A/N: This is part of my writings for a set of October prompts for the CCOD server. I hope you enjoy this! Just pure, boring fluff, a quiet night in with Johnny.
"Oh, yes! My favorite!" Johnny pulled the bag of candy corn out of Ben's hands as Ben put the groceries away.
"Hey! That's for the house!" Ben called out, watching Johnny flee the kitchen with the stolen goods.
Johnny had already torn into the bag, dropping a few pieces of the sugary triangles into his mouth before replying.
"I'll get more," he managed. "Thanks, Benny!"
Johnny stepped down onto the couch cushion beside you before falling into his seat, clutching the bag to his chest.
He held it out to you, offering you some, mouth full. "Wan' some?"
You smiled and took a few of them, popping one into your mouth.
"Nuh-uh," he mumbled, shaking the bag.
You offered your hand back and he shook out more, too many more, until one fell off and landed somewhere between the cushions.
"Johnny!" you whispered, playfully scolding.
He giggled, mouth still full, and put a finger to his lips.
"I can't eat all these, please," you laughed, holding your hand out.
Johnny sighed, setting the bag down on the table and instead leaning into your side, plucking a few pieces from your hand.
"Why can't they make these year-round?" Johnny complained.
"Because then you'd never stop. It's to curb your gluttony," you giggled, snuggling into his side, leeching his warmth.
"Oh, I am absolutely gluttonous, but not just for candy corn," he winked, warm hand sliding around you to haul your legs into his lap.
He kept his hands on your thighs, his touch naturally heated and soothing, thumbs rubbing unconsciously back and forth over your skin as his eyes returned to the TV ahead of you.
The TV's glow filled the small space, some spooky episode of a sitcom on, nothing worth really paying attention to. But it meant time spent with your Johnny, with hopefully no interruptions, and that was worth quite a lot these days.
You ate another couple of pieces of the candy corn. As you did, Johnny's eyes fell to the pile in your hand and shot you a mischievous look.
"What?" you asked, the beginnings of a smile teasing at the corners of your lips.
That was all the egging on he needed before he leaned over, capturing all the candy corn pieces in your palm in one bite.
Palm now wet with his saliva, you grimaced and reached over to wipe your palm down the front of his shirt. Laughter rumbled deep in his chest beneath your hand, his mouth too full to let it out.
"You're crazy."
"Mhmm," he hummed, jaw working as he chewed. Still, his soft look over at you told you everything he would've said.
You set your head on his shoulder, feeling comfortable and content with the cozy night in.
Even after he finished his candy corn feast, his hands kept you close. His internal temperature ticked up a few degrees as he watched your eyelids flutter closed.
Pairing: Emperor Geta x Siren!reader (implied feminine, referred to as she/her as well as 'you')
Warnings: Some mention of incorrect folklore/myth, descriptions of death/danger; blog is 18+
CCOD October Prompt - Day 31: All Hallow's Eve
A/N: This was borne out of some fun chats with @prettycalla while brainstorming for the CCOD server October prompts. Work with me here, this has nothing to do with Halloween, but it's fun! Here's your only 'spooky' au for the season, I think. This is a complete bastardization of the folklore and myth and is likely wrong and highly inaccurate but it's for fun, right? This is admittedly just cobbled together from my own self-indulgent thoughts. Listen, it was either this, or you might have gotten shark boy Geta with inky black eyes instead. Consider yourself lucky. (Or not…) HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
"Please, I want to go and see the sharks!" Caracalla begs, leaning into Geta's side as they walk through the palace. His bracelets clink together as he tugs on Geta's outer robes.
Geta scoffs. "We will be there this afternoon, you will see them then."
"No, we will be rushing to meet people I don't even care about, and then we'll be running late! You always do this!" Caracalla moves around, stopping in front of his brother. He puts on his best pleading look. "Please?"
A big sigh leaves Geta, but Caracalla knows he has won him over.
"Fine."
"Emperors," General Tegula greets, clearly surprised they were at the Colosseum so early.
"General," Geta nods before letting his eyes drop over to Caracalla. "My brother wishes to see the animals we requisitioned."
A chorus of shouts drew the General's gaze away from his Emperors for a moment. "I do fear this is a bad time."
"Did someone fall in?" Caracalla asks, proceeding past Tegula and down into the Emperors' box.
Geta raises an eyebrow.
