In Her Eyes [Dragon Quest VIII, Jessica/Angelo, PG13]
Title: In Her Eyes
Author: ro_anshi
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Word count: ~2300
Summary: For the prompt: Dragon Quest VIII, Jessica/Angelo: turning the tables - He didn't trust the look in her eye.
A/N: Thanks to stitcher2ficcer for the quick, ultimately non-brain-busting beta. Additional thanks to her and ditch_gospel for the emo-support & hand-holdiness lately.
In Her Eyes
Jessica was watching him.
Oh, Angelo could tell just how careful she was to keep her eyes on him throughout the chaotic near-bacchanal that was Trodain Castle’s celebration of the defeat of Rhapthorne and the lifting of the curse-as well as how careful she was to keep him from noticing that she was keeping track of his every move. Not that he had been watching her at all. Why, he barely noticed how she played with the castle children, demonstrating her deft magic to their astonished delight, or how she never seemed to stray too far from where he was celebrating this momentous day in fine style.
And no, it didn’t bother him in the least that her merry-making at the end of their journey did not involve him, or that, in fact, she seemed to be careful to keep any company but his-
“-Angelo!” Melisande or Bethany or whoever-she-was-he kept getting confused by her comings and goings, by how her chestnut hair was pinned up one minute, back down again the next-was whining to get his attention. “Who are you looking at?”
With an effort he pulled his gaze back to the pretty castle wench who had first caught his attention earlier in the day, when she had served him his first glass of brandy at the feast. Quickly he rearranged his face to show proper interest in her. “None but you, my lovely lady. You were saying…?”
“I was saying….” A flirtatious smile lighting her face, she leaned in close, her fingers trailing over the bright red serge of his sleeve. “I want to hear the story of how you defeated that wicked monster with your big… strong… sword.”
Should be an interesting anecdote for the ladies…
And oblige her he did, declaiming with the enthusiasm gained through the application of good drink. But even to his own ears, his exploits were ringing hollow; telling the Goddess’s honest truth of the most fabulous of them sounded like exaggeration. And Melisande-Bethany-whoever was giving him a sly look, as if she doubted his veracity but was willing to play along if it earned her his favor afterward. So after a while, he let his tale trail off, and it didn’t seem to matter that he hadn’t come close to finishing it; she simply kept smiling an invitation at him, and he wondered if he might as well go ahead and take her up on it.
After all, there were only five other people who would really believe what had gone on over the past half year… and of those, only one into whose ear he would care to whisper those reminiscences. So, why should he share them with a giddy serving girl whose name he couldn’t quite remember?
Jessica’s sudden laugh echoed across the courtyard, easily heard over the hubbub, and Angelo turned automatically toward the sound heard so rarely during their travels. The fire dancing over her fingertips cast a blush on her cheeks, lit her eyes like bright embers, flecked her hair with even more flame. One of the castle urchins begged, “Show me how to do that, Miss Jessica!” And Jess, patient and kind, worked with the little fellow until the two together were launching sparks like roman candles over the bulwark of the castle.
“As if she’d ever be that patient with me,” he said to himself, shaking his head. She must be thinking of Alexandria now, he thought absently, of Bangerz and Mash and the good news she would soon be bringing them. Of leaving here, and going home.
As if his thoughts had called to her, her head turned toward him, and their eyes met. Jessica’s rich mahogany gaze locked on his for a moment, deep and unreadable, and then, in brusque, heartless dismissal, it moved on.
As did he, wrenching his gaze away from where she sat. Instead, he swiftly pressed himself against Melisande-Bethany-whoever, very nearly pinning her to the brickwork at her back-she giggled at his unexpectedly bold advance-took a hearty gulp of the liquor in his glass, and leaned in to kiss her with brandied lips.
***
The sun had fallen, leaving a cheerful ruddy glow above the horizon, before Jessica finally approached him.
“Angelo.” Her voice was low and a little rough, and she swayed on her feet. Not so much exhausted, but a wee bit-as he was-inebriated. “May I talk to you?”
“I think I can find the time,” he replied coolly, scarcely sparing her a look.
She arched a brow at him and gave him a significant glance. “Alone, please?”
“If you insist.” Melisande-Bethany-whoever pouted as he shifted her off his lap, excusing himself with a promise to quickly return.
There was an odd look in Jessica’s eyes-one that he had never seen before, and one that he didn’t trust-as she took his elbow and drew him far away from the revels. Someone had lit torches, he noted absently, their long shadows dancing like wraiths across the flagstones of the courtyard; and a quartet of pipers played a cheerful tune as if accompanying them.
