Fic: My Angel
In which Desdemona Meyer celebrates her sixteenth birthday.
warning for slight creepiness and sexuality
Desdemona stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. Almost perfect.
It had taken a great deal of effort to plan this surprise. It was never easy to surprise someone who lived inside your head, of course, but there were ways she could partially mask her bond. Especially for something as important to her as this.
She turned in a slow circle and made some minute adjustments to the scattered pillows. I need more rose petals. And champagne. There's usually champagne for these things, right?
She'd picked her dress for this event with exquisite care. It was black and red--their colors, her goal and his wings--with a full, floor-length skirt and tight bodice laced up her back with ribbons. She had braided matching ribbons into her hair. He loved ribbons, especially smooth, silky ones that were so hard to make go where she wanted.
Focus. He'll be back soon.
This chateau she'd picked in the Swiss Alps to settle in for a while while they set up for their move eastward was gorgeous, no other word for it. Some of the towers were a little damaged and crumbly, of course, but that just added to its charm. The bedroom she'd settled in was large and, if cold, at least majestic. And the dungeons were particularly fine. She liked to play in them.
She crossed the room over to the vases and vases of red roses, most of them completely stripped of petals. Two or three more of them should make it perfect. And I think there's some champagne downstairs. But I have to hurry, I sent him to Romania two hours ago.
He was only a wish away, of course. Which was what made this particularly hard, he had to know she was thinking of him.
Of course, he would also know there was no need for him to fly to her. So her surprise could hopefully remain a secret a little while longer.
She lifted the hem of her skirt--daintily, she thought, rather pleased with herself--and started down the windy staircases in the crumbling chateau, down to the room where the bottles of wine were stored. She trailed her fingers along them, looking for the tell-tale cork that indicated something bubbly. She blew the dust off the first appropriate bottle she found, and squinted at the label.
Champagne Laherte Freres
1893
She smiled. "Perfect!" she whispered, then sneezed. "Not perfect." She retreated back to the stairs and raced back up to the decorated bedroom, careful not to trip over her skirt or drop the precious bottle.
"It's supposed to be in a bucket with ice. But I don't have any ice. Well, I'll do the bucket, it's the visual that's the important thing, really. It has to look perfect." She continued whispering to herself in this vein as she found a bucket and settled the bottle in it, tilting it this way and that until she was satisfied.
"Perfect!" she said again, and twirled happily, admiring the way her skirt swirled.
"The room is lovely, my dear," his voice said from behind her shoulder.
"Azriel!" She turned around, smiling. "I thought it would please you."
"It does, very much." He smiled back, fondly. "Would you like to hear what I saw in Romania?"
"Later," she said. "I found champagne."
"Did you?" He sounded amused, and Desdemona was momentarily angry. All this work I did and he's laughing at me!
But she took a deep breath and smiled. "Would you like some?"
"Of course, my dear," he said, humoring her. He didn't particularly like drinking or eating, she knew, but it was the effect she wanted, and he would hold the glass and look as perfect as the room.
She struggled with the bottle for a few minutes before finally getting it open, then realized in horror that she'd forgotten glasses. Wordlessly, Azriel provided them. She smiled gratefully up at him and poured.
"What shall we drink to, my dear?" he asked, holding his glass in elegant, long fingers. I love his fingers, she thought, wistfully.
"Your hands," she said.
"And yours," he murmured, before pretending to drink when she did.
The golden bubbles swirled down her throat. It was stronger than she'd expected, and she gasped a little. Azriel smiled and she flushed, coughed a little, and cleared her throat. "I would like to show you something," she said.
"Anything, my dear."
She set her glass down and reached behind her shoulders. She'd hoped that his long pretty fingers would be the ones that did this, but she'd messed it up by being a silly little girl already. She pulled at one of the ribbons, and the top of her dress started unraveling and slipping down her shoulders.
A few minutes of ungraceful wriggling later, and she stepped out of her gown. She'd been naked under it, of course, as one was for these things. Azriel set his glass aside and watched her as she approached, the rose petals feeling silky smooth beneath her bare feet.
"You told me once that you'd give me anything I wanted," she whispered.
He inclined his head.
"I want you to touch me."
He smiled at her, took her hand, and kissed it. First the back, gentlemanlike, then turning it over and kissing each of her fingertips, and her palm, sending little shivers running down her spine.
His kisses moved up her arm to her neck, and she melted against him. He scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, laying her down on it so gently, so sweet, the way he had so many nights when she was a frightened child, new to his love, but this time, this time...
His clothes melted away and his wings formed a second canopy over them, and he kissed every inch of her body, sheltering her, holding her, loving her, treasuring her.
Just like he always had.
When he slipped inside her, it didn't hurt, which was odd. She'd read about it--about girls losing their virginity--in books, of course, and it was supposed to hurt.
But, of course, he was her angel. He would never let her come to harm, much less hurt her herself.
Her hair was tangled all around the ribbons, and there were feathers dancing with roses, and stars and suns and so much warm, warm red light, and then he melted away into the back of her mind where he stayed until she wanted his hands, his beautiful hands, leaving her gasping.