"Perhaps it is easier to show you." Tegula gestures to the stairs beside him.
As Geta ducks into the box, Caracalla is already ahead at the edge, looking around in wonder. A pair of concerned soldiers wait on either side, hands ready to move him away if needed.
"What am I looking for, General?" Geta asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Uh… A Siren, Emperor." Tegula sounds as if he does not believe it himself.
"A what?" Geta's hand immediately moves to clutch at Caracalla's shoulder, pulling him back from the ledge. Caracalla pushes him away and resumes his watch at the railing.
"It is assumed she wound up caught in the nets, as bycatch."
Geta scans the water, seeing sharks swimming idly around, but no sign of a Siren. Embarrassment fills him after his moment of panic. Surely this was a joke.
He turns to Tegula. "Are your men incapable of telling sharks and sirens apart, general?"
Tegula just waits, eyes locked on the water's surface.
"It is a terrible omen, Emperors. We should kill it." A soldier speaks as he holds out a handful of tufted wool, but Geta sighs and pushes his hand away.
Superstition. There was no way it was real.
But then there's a flash, a glint on the surface. Something moving beneath, almost like a scrap of a sail disappearing into the water. Ripples echo out from the disturbance.
A moment later she surfaces, only the top half of her face visible.
Caracalla steps forward, squinting in the sunlight. "Brother, look!"
Geta sees, his heart hammering in his chest at the proof staring right at him. And then she disappears again, fin flowing through the water like pearlescent gossamer.
"Look at the way she zips past them!" A hand grips Geta's robe. "She has been in here all night. She must be tired." A look over his shoulder at his brother. A pleading glance.
Geta sighs.
"Get her out of the water. Do not harm her," he instructs.
General Tegula approaches, voicing reason. "Emperor, I do not think that wise—"
Geta rears around, an eyebrow arched. "Do you wish for an early retirement?" Then calmer, almost amused, "Scared of a siren, General?" His smile only grows as Tegula's eyes dart to the commotion in the water. "Are you so weak that you will fall for her honeyed words?"
"She got one!" Caracalla cheers, tugging on Geta's robes.
Geta turns to look. There is a churning, a splashing. The crystalline blue waters quickly turn red.
His jaw is slack, the blood in the water drawing him in. He sees a glint of her tail and then she is gone, away to the other side of the Colosseum.
"Perhaps we should let the gladiators try their luck against her!" Caracalla's excitement is palpable. He leans over the side, staring at the remains of the shark.
Geta leans over too, looking down at his own reflection. He realizes too slowly that there is another face lurking just behind his. She bursts out of the water, scales glittering, eyes narrowed and sharp, arm reaching out to swipe at him.
Geta only barely leans back in time. He feels the air move, sees the pointed nails slash through it, uncomfortably close. Drops of water splash onto his face as she falls back in.
Caracalla squeals in delight. The laughter pouring out of Tegula is cut off as Geta turns sharply towards him.
"You will take her to the baths. Take whatever precautions you deem necessary."
The Praetorian general nods, leaving the Emperors' box.
Caracalla is leaned over the side again, waving down at the water below. Geta's grip on his robes is firm as he pulls him back into the box.
"She is dangerous, do not forget that," Geta warns.
Caracalla shakes his head with a big smile. "She likes me."
Geta raises an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. "And how do you know that, brother?"
Bright, shining seafoam eyes crinkle at the sides. "She told me."
After spending a whole afternoon baking under the sun, Geta eagerly slips his robe down off his shoulders and steps into the steaming water. He is grateful for this private luxury, able to drop his guard for a handful of minutes.
He settles in, eyes closing as he rests his head back against the stone.
There is a disturbance in the water near him, the ripples lapping at his neck. His eyes slowly open, and it takes longer than he cares to admit for him to realize there's something there.
Wet hair mimicking the drape of a hood, framing your face. An iridescent shimmer to your skin, visible in direct light. Big, inky black orbs that should terrify him instead fill him with wonder. Dots of light are scattered in them, reflections, but to him it looks like the stars above.
He observes a few curious blinks from you before his reverie is broken and he reacts.
Geta jumps slightly, adrenaline filling his limbs with an urge to move, but he cannot think of where to go and instead just sits there, sputtering. "Wh-What?!"
You laugh, surfacing just a bit more, to your chin. "You are skittish."