She didn’t stop until they were completely alone-somewhere behind the library, he guessed-and then she turned and faced him forthright. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving early tomorrow.”
“Ah.”
Glib as ever with the ladies, Angelo.
“So it’s time for our good-byes.” She moved swiftly toward him, unexpectedly; and now she was the one pinning him to a wall, leaning in far too close to him. He was so flummoxed by how she had turned the tables on him that he remained motionless, scarcely breathing, his arms limp at his side rather than encircling her to make the same kind of blatant claims on her lush body that he had been placing on his serving-wench.
She was brazen, plastering herself to him, her soft, full breasts crushed to his chest-and when had his tunic become unbuttoned, so her warm thin silk blouse was caressing his bare skin?-and she had angled her body and propped one hip so that she was rubbing against his groin. And damn it all, but his body was responding-responding far more than it had to Melisande-Bethany-whoever on his lap-and if that wasn’t the last thing he wanted to happen right now….
Her voice was hoarse in his ear, and he wondered if she were crying. “This is what you want, isn’t it, Angelo? What you always wanted all those months we were traveling together.”
He fought for and found his voice. “No, I-no, Jessica.”
What had he wanted? What did he want now? Not a tumble, although yes, that would be fine; but something more, a continuation of that tenuous, push-and-pull connection forged and tested over the past six months.
Further words failed him, and he stayed silent.
“Yes it is,” she insisted, her hands moving over him, touching him in places he wished she would keep away from right now. “So I thought that before we finally left each other, I’d give it to you.” She laughed through the sadness in her face. “Well, not all of it; I’m not willing to go that far. But at least this way, we can depart in some kind of peace.”
“No.” What finally fell out of his mouth shocked him, all the things he had wanted to say, uncolored by artifice, not part of the wastrel role he was careful to play. “I want to be with you. I don’t want you to leave.”
Her hands stopped traveling over him-to his great relief, he had to admit-and she drew back to look at him, surprise in her eyes. “But isn’t it a little late to tell me that now? There’s a Royal Mail coach out of here at sunrise tomorrow and King Trode offered me passage as a thank-you. And I plan to be on it.”
“Jessica, please.” He reached out, caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, then held it to his heart. “Let’s stay together-travel together-be together for a bit, when we’re not saving the world. I-we-might find that we’ve more in common than we think, don’t you?”
She shook her head, gently disengaged her hand from his, and pressed a warm finger against his lips, silencing further pleas. “No.” The look in her eyes was unreadable again. “I can’t possibly. I have things I need to do once I get home. Mother and I…” Her substantial bosom rose and fell in a deep sigh. “And the engagement to Lorenzo. Somehow we’ve got to dissolve that; there’s no way I’m going to marry that ridiculous fop.”
“That… That would be unthinkable, Jessica,” he agreed, knowing his reasons were a bit different than hers. Were she to wed Lorenzo, that would mean she would be unable to wed… anyone else.
“So…” Her voice faltered. “I’m afraid not, Angelo.” She went on tiptoe again, but this time her kiss-to his cheek, not his lips-was tender. “Good-bye, Angelo.” A hint of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “I have to admit, you’ve made this quite the unforgettable journey.” And she quickly turned and left.
“I would have thought Rhapthorne made a more lasting impression,” he said under his breath to her departing back, following her a few yards back, his head swimming from more than the liquor. He wanted to stop her as she swayed up the path toward Trodain Castle, moving from light through dark and back into light again, then up the stairs, her hips swinging alluringly, until at last she vanished through a set of broad doors on the second floor.
In his mind he saw again the castle overgrown with vines, remembered how her magic had blasted the seal from the front doors and allowed them access to the heartache within-
“-Angelo!” That whine again, and Melisande-Bethany-whoever was back to pull him from his distraction; and her hair was down again. He pulled himself together, pasting a predatory smile onto his face and leaning in a bit too close to her, nuzzling. “Oh, Angelo!” she murmured into one ear, as a like voice purred his name into his other ear.
He blinked. “Hmm?” And by the Goddess, now there were two of her, one on each side, and he finally realized Melisande and Bethany were twins. No wonder he had been confused. He let them pull him into another secluded nook, where they three petted and pawed and groped and pressed together, sloppy kisses and soft flesh, until they were nearly satiated.
