron, and he smiles as she greets each one deftly in turn. He can’t take up her time with his petty issues tonight. This is her evening. The one she’s waited so long for, and he had no right to show up here with his heart in his hand, longing for a moment to right all his wrongs and reverse his mistakes.
Tonight isn’t that night. He stands on the fringes of the crowd, having forgettable conversations with several people, always watching her, and never having her make eye contact with him. He tortures himself for nearly two hours before he finishes his drink, tosses a tip on the bar and heads out into the night.
The cold air is bracing; at least it goes a little way to clearing his head of muddled thoughts and half-cocked dreams. He flips up his collar up against the wind and hunkers down into his coat, walking briskly toward somewhere, anywhere else.
“Where are you off to?”
Her voice rings through the stillness of the night, and as he turns, he can see her, cheeks pink in the cold, wrapping a fur trimmed cloak around her and fastening it as she walks toward him. Her voice is disappointed. “You’re leaving.”
He’s upset her. He’s done it again, and he’s not even meant to. It’s one of the only things in the world that he’s brilliant at.
“I - yeah. I was. Leaving, that is.” He nods sheepishly.
She stares at him again, and he can see her make a decision behind her lovely brown eyes. She nods back at him, and then closes the distance between them. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you how much it meant to me that you came at all.” She leans up and places her lips against the stubble of his cheek - Why the hell hadn’t he shaved?- and kisses him chastely, leaning up on her tiptoes as she does so.
He can smell her perfume, feel the warmth radiating off of her, sense her own unique energy that comes off of her in waves, and as it always has, it paralyzes him. She leans back and looks at him for a moment, then her face goes blank again. Whatever decision she’s made, it’s over. When she turns to go, his heart screams at him, and it jerks him out of his reverie. He reaches out and gently takes her wrist. “Please, don’t go.”
Her expression is shock and surprise and utter astonishment, and fearing that he’s hurt her somehow, even as he was careful not to, he drops her wrist. “Sorry. But, please. I- just- I mean, I-”
She sighs. Not heavily, but it’s a delicately frustrated sigh, and it’s all he can do not to scream. Why is it so hard around this woman? The only one that he couldn’t seem to charm at twenty paces?
“You what?” she asks patiently, her eyes casting downward where their hands met moments earlier.
“I’m an idiot.”
Her lips curl in a smile, and shakes her head. “No. Try again.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Her eyes actually sparkle in the lamplight, and she laughs softly. “There. Was that so very hard?”
“Harder than you might think.”
She softens, and reaches for his hand, which her gives her readily, squeezing it gently.
When she replies with, “I’ve missed you, too,” he thinks that his heart might stop with the shock of it all. “You- what?”
“I have.” She begins to lead him back towards the party and the throngs of people. He knows she’s cold and can’t stand to keep her out in the weather any longer than he has to, but there’s one more thing, and it doesn’t want to have it happen in front of her guests.
Before they get to the heavy wooden doors, he tugs her back a step. She stops compliantly and looks up at him, and he smiles at her. An easy smile. One he’s given to her countless times, only this time, it means something different. She’s achingly beautiful, a sculpture all to herself, and he raises a hand to her cheek, marvelling in it’s smoothness. She’s small, so when he leans in to her there can be no mistaking what he’s going to do, his lips find hers and they’re as sweet as he remembers, her body as pliant when he pulls her close to him and her hands curled in his coat lapels every bit as tenacious. He was an idiot for staying away from her, no matter what she thinks.
After several minutes of letting him get reacquainted with her lips, she pulls away, leaving a last, soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Come back in,” she says, nodding her head toward the party.
He starts to demur, to say that he’s got to be up early and needs to be home, until she tilts her head and fixes him with that stare of hers. “Come in with me. As my date.”
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Well, strictly speaking, he does, but sharing her with those people for the next hour seems a small price to pay for getting her all to himself afterward.
He nods and she rewards him with a kiss, slipping her arms inside his coat and resting them at his waist. “I’m glad you came, you know.”
He looks down at her, this perfect, porcelain girl who’s held his heart since he could remember. He smiles and whispers a heartfelt, “I am, too.”