Chapter Text
It starts in her office... A comment about her working too late, a retort that his shift had ended more than an hour ago.
He takes the pen from her hand, and she lets him.
"When last did you eat?"
She follows him to the kitchen, watches as he takes off his jacket, grateful to see he's already removed his gun holster. A necessary evil, she knows, but she doesn't like to see it. He loosens his tie and folds it neatly, slipping it into one of his jacket pockets, then unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt, casually. His cuffs follow, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, and when he starts to cook - a simple meal, really, eggs and toast - she watches the muscles in his forearms flex with each movement.
They talk. About Mia, about returning to Genovia, about her sons. He was more of a father to them than Rupert ever was.
Eggs, and toast, and a half bottle of leftover white wine shared between them.
Looking back, she doesn't recall what made her do it. She invites him into her room, and in the morning she will blame the scotch, but tonight…
Her feet were in his lap, his strong hands working on the tension in her calves.
"I've been thinking."
"Oh?"
"About us."
He raises an eyebrow at her.
"Why now, suddenly?"
His hands don't stop, his tone is simply curious.
"Because, I'm old, and alone. You're old, and alone. Well, that is to say, I've not heard the maids gossiping recently."
He chuckles, his thumb moving over the arch of her foot.
"And what is it that the maids gossip about?"
"They say you're very good with your hands..."
"I can be good with more than just my hands."
It was meant to be a joke, a bit of banter, but his voice has a roughness to it that wasn't there before... Tonight, he…
"Joseph, please..."
That's all it takes to break their resolve, everything they've suppressed for so long…
He pulls her onto his lap in one swift movement, one arm around her shoulders, the other hand suddenly dangerously high on her thigh, hot beneath her skirt.
Their eyes meet, and he waits.
She kisses him, and it's everything she thought it would be. His mouth is firm, demanding. His teeth are sharp and nip her bottom lip until she opens her mouth. His tongue, when it meets hers, is hot, and he tastes of scotch…
The years have been kind to him, she thinks, as she shifts in his lap, their mouths still moving against each other. She can feel his hardness beneath her, his body warm and solid against her own.
The years had been kind to him.
Where she had pushed out two babies, and softened, and gravity had taken its toll, he had taken pride in his health and his appearance. She knew that he could still easily keep up with men half his age.
He had a little less hair, and what had remained had grayed, but his face was much the same. Age had simply given him more character.
She wants him so badly…
His hand is on her blouse, tugging gently.
"May I?"
She nods.
"Please..."
He pulls the fabric free from her skirt, unbuttoning the delicate buttons, and it's only when the silk slips down her arms and he drapes it over the back of the settee that his mouth leaves hers, and he looks down at her, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable, the sound he makes is low and deep and unmistakeable…
His hands move to her waist, and then up over her ribs, cupping her breasts over her brassier, his thumbs toying with her nipples through the lace.
"Beautiful..."
"Bed..."
He doesn't need to be told twice, and she gasps and clings to him as he stands, his hands slipping beneath her and lifting her with ease.
He lays her down on the bed, and she shifts backwards against the pillows as he joins her, his knees on either side of her thighs, looking down at her, taking her in, and she feels the sudden urge to cover herself, but his eyes are dark and full of lust, and there is a very obvious bulge in his trousers, and…
Never, ever has she been looked at with such raw desire.
"You're overdressed, Colonel..."
His eyes flash, and his lips quirk into a smirk.
"Well now, that's hardly fair..."
Her heart races as his fingers begin to unbutton his shirt, the crisp black cotton falling open and revealing tanned, muscled skin. She'd seen him shirtless before, yes, but she had never allowed herself to truly look…
She takes in his body, the lean muscle, a few scars that had left thin, pale lines on his olive toned skin... Soft, grey-brown hair peppered across his chest, trailing down his belly and disappearing into his trousers.
She's staring, she knows, and he lets her take her fill. Her hand moves without thought, reaching up and touching him, her fingertips grazing over the soft hair on his chest, a nail almost accidentally catching his nipple, eliciting a soft hiss and an eruption of goosebumps. She continues down, her fingers trailing over his stomach, feeling the muscle beneath her fingers tense, following the line of hair down his belly.
His eyes are dark, his gaze intense.
Her fingers are shaking as she struggles to unbuckle his belt, but he takes pity and covers her hands with his, unbuckling it himself, and her heart is in her throat.
She's seen him before, in a pair of dripping wet swim trunks that had left very little to the imagination, but this…
He undoes the button and then the zipper, his erection tenting the fabric of his underwear.
He stands, and slips out of his shoes, and strips off his trousers, pulling his briefs down along with them as if it's nothing.
As if his nakedness is entirely inconsequential.
But to her, it's everything.
The trail of hair leads down, growing darker and thicker. The skin there is darker also. His member is standing proud and hard, his foreskin almost entirely retracted, the tip pink and glistening, a droplet of fluid seeping from the slit.
He's big, she can't help but think. Bigger than Rupert had been, at least, but that was the full extent of her experience.
He climbs back onto the bed, kneeling over her again. He leans forward, keeping his weight on his hands as he kisses her, the length of his body pressing against hers.