The sound should not rattle his brain the way it does. Your laughter is musical, your words capturing his attention even when he knows he should be leaving, should be calling out for the guards stationed just outside. But he does not."You are not supposed to be here."
"Your men put me here. Is this not what you intended? A private audience with a siren? I must admit, I am honored."
Geta watches the shape of your lips as they move, as if they hold some power over him. He recognizes a teasing lilt in your voice, but he cannot bring himself to care. What might normally frustrate him does not.
"No, I meant the baths at the Colosseum, there's some there for the gladiators—" He stops speaking, his own head cluttered with noise. It is difficult to think, to even string a sentence together.
"Well, maybe I asked them to reconsider."
He feels a slight chill, realizing the sort of danger he is in. He finally finds his voice again and calls out for his guards.
You laugh, dragging a sharp nail gently down his cheek, not leaving a mark. "They will not come. But don't worry." You move in even closer, hands resting on the edge on either side of his neck. The long, sharp nails scratch at the stone. "I don't want to hurt you."
Geta realizes with a gasp that he can feel scales brush against his knees. He holds his breath as you lean in close. Wet hair skims his cheek, countless strings of pearls press against his chest. The whisper in his ear drizzles over his nerves, saccharine and cloying, a dangerous weapon.
"You have something I want."
His limbs itch to move, but they lack purpose. He struggles to compose himself. "What do you want?" His voice is timid, uneven and breathy.
It makes you smile widely.
The gleam of the crown calls to you from the corner of the room, the gold shining brilliantly. You can practically feel the cool metal beneath your hands.
"Your crown."
Geta is able to move. He turns his head to follow your line of sight. "My laurels?"
"Yes."
He feels it in his chest, the deep vibration. It compels him to move, but he is still caged in. As his eyes fall to yours again, he feels like he is falling into a deep abyss, his head spinning as if he had too much wine.
"But I am no thief. I offer you something in return."
"What could you have that I want?" He finds it difficult to use his voice, having to re-learn how to push the air from his lungs. "They are worth quite a lot," he adds.
You lean in close again, so close he can feel your breath on his skin. "I offer… your future."
"Vagaries from a sea witch," Geta scoffs.
"Continue calling me that at your peril," you counter.
Any argument dies in Geta's throat.
Satisfied with his obedience, you smile again. "Surely you have others. Such a small trinket, you should be able to part with it so easily. My trade is fair."
"Fair…" he mumbles.
You wrap an arm around Geta's neck and slide into his lap. A nail drifts down his throat as he swallows, his face and neck turning red beneath your touch.
"So you agree to our deal?"
He struggles to meet your eyes again. "Yes."
Your lips slip into a smile. "Good."
"My future?" he requests.
You raise a finger, pressing it to his full lips. "Not just yet. First, you must do something for me."
His eyebrows narrow as if he wishes to argue, to fight against this delay.
You lean in again, lips gently brushing against his damp cheek.
"Fetch."
You slink out of his lap and watch him, taking in the bare skin, the muscles that lurk beneath his elaborate clothes. It is a wonderful display, well worth giving up a few secrets. Were you more selfish, you might consider taking him with you when you leave.
Geta breathes in gasps as his body moves of its own volition, all at your command. He has never felt so weak, so truly at another's mercy. He could almost go mad with panic over it, until he meets your eyes again and all goes still.
He clutches the laurels to his chest as he steps back into the bath, eyes on your lurking form. Once he is again seated, he holds the laurels aloft. Water drips from golden oak leaves, their points pressing into his fingers as he waits.
"How thoughtful of you, Geta," you speak, returning to his lap. Your eyes slip closed in relief as he sets the crown on your head.
His hands linger on your shoulders, fingers spread wide, thumbs passing over the collar of pearls you wear. "They suit you."
You flower under his unbidden praise. "You have certainly earned your half of our deal." You lift a hand to caress his cheek. "Do you want it?"
He nods, gaze soft and unfocused as you hold his face in front of yours and whisper secrets against his lips.
A/N: I wrote this to continue the scribe blurb series, but also for a set of October prompts for the CCOD server. I hope you enjoy this! Meditrinalia, in my amateur researching, was a festival in October that involved mixing the prior harvest's wine with the new batch, the mixture supposedly imparting health benefits.
The moon hung high in the sky, the glow filling the terrace where you stood, overlooking the city below. Linen curtains blew in the gentle breeze, a bit chilly this late at night. It was past time to retire, but you couldn't bring yourself to go to sleep. Not yet.