But when, at the end of the celebration, as the pipers played their last piece and the groups broke up with calls of “Good night!” or more subtle whispers of “You can find me at…” he staggered to his room and, near blind drunk, fell into his bed alone.
And that night he dreamt they were all together in Savella, and somehow he knew it was not a dream of the past, but one of some unknown future. But it was an impossible dream, for he could see Eight on the steps of the grand cathedral, clad in his hard-won Dragovian armor, and Medea, beautiful human Medea, was by his side, radiant in her virginal wedding gown. They kissed, the crowd cheered, and the newlyweds escaped in a carriage commanded by the proud father of the bride, who was almost-almost, mind you-handsome in his joy.
Yangus had rushed forward, to the edge of the grassy slope, to wave an enthusiastic good-bye, leaving Angelo and Jessica standing side by side. As the carriage disappeared from view, Jess caught Angelo’s elbow and pulled him closer. Her eyes were gleaming in a way that he trusted even less than the last time they had been together, and he wondered what she was going to pull now.
“Angelo. Do you remember what you asked me, that last night in Trodain?” Her hand slipped into his.
He hedged, “We’d had a bit to drink, but, still, I believe we talked about…”
“About traveling together. Being together. For a bit.”
“Ah, now I do.” He held his breath, waiting.
“Well, I’ve put a great deal of thought to it since then. And the answer… is yes.”
He awoke with a start, as alone as he had gone to bed, plus viciously hung-over now. The morning light streaming through the half-drawn curtains killed his bloodshot eyes, and he groaned, turning his head away from the unholy brightness. Groping blindly at the bedside table, he finally found the hangover potion he vaguely remember begging one of the maids to have waiting for him in the morning, and he downed it post-haste.
He only hoped it would stay down.
Finally he was able to open his eyes again. “Damn.” From the angle of the sun, he guessed it was far past dawn, which meant that he had awakened too late to try to have one last word with Jessica before she departed on the Royal Mail coach. Not that she would have listened to him; her mind had certainly been made up the night before.
Fragments of a dream tickled at the back of his mind, frustratingly out of recall beyond the fact that it had been a good dream and that Jessica had smiled at him.
“Well, Angelo,” he muttered to himself, “that’s what dreams are for. Aren’t they?” He sighed, pulled his disarranged hair over his eyes to help block the light, and went back to sleep to dream some more.
~fin~
Author: ro_anshi
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Word count: ~2300
Summary: For the prompt: Dragon Quest VIII, Jessica/Angelo: turning the tables - He didn't trust the look in her eye.
A/N: Thanks to stitcher2ficcer for the quick, ultimately non-brain-busting beta. Additional thanks to her and ditch_gospel for the emo-support & hand-holdiness lately.
In Her Eyes
Jessica was watching him.
Oh, Angelo could tell just how careful she was to keep her eyes on him throughout the chaotic near-bacchanal that was Trodain Castle’s celebration of the defeat of Rhapthorne and the lifting of the curse-as well as how careful she was to keep him from noticing that she was keeping track of his every move. Not that he had been watching her at all. Why, he barely noticed how she played with the castle children, demonstrating her deft magic to their astonished delight, or how she never seemed to stray too far from where he was celebrating this momentous day in fine style.
And no, it didn’t bother him in the least that her merry-making at the end of their journey did not involve him, or that, in fact, she seemed to be careful to keep any company but his-
“-Angelo!” Melisande or Bethany or whoever-she-was-he kept getting confused by her comings and goings, by how her chestnut hair was pinned up one minute, back down again the next-was whining to get his attention. “Who are you looking at?”
With an effort he pulled his gaze back to the pretty castle wench who had first caught his attention earlier in the day, when she had served him his first glass of brandy at the feast. Quickly he rearranged his face to show proper interest in her. “None but you, my lovely lady. You were saying…?”
“I was saying….” A flirtatious smile lighting her face, she leaned in close, her fingers trailing over the bright red serge of his sleeve. “I want to hear the story of how you defeated that wicked monster with your big… strong… sword.”
Should be an interesting anecdote for the ladies…
And oblige her he did, declaiming with the enthusiasm gained through the application of good drink. But even to his own ears, his exploits were ringing hollow; telling the Goddess’s honest truth of the most fabulous of them sounded like exaggeration. And Melisande-Bethany-whoever was giving him a sly look, as if she doubted his veracity but was willing to play along if it earned her his favor afterward. So after a while, he let his tale trail off, and it didn’t seem to matter that he hadn’t come close to finishing it; she simply kept smiling an invitation at him, and he wondered if he might as well go ahead and take her up on it.