She can feel the heat, and the weight, and the hardness, and it feels so good... His mouth trails soft, gentle kisses down her jaw until he reaches her ear, his voice soft.
"Are you alright?”
He's worried. Worried about her, his cock is rock hard and pressed against her belly, and he's asking her if she's alright…
"Yes... Gods, yes..."
He presses a gentle kiss to the soft skin behind her ear, his tongue tasting her skin, his breath hot in her ear.
"You're allowed to touch, you know..."
She can't help but giggle at the huskiness of his voice, the low rumble as he laughs, too.
"Oh, I intend to."
And she does.
Her fingers graze over his cock, feather light, and he groans against her neck, his hips rocking slightly. She wraps her fingers around his girth, stroking, squeezing gently, exploring the previously unknown country of his body.
She learns from the sounds he makes, the way his muscles tense, the way his breath hitches when she moves just so…
He brings a hand down to cover hers, halting her movements, his eyes almost black with lust, and it takes him a moment to get the words out.
"I... Let me make love to you, please... Properly..."
If her knickers hadn't been soaked through already, his words would have done the trick.
He sits back on his heels and helps her out of her skirt, and she shivers slightly as he runs a finger beneath the waistband of her knickers, his eyes asking for permission.
She lifts her hips again, and the soft silk slides down her thighs, and her eyes close as he slips his hand between her thighs, his fingers grazing through the damp curls.
She opens her eyes and looks at him, and the look on his face is indescribable.
He deftly parts her folds, and she spreads her legs wider for him. His fingers are hot and rough, and he circles her pearl with his thumb.
"God, you're beautiful..."
She can't formulate words, so she closes her eyes and lets her body tell him what she can't. She feels his hand withdraw, and she opens her eyes again.
He's leaning over her, holding his weight up on one arm, the other hand trailing along the lace of her brassiere.
"Now who's overdressed...?"
She sits up, and he reaches around her and unfastens the clips with a practised ease, and when the fabric slips away, his eyes darken.
"So beautiful..."
He doesn't give her time to reply, to dwell on what having two children does to a woman's body. His mouth is hot and demanding, and she finds her hands moving to his hips, her nails digging into his skin, pulling him against her.
"Joseph... Please, please, I want..."
"Ssh... There's no rush. Let me take care of you..."
She does. She trusts him, with this, with everything.
He takes his time, his hands and his mouth moving over her body, lower, much lower, his nose nuzzling into her damp curls, kissing her inner thigh, his hot breath making her shiver.
His tongue is hot and wet, and she can't stop the whimper that escapes her lips.
"Ssh…”
Her thighs fall open of their own accord as he settles between them. His eyes lock with hers, and he grins, wolfishly, before dipping his head, his tongue parting her folds, teasing and circling her pearl, lapping at her, her back arching.
His hands are firm, holding her hips steady as he devours her, her fingers gripping fistfulls of the white cotton sheets.
Her toes are curled, her thighs tremble, and she has to untangle one of her hands from the sheets to bite down on her knuckles to stifle her moans.
It happens suddenly. The heat builds and the tension grows, and then she's seeing stars, her eyes squeezed shut, her free hand fisting in his hair.
She doesn't know how long it lasts... Forever and not nearly long enough…
Her hand is shaking when she finally withdraws it from her mouth, and there are teethmarks on her pale skin, and he's looking up at her from between her thighs, and his grin is filthy.
"Feel good, my lady?"
She can't... How does she tell him that she has never felt that before, that she's never…
"Clarisse?"
She can't.
He crawls up her body, his erection rubbing against her, and when he kisses her she can taste herself on his tongue.
"I..."
He kisses her again, more gentle this time, his lips soft.
"It's alright, I'm here."
She knows he can feel the tears that slip down her cheeks, but he doesn't comment.
She can feel his hardness pressing against her, and she spreads her legs wider, her hands on his hips, urging him to take her.
He covers her hand with his own again to slow her down, and she realises that she's still shaking.
"Patience, Clarisse... I promise you, there's no need to rush."
He holds her, closely, protectively, until she stops shaking. She slowly becomes aware of his hand, drawing lazy patterns on her belly. She takes a deep breath and meets his gaze.
"Better?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You have nothing to apologise for."
She nods. The words fall out of her mouth, before she can stop herself.
"I've never... Rupert always said there must be something wrong with me... Later I just stopped caring."
She can feel his anger, the tension in his body, but his face remains calm, neutral.
"Forgive me... Treasonous as this may be, your late husband was clearly an imbecile. There's nothing wrong with you, I can promise you that, and I can prove it."
His free hand wanders away from her belly as he speaks, ghosting over her hip, slipping between her thighs, and she opens her legs for him.
"Let me prove it to you, Clarisse."
He kisses her, and it's a different kind of kiss, slower, deeper.
His fingers find their way between her legs again, and her eyes close as he starts to work his magic. It doesn't take long, her body still buzzing with her first orgasm, and he knows exactly how to touch her.
He kisses her, deeply, just as her orgasm hits, and he swallows her moans, his fingers working her through it.