"You are up late this evening, Scribe." Emperor Geta's voice sent shivers racing up your spine. He sounded relaxed. Comfortable.
Meditrinalia had done its job. Geta was cured, even if for only one night. Cured of his burden, his worry over Caracalla. Surely this time the promise of healing would bear fruit in his brother. Everyone wished for it, but none more than Geta.
"I am not yet tired, Emperor," you confessed. You allowed yourself a glance up at him as he neared.
He shone in the moonlight, his laurels glinting, hair soft and shiny, laid in careful waves. There was a bit of softness to his gaze that you were not used to. It reminded you of that evening you encountered him in the gardens. Still in his ceremonial regalia, he somehow looked even better tonight.
His hand rested on the stone railing beside yours, his other hand still clutching a cup of wine. His rings clanged against the stone as he drummed his fingers, as if choosing his next words carefully.
"I did not see you drink at the ritual." An accusation. But not a sharp one.
"I was documenting, Emperor." Even with a valid excuse, you felt like you might have misstepped.
He swirled the wine in his glass. "Well, that, I cannot abide." He nudged the side of your hand with the goblet. "Here. There's still some left."
A moment passed before you thought better of refusing his offer. Your fingers brushed over his as you accepted the glass, peeking down at the contents before bringing the cup to your lips.
"Ah," he interrupted, gripping your wrist. His touch was startling. He did not usually do such things. "You have forgotten the words?"
Heat filled your face as you struggled to remember the phrase.
Geta smiled, dark eyes meeting yours, getting much satisfaction out of your uncertainty. "Wine… new and old…" he urged.
"Oh, yes," you mumbled, remembering the rest of the words. "Wine new and old I drink, of illness new and old I am cured."
Geta watched as you again brought the cup to your lips, eyes softening as you took a drink from his glass. He dragged his finger up from your chin to the corner of your mouth, collecting a stray drop. You had to avert your eyes as that very finger passed through his lips.
He chuckled. "There." He accepted his glass back.
Geta finished off the wine and set the cup down on a nearby bench, leaning a bit lazily against the railing now, eyes locked on you.
He was not normally this free, this loose with his expression. It was a pleasant sight, though your nerves only grew. It was harder to predict him, the wine working its magic.
"You know, I do believe my brother has been spending increasing amounts of time with that friend of yours."
Was the Emperor… making smalltalk? With you?
"Uh, yes." You felt your face grow warm despite the chill. "She has shared that they are… close."
"Hmm," he hummed, his fingers moving over to tug on a small silver bracelet that circled your wrist. "It seems he does not know how good he has it."
You wanted to ask what he meant by that. You had thoughts, suppositions, but it would hardly be appropriate to question your Emperor. Even in a more intimate moment like this.
Intimate? Maddening, more like.
Another chilly gust of wind. Another shiver.
"You are cold." He did not wait for an answer, instead he began shrugging off his outer ornamental robe.
"Emperor, I do not think—"
Your words clearly fell on deaf ears as he moved behind you. His large hands seated the robes over your shoulders, his eyes watchful as you pushed your arms through. It was much warmer, still bearing his heat. And his scent. Oils and incense.
And his smile as he returned to his place against the railing. It was bright, shining in the glow of the full moon. A rare indulgence.
"That is much better, is it not?"
You nodded, pulling it up tighter around your neck, if only to smell it.
"Good. You may keep it. Your friend can make me another. And when she asks why, I will tell her where to look."
The very idea of having to explain this to the sartrix… She would not let you hear the end of it, surely.
"Thank you, Emperor," you bowed slightly, holding the robe tight.
Many moments of silence passed between you, though not entirely uncomfortable.
"Have you… done something differently today, scribe?" Geta gestured at you, eyes studying your face with whatever focus he could muster given his inebriated state.
"Different? No, I do not think so, Emperor."
"Hmm…" he looked you over once again. "Perhaps it is Luna sharing a bit of her grace with you tonight."
Heat filled your face, made it hard to feel cool even in the chilly air. The robe felt stifling. You could not find it in you to say anything at all, too blindsided by his words.
"Yes," he finally nodded. "It all has a taste of the divine. Their meddling."
"Meddling, Emperor?" You questioned.
He smiled, offering no explanation. Your cheeks burned. The weight of Geta's continuous appraisal was heavy. You had endured his occasional glances while at meetings or at other events, but never like this.