After all, there were only five other people who would really believe what had gone on over the past half year… and of those, only one into whose ear he would care to whisper those reminiscences. So, why should he share them with a giddy serving girl whose name he couldn’t quite remember?
Jessica’s sudden laugh echoed across the courtyard, easily heard over the hubbub, and Angelo turned automatically toward the sound heard so rarely during their travels. The fire dancing over her fingertips cast a blush on her cheeks, lit her eyes like bright embers, flecked her hair with even more flame. One of the castle urchins begged, “Show me how to do that, Miss Jessica!” And Jess, patient and kind, worked with the little fellow until the two together were launching sparks like roman candles over the bulwark of the castle.
“As if she’d ever be that patient with me,” he said to himself, shaking his head. She must be thinking of Alexandria now, he thought absently, of Bangerz and Mash and the good news she would soon be bringing them. Of leaving here, and going home.
As if his thoughts had called to her, her head turned toward him, and their eyes met. Jessica’s rich mahogany gaze locked on his for a moment, deep and unreadable, and then, in brusque, heartless dismissal, it moved on.
As did he, wrenching his gaze away from where she sat. Instead, he swiftly pressed himself against Melisande-Bethany-whoever, very nearly pinning her to the brickwork at her back-she giggled at his unexpectedly bold advance-took a hearty gulp of the liquor in his glass, and leaned in to kiss her with brandied lips.
***
The sun had fallen, leaving a cheerful ruddy glow above the horizon, before Jessica finally approached him.
“Angelo.” Her voice was low and a little rough, and she swayed on her feet. Not so much exhausted, but a wee bit-as he was-inebriated. “May I talk to you?”
“I think I can find the time,” he replied coolly, scarcely sparing her a look.
She arched a brow at him and gave him a significant glance. “Alone, please?”
“If you insist.” Melisande-Bethany-whoever pouted as he shifted her off his lap, excusing himself with a promise to quickly return.
There was an odd look in Jessica’s eyes-one that he had never seen before, and one that he didn’t trust-as she took his elbow and drew him far away from the revels. Someone had lit torches, he noted absently, their long shadows dancing like wraiths across the flagstones of the courtyard; and a quartet of pipers played a cheerful tune as if accompanying them.
She didn’t stop until they were completely alone-somewhere behind the library, he guessed-and then she turned and faced him forthright. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving early tomorrow.”
“Ah.”
Glib as ever with the ladies, Angelo.
“So it’s time for our good-byes.” She moved swiftly toward him, unexpectedly; and now she was the one pinning him to a wall, leaning in far too close to him. He was so flummoxed by how she had turned the tables on him that he remained motionless, scarcely breathing, his arms limp at his side rather than encircling her to make the same kind of blatant claims on her lush body that he had been placing on his serving-wench.
She was brazen, plastering herself to him, her soft, full breasts crushed to his chest-and when had his tunic become unbuttoned, so her warm thin silk blouse was caressing his bare skin?-and she had angled her body and propped one hip so that she was rubbing against his groin. And damn it all, but his body was responding-responding far more than it had to Melisande-Bethany-whoever on his lap-and if that wasn’t the last thing he wanted to happen right now….
Her voice was hoarse in his ear, and he wondered if she were crying. “This is what you want, isn’t it, Angelo? What you always wanted all those months we were traveling together.”
He fought for and found his voice. “No, I-no, Jessica.”
What had he wanted? What did he want now? Not a tumble, although yes, that would be fine; but something more, a continuation of that tenuous, push-and-pull connection forged and tested over the past six months.
Further words failed him, and he stayed silent.
“Yes it is,” she insisted, her hands moving over him, touching him in places he wished she would keep away from right now. “So I thought that before we finally left each other, I’d give it to you.” She laughed through the sadness in her face. “Well, not all of it; I’m not willing to go that far. But at least this way, we can depart in some kind of peace.”
“No.” What finally fell out of his mouth shocked him, all the things he had wanted to say, uncolored by artifice, not part of the wastrel role he was careful to play. “I want to be with you. I don’t want you to leave.”
Her hands stopped traveling over him-to his great relief, he had to admit-and she drew back to look at him, surprise in her eyes. “But isn’t it a little late to tell me that now? There’s a Royal Mail coach out of here at sunrise tomorrow and King Trode offered me passage as a thank-you. And I plan to be on it.”