She can feel him, his erection pressing against her hip, hot and slick, and when she opens her eyes his face is flushed, his lips swollen and pink, his eyes black and his hair a mess.
She reaches down, her fingers wrapping around him, and she squeezes gently, just to see his reaction. He moans, low in his throat, his eyes closing for a moment. Fluid seeps from the tip, slicking her hand, and when she strokes him, his hips buck against her.
"God, Clarisse... If you keep doing that I'm going to embarrass myself..."
"We can't have that, can we?"
She lets him go with one last stroke, and he hisses, his eyes wide and wild, and she wants him…
"Your turn, Colonel."
He moves between her thighs, his arms caging her, and his eyes are searching her face.
"Are you sure?"
If she says no he will stop, no questions asked, no hard feelings.
But she can't say no.
Actions speak louder than words, and she reaches down between them, taking his cock in her hand and guiding him to her entrance.
He enters her slowly, inch by glorious inch, and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out. When he's fully seated, he waits, his eyes closed, breathing deeply, as she adjusts to his girth, and she knows the break is as much for her comfort as to spare his dignity.
"Joseph?"
"Hmm?"
"Please... Move."
He does, oh, he does.
Slowly, at first, his hips moving against her. He leans in to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and when his thumb brushes over her pearl she can already feel her muscles fluttering again.
He's murmuring against her lips, his words barely audible, slipping back into his mother tongue, and the only ones she can make out are beautiful, and perfect, and mine…
Then his rhythm falters, his hips bucking, and then she can feel him pulsing, and he moans against her lips, and the thought of him spilling himself deep inside her is enough to push her over the edge, and then she's coming, again, and he's kissing her, deeply, and it feels so right.
He half collapses on top of her, his breathing laboured, and she can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest.
After a minute he slips out of her, rolling onto his side, taking her with him, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.
"Clarisse..."
He kisses her, and he gathers her close, and he holds her.
When she wakes it's still dark, and he's holding her, her back against his chest, his nose buried in her hair.
She's sticky, and sweaty, and she needs the loo, but his arms around her are warm and comforting.
He's snoring softly, his breath warm against her ear.
He'd fallen asleep like that, and she didn't have the heart to move.
She moves without meaning to, and he stirs, his grip tightening around her waist.
"Mmm. Good morning..."
"Not quite. It's not even 3 yet..."
"Semantics..."
"I need the loo."
"Of course."
His voice is still sleepy, and he yawns widely as he lets her go and rolls over onto his back.
"I have to get up in two hours..."
She sits up, carefully facing away from him, suddenly very aware of her own nudity, but she's not given long to think about it.
"Clarisse..."
There's an odd tone to his voice, and she turns her head, looking over her shoulder at him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, I'm just admiring the view."
His eyes are twinkling, his teeth showing as he grins.
"Cheeky. I'm far too old and wrinkled."
"Nonsense. You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Besides, I'm older than you. Now, I'm not a young man anymore, and it’s been a long night... May I use the bathroom first?"
"You can't use that as an excuse, it's not fair."
"Why not? It's the truth.”
"Six months. You're six months older than I am. And you don't look it."
"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen..."
The honesty is overwhelming, and she has to look away.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Colonel."
"It got me this far."
She can't argue with him, but she manages to get up faster than he can, closing the bathroom door firmly behind her.
She's sore down there, but she does pee as quickly as she can.
She pulls her bathrobe around her as she opens the door, finding him still lying in bed, eyes closed, one arm behind his head and the other resting on his belly. The sheets are so low around his waist she can see the hair in the v of his hips. For goodness sake, she can see everything beneath the cotton sheets…
"All yours…”
His eyes are still closed, but his lips are quirked into a smile.
"I could get used to this."
"To what, waking up at 3am?"
"I was in the army for twenty years, 3am is nothing..."
He rolls off the bed and turns toward her, making no move to cover himself as he walks to the bathroom, and he's big even when he's soft, and…
He has the nerve to wink at her, and he closes the bathroom door behind him before she can react.
She quickly pulls on the first pair of pajamas she can find, then crawls back under the covers.
She can smell him on the pillows, and the sheets.
It's intoxicating.
He's only gone a few minutes, and when he comes back, she's already drifting.
She feels the mattress dip as he sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand stroking her hair.
"Clarisse... Are you awake?"
"Hmm..."
"I need to go back to my own room before someone realises I'm missing."
She's wide awake.
"Oh. Yes. Of course."
"Clarisse, nothing we did tonight ever needs to leave this room. I will not treat you any differently, and if it never happens again, then at least I'll have the memories of the happiest night of my life. I can't pretend that I haven't dreamed about this…”
She brings a hand up, feeling the stubble on his cheek as she cups his face, her thumb grazing over his lips.
"Thank you, Joseph. For everything."
"Any time."
He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead.
"Goodnight, Clarisse."
"Goodnight."
And then he's gone, and the door clicks closed behind him, and she's alone.
He's in his office, working, when she finally gets up, and the next time she sees him he's his usual professional self, and the only clue that anything had changed was the slight tingle of his stubble on her inner thigh, and the slight tenderness between her legs.
Nothing changes.