"I think I should retire."
He lifted his eyes to meet yours, his fingers ghosting over the top of your hand, pausing on the silver bracelet again. "Yes, perhaps you should. Before I say something I cannot take back."
"Emperor?"
His hand fell away. "Take tomorrow and spend it however you wish. Someone else can take down our senators' squabbling." He reached out and pulled the cloth up a bit more, closer to your neck, his fingers lightly brushing over your skin as he pulled them away.
"Thank you, Emperor."
He smiled softly, nodding at you. "Go on. I will be fine here."
You pulled the robe tight. "Goodnight, Emperor."
"Goodnight, my dear scribe," he called out over his shoulder, watching you walk away.
Warnings: Likely EXTREMELY OOC, blog is 18+ in general
CCOD October Prompt - Day 11: Bats
A/N: This started because of the inability for me to divorce one of the October prompts, 'bats', from Eddie in my brain. I wasn't forced to write this, but... the urge was strong enough to get me here. Thanks to the CCOD server, especially @prettycalla for helping me feel brave enough to post this. I hope you enjoy this, and I really hope the characterization isn't too bad!
Sticky floors. Flaking pleather stools. Well-worn wooden bartop. This dingy dive bar had its share of unpleasant odors, but it was milder than most. A quiet Saturday night now that the evening was winding to a close, the live entertainment already packing gear away.
The day was too long, too stressful. You deserved a break. A chance to be quiet in your own company, in a room full of like-minded individuals. And that's why you stopped by, lured in by the open doors and lack of a crowd standing around outside.
Tucked away in your own bubble, you sat on one of the worn stools and sighed, making eye contact with the bartender, quickly ordering a drink.
And all was going well, until that insular bubble burst.
"He must really like you, took him ten minutes to even glance in my direction."
A hand reached out, adorned with bulky silver rings, swiping the bowl of peanuts that sat in front of you.
You followed the hand up from the bowl as he threw some peanuts into his mouth.
The bartender may not have looked in this stranger's direction, but you sure did. Big, deep brown eyes met yours. He was a little skittish, flighty, like he might pick up and leave at the slightest indication of any misstep. But still he offered up a smile.
"That's a real shame," you smiled back. And it was. He was uniquely stunning. His hair was artfully curly, framing his face just right. A little frizzy, but it suited him. He was lean. A bit lanky, all elbows and knees. The print on his shirt was cracking, it had been worn so much. He had a handful of tattoos, too. One was a set of bats, flying onto the start of his forearm.
"No," he smiled, eyes cast down, an almost bashful look on his face, his raised cheeks lingering as he tore at the coaster. "I'm sure it's on purpose. I bet they figure if they take long enough, we'll just give up and leave."
"We?"
"Oh," he winced, nodding to himself. "Yeah. We. I'm in this shitty band. We play here whenever their usual guys get booked somewhere better."
"Don't sell yourself so short, I bet you're great."
"Please," he scoffed. He gestured over his shoulder. "Them over there? At the pool table? That's the 'we'."
You turned to look over your shoulder, seeing them laughing, talking trash and egging each other on. While you watched them, he told you their names, pointing them out one by one.
"And you?"
It took a second for his eyes to leave them and return to you. Big swirls of deep chestnut. Slightly surprised, as if he didn't expect you to ask, but he recovered quickly enough.
"Oh, me?" Big, wide grin. "I'm Eddie." He leaned forward on the bar, keeping his arms tucked in, like he was leaving room you didn't need. His knee pressed at the side of your thigh, but he didn't move away. Just left a gentle connection. It was nice.
Eddie's eyes flicked up to lock onto yours. "And… you?"
You gave him your name, watching him mouth its sounds to himself. It was then, as he looked down at the bottle, that you noticed the slight smattering of freckles along his cheekbone. They were barely there, and even harder to see under this low light, but you were especially observant tonight.
"So it went well?" you glanced back at the now-empty stage.
"Oh, you missed a hell of a show, got real rowdy in here," he spoke, bottle resting on his full bottom lip, voice dripping with sarcasm. You didn't miss the corners of his lips turning up as he finally took a sip.
You sipped at your own drink, eyebrows raising. "Oh, that bad, huh?"
"Oh, we're terrible," Eddie laughed, shaking his head. "No delusions there. But it's fun. Keeps me from getting too rusty."
"I'm sorry I missed it," you spoke, biting your lip to hide your smile. "They pay you, at least?"
Eddie chuckled, setting the bottle down. His fingers lingered at the neck of it, tipping it this way and that, unable to stop fidgeting with something. "I think after paying everyone out, accounting for gas, food, gear, I'll have made about…" He squinted as he did the mental math, eyes cast up at the exposed ductwork that currently had a few inches of dust coating it. "Five bucks? But hey, free drinks until we leave."
"You plan to get your money's worth?"
He just grinned impishly, taking another long sip, eyes cast over at you.
You stirred your drink, sitting in comfortable silence. The music playing low. Occasional chatter filtering in. The crack of billiard balls smacking together behind.
"So…" he started, knee that was pressed to yours beginning to bounce.
"So…" you echoed, looking over at his tattooed forearm. Tracing the bats with your eyes.
He finished off his beer, the bottle tapping the counter, hollow. You felt his arm press to yours as he leaned over, invading your bubble fully.
"You probably wouldn't guess it, but I'm actually pretty bad at this," he confided.
"Bad at what, exactly?"
The corners of his lips turned up and he just shook his head.
You leaned into him now. He was warm. "I think you're doing just fine." He seemed to appreciate his bubble being invaded.
He shook his head, his hair dangling in his face. "No, I'm never this lucky."
"Maybe just this once?"
Eddie looked up at the hopeful lilt in your voice. A slow smile spread over his face. It wasn't long before it gave way to a more sure grin.
"Yeah, alright. I suppose I could grace you with my presence for a little longer."
You glanced over your shoulder at his bandmates.
"Oh, don't worry about them, they're big boys. Besides, it sounds like I'm relying on them to drink this bar out of all their money."
Laughter bubbled up out of you. But it wasn't at him, and you reassured him of that with a hand on his knee.
"There's a diner open just down the road…" There it was. His eyebrows raised as he waited for your answer.
You set your drink down and turned more towards him, keeping your hand on the worn black denim. "You think they'll make me breakfast this late if I ask real nice?"
"Oh, they better. I know I sure would." His confidence seemed to grow with each passing second.
It was cute.
He got up off the stool and held out a hand to you. "Let's go, before I lose my nerve."
You took his hand eagerly, sliding off the stool. Halfway to the door, you stopped, fumbling for your wallet. Eddie looked back at you questioningly.
"I didn't pay for my drink yet!"
Eddie let you go, nearly jogging back to where you'd sat. He quickly downed the rest of your drink. The glass clattered against the bartop and suddenly your hand was back in his. "There, it's free!" he announced.
He led you out of the bar, the pair of you giggling.
Pairing: Tsesarevich Paul / Pavel Petrovich x reader
Warnings: My own version of Pavel, blog is 18+ in general
CCOD October Prompt - Day 24: Trick or Treat
A/N: Thank you @prettycalla for all your help with this! I didn't think I'd get it out on time but miraculously I managed to get something down on the page. This is my version of Pasha, just totally ripped from accurate history and slammed into Coppola's Marie Antoinette. I'm sorry. I'm infatuated with that movie, and the wigs and the probable opulence, how could I not?? I apologize for any inaccuracies as they will be many, but I hope you can see my crazy vision. Also, I made up a little game for them to play, it's just truth or dare guys. I just needed to fit the prompt somehow! I am also two days late but... I needed the time. Thank you for your understanding!
Laughter filtered in from the gardens through the open doors. It was a rare sound around the palace, unless it was coming from the Tsarina herself. Fortunately for most, she was away on business. Checking the progress on some project a few towns over. Took her general with her too.
Catherine would not be hurrying back.
The night was well underway. Drinking, feasting, amateur gambling. The tink of chips tossed into a pile. Cards being shuffled. The servants had been dismissed long ago. The revelry was not limited to just the members of Catherine's court.
The whole house felt like it could breathe openly, Pavel included.
The party was a given as soon as it became clear that Catherine would be away. Though thrown together quickly, it was not lacking. The kitchen labored hard to prepare a great feast. While the cat was away, everyone turned a blind eye.
"You look bored, Pavel," a friend commented, tossing a few shiny chips into the center of the small table. A low ante. This game would drag on all night at this rate.
Paul curled the cards he held in his palm, glancing down at them before tossing them into the pile, sighing. "Because this is boring."
Laughter. Mildly grating to the Tsesarevich. The shine on the mother of pearl-adorned chips swirled a bit as his head swam.
Paul lifted the small glass and finished off his drink before getting up from the table. "You can split my chips," he muttered before wandering out into the cool evening air.
A few of the ladies dashed past, offering small curtsies and giggles to the Tsesarevich before wandering deeper into the hedges. He recognized them as some of his mother's ladies in waiting.
So she did not bring them with her on this trip. Perhaps she would make her latest conquest unlace her corset and let her hair down—
No. It turned his stomach to think of it, even if in jest.
"My Lord Pavel, you look ill."
You.
"I am fine," he brushed off your concern.
Still, you approached, looking him over. "That is just what you would say if you were not fine."
"Ah, you know me so well," he teased.
He watched as your lips curved into a soft smile, the soft amber lights from inside casting you in a warm glow.
He should not. You were expressly off limits. His mother's pride and joy, her favorite member of court, even counting himself. How you got along with Catherine, he could never know.
He continued anyway, in defiance of his screaming brain. "Going for a stroll through the gardens?" You shrugged, and his eyes fell to your bare shoulders. "Are you not cold?"
"Are you worried about me, Pavel?"
He heard the mischief in your tone, was drawn to it, like a fly to honey.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" The easy grin he settled into promised much. "I do believe a walk would do me some good." He offered his arm.
With a smile, you slid your arm through his, immediately leaning into his side more than was customary, leeching his warmth.
"If I were a braver man, I might suggest you abandoned your shawl on purpose."
Despite the chill, Paul desperately wanted to free his neck from the stifling collar, as indecent as that might be.
"If I were braver, I would say you were right."
The silence that settled was anything but comfortable. Images ran through his mind. Situations he should not be in, especially not with you. This evening was meant to be fun, freeing, but still, his mother's severe expression overrode everything else.
"My mother, she—"
"Oh, enough of her. Can we spend one evening not speaking of her wants and rules?" you ranted. "'Don't entertain my Pasha', 'smile less, you do not want to appear desperate', I mean, I've had enough! I swear she keeps me close to ensure I am completely unhappy."
Paul's ears caught on you uttering the affectionate diminutive his mother frequently used. Half the time he was positive she used it ironically. And though you were merely mimicking her, he couldn't deny the way he yearned to hear you say it again, perhaps more favorably next time.
"I thought you got along well with her," Paul confessed.
Your scoff soothed him. "I am pressed under her thumb like an ant."
"You wear it better than I," he muttered.
"She is so unfair to you," you laid a hand on his arm. "It isn't how a mother should—"
A loud but cloying voice interrupted you. "Lord Pavel! Won't you please join us?"
The pair of you looked over. There was a long table, out of place in the middle of the garden, but home to many parties when weather permitted. The fabric tent shielded it from the elements, but also served to contain the warm glow inside.
He didn't usually spend much time here, his mother taking up residence on most nights with her sycophants and aspiring partners. He would always come up with some excuse, some task he needed to be in bed early for. Even though she knew he was lying, she dismissed him anyway.
There was already a gathering of lords and ladies under the tent. They were seated haphazardly, some in laps, some on the table itself. Sweet cakes had been stolen away and scattered here. The table was laden with glasses, a few empty, most still on their way there.
"We were just about to play a game!" the lady attempted to entice.
"I love games," you grinned.
He heard the flirty lilt in your voice, knew it likely meant trouble for him. But he was unable to say no. He did not drag his feet as you pulled him over. Didn't put up a fight as he sat down beside you. And still you kept your hand on his arm, as if displaying some silent ownership.
He didn't mind one bit.
"So, the game," the lady leaned in from across the table, holding up a worn silver ruble. "When it's your turn, you pick someone. They flip the coin. If it is the crest side, you can ask that person a question, and they must tell the truth." She turned the coin in her palm. "If it is Catherine, they must complete a dare of your choosing." She grinned conspiratorially.
Paul's confidence wavered. "Perhaps I will observe a few rounds first."
"Here, Lord Pavel, a drink," a man announced, sliding a glass in front of him.
He lifted it in thanks and sipped at it as the game began.
He watched you as you paid all your attention to the game, very much leaning over him to watch the goings on at the other end of the table. Your excitement was adorable.
In another time, perhaps…
"Here," the lady reached for the coin. She set her eyes on him