“Jessica, please.” He reached out, caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, then held it to his heart. “Let’s stay together-travel together-be together for a bit, when we’re not saving the world. I-we-might find that we’ve more in common than we think, don’t you?”
She shook her head, gently disengaged her hand from his, and pressed a warm finger against his lips, silencing further pleas. “No.” The look in her eyes was unreadable again. “I can’t possibly. I have things I need to do once I get home. Mother and I…” Her substantial bosom rose and fell in a deep sigh. “And the engagement to Lorenzo. Somehow we’ve got to dissolve that; there’s no way I’m going to marry that ridiculous fop.”
“That… That would be unthinkable, Jessica,” he agreed, knowing his reasons were a bit different than hers. Were she to wed Lorenzo, that would mean she would be unable to wed… anyone else.
“So…” Her voice faltered. “I’m afraid not, Angelo.” She went on tiptoe again, but this time her kiss-to his cheek, not his lips-was tender. “Good-bye, Angelo.” A hint of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “I have to admit, you’ve made this quite the unforgettable journey.” And she quickly turned and left.
“I would have thought Rhapthorne made a more lasting impression,” he said under his breath to her departing back, following her a few yards back, his head swimming from more than the liquor. He wanted to stop her as she swayed up the path toward Trodain Castle, moving from light through dark and back into light again, then up the stairs, her hips swinging alluringly, until at last she vanished through a set of broad doors on the second floor.
In his mind he saw again the castle overgrown with vines, remembered how her magic had blasted the seal from the front doors and allowed them access to the heartache within-
“-Angelo!” That whine again, and Melisande-Bethany-whoever was back to pull him from his distraction; and her hair was down again. He pulled himself together, pasting a predatory smile onto his face and leaning in a bit too close to her, nuzzling. “Oh, Angelo!” she murmured into one ear, as a like voice purred his name into his other ear.
He blinked. “Hmm?” And by the Goddess, now there were two of her, one on each side, and he finally realized Melisande and Bethany were twins. No wonder he had been confused. He let them pull him into another secluded nook, where they three petted and pawed and groped and pressed together, sloppy kisses and soft flesh, until they were nearly satiated.
But when, at the end of the celebration, as the pipers played their last piece and the groups broke up with calls of “Good night!” or more subtle whispers of “You can find me at…” he staggered to his room and, near blind drunk, fell into his bed alone.
And that night he dreamt they were all together in Savella, and somehow he knew it was not a dream of the past, but one of some unknown future. But it was an impossible dream, for he could see Eight on the steps of the grand cathedral, clad in his hard-won Dragovian armor, and Medea, beautiful human Medea, was by his side, radiant in her virginal wedding gown. They kissed, the crowd cheered, and the newlyweds escaped in a carriage commanded by the proud father of the bride, who was almost-almost, mind you-handsome in his joy.
Yangus had rushed forward, to the edge of the grassy slope, to wave an enthusiastic good-bye, leaving Angelo and Jessica standing side by side. As the carriage disappeared from view, Jess caught Angelo’s elbow and pulled him closer. Her eyes were gleaming in a way that he trusted even less than the last time they had been together, and he wondered what she was going to pull now.
“Angelo. Do you remember what you asked me, that last night in Trodain?” Her hand slipped into his.
He hedged, “We’d had a bit to drink, but, still, I believe we talked about…”
“About traveling together. Being together. For a bit.”
“Ah, now I do.” He held his breath, waiting.
“Well, I’ve put a great deal of thought to it since then. And the answer… is yes.”
He awoke with a start, as alone as he had gone to bed, plus viciously hung-over now. The morning light streaming through the half-drawn curtains killed his bloodshot eyes, and he groaned, turning his head away from the unholy brightness. Groping blindly at the bedside table, he finally found the hangover potion he vaguely remember begging one of the maids to have waiting for him in the morning, and he downed it post-haste.
He only hoped it would stay down.
Finally he was able to open his eyes again. “Damn.” From the angle of the sun, he guessed it was far past dawn, which meant that he had awakened too late to try to have one last word with Jessica before she departed on the Royal Mail coach. Not that she would have listened to him; her mind had certainly been made up the night before.
Fragments of a dream tickled at the back of his mind, frustratingly out of recall beyond the fact that it had been a good dream and that Jessica had smiled at him.
“Well, Angelo,” he muttered to himself, “that’s what dreams are for. Aren’t they?” He sighed, pulled his disarranged hair over his eyes to help block the light, and went back to sleep to dream some more.
~fin~