She lay naked on the bed, feeling just as silky as the rose petals.
warning for slight creepiness and sexuality
Desdemona stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. Almost perfect.
It had taken a great deal of effort to plan this surprise. It was never easy to surprise someone who lived inside your head, of course, but there were ways she could partially mask her bond. Especially for something as important to her as this.
She turned in a slow circle and made some minute adjustments to the scattered pillows. I need more rose petals. And champagne. There's usually champagne for these things, right?
She'd picked her dress for this event with exquisite care. It was black and red--their colors, her goal and his wings--with a full, floor-length skirt and tight bodice laced up her back with ribbons. She had braided matching ribbons into her hair. He loved ribbons, especially smooth, silky ones that were so hard to make go where she wanted.
Focus. He'll be back soon.
This chateau she'd picked in the Swiss Alps to settle in for a while while they set up for their move eastward was gorgeous, no other word for it. Some of the towers were a little damaged and crumbly, of course, but that just added to its charm. The bedroom she'd settled in was large and, if cold, at least majestic. And the dungeons were particularly fine. She liked to play in them.
She crossed the room over to the vases and vases of red roses, most of them completely stripped of petals. Two or three more of them should make it perfect. And I think there's some champagne downstairs. But I have to hurry, I sent him to Romania two hours ago.
He was only a wish away, of course. Which was what made this particularly hard, he had to know she was thinking of him.
Of course, he would also know there was no need for him to fly to her. So her surprise could hopefully remain a secret a little while longer.
She lifted the hem of her skirt--daintily, she thought, rather pleased with herself--and started down the windy staircases in the crumbling chateau, down to the room where the bottles of wine were stored. She trailed her fingers along them, looking for the tell-tale cork that indicated something bubbly. She blew the dust off the first appropriate bottle she found, and squinted at the label.
Champagne Laherte Freres
1893
She smiled. "Perfect!" she whispered, then sneezed. "Not perfect." She retreated back to the stairs and raced back up to the decorated bedroom, careful not to trip over her skirt or drop the precious bottle.
"It's supposed to be in a bucket with ice. But I don't have any ice. Well, I'll do the bucket, it's the visual that's the important thing, really. It has to look perfect." She continued whispering to herself in this vein as she found a bucket and settled the bottle in it, tilting it this way and that until she was satisfied.
"Perfect!" she said again, and twirled happily, admiring the way her skirt swirled.
"The room is lovely, my dear," his voice said from behind her shoulder.
"Azriel!" She turned around, smiling. "I thought it would please you."
"It does, very much." He smiled back, fondly. "Would you like to hear what I saw in Romania?"
"Later," she said. "I found champagne."
"Did you?" He sounded amused, and Desdemona was momentarily angry. All this work I did and he's laughing at me!
But she took a deep breath and smiled. "Would you like some?"
"Of course, my dear," he said, humoring her. He didn't particularly like drinking or eating, she knew, but it was the effect she wanted, and he would hold the glass and look as perfect as the room.
She struggled with the bottle for a few minutes before finally getting it open, then realized in horror that she'd forgotten glasses. Wordlessly, Azriel provided them. She smiled gratefully up at him and poured.
"What shall we drink to, my dear?" he asked, holding his glass in elegant, long fingers. I love his fingers, she thought, wistfully.
"Your hands," she said.
"And yours," he murmured, before pretending to drink when she did.
The golden bubbles swirled down her throat. It was stronger than she'd expected, and she gasped a little. Azriel smiled and she flushed, coughed a little, and cleared her throat. "I would like to show you something," she said.
"Anything, my dear."
She set her glass down and reached behind her shoulders. She'd hoped that his long pretty fingers would be the ones that did this, but she'd messed it up by being a silly little girl already. She pulled at one of the ribbons, and the top of her dress started unraveling and slipping down her shoulders.
A few minutes of ungraceful wriggling later, and she stepped out of her gown. She'd been naked under it, of course, as one was for these things. Azriel set his glass aside and watched her as she approached, the rose petals feeling silky smooth beneath her bare feet.
"You told me once that you'd give me anything I wanted," she whispered.
He inclined his head.
"I want you to touch me."
He smiled at her, took her hand, and kissed it. First the back, gentlemanlike, then turning it over and kissing each of her fingertips, and her palm, sending little shivers running down her spine.
His kisses moved up her arm to her neck, and she melted against him. He scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, laying her down on it so gently, so sweet, the way he had so many nights when she was a frightened child, new to his love, but this time, this time...
His clothes melted away and his wings formed a second canopy over them, and he kissed every inch of her body, sheltering her, holding her, loving her, treasuring her.
Just like he always had.
When he slipped inside her, it didn't hurt, which was odd. She'd read about it--about girls losing their virginity--in books, of course, and it was supposed to hurt.
But, of course, he was her angel. He would never let her come to harm, much less hurt her herself.
Her hair was tangled all around the ribbons, and there were feathers dancing with roses, and stars and suns and so much warm, warm red light, and then he melted away into the back of her mind where he stayed until she wanted his hands, his beautiful hands, leaving her gasping.
She lay naked on the bed, feeling just as silky as the rose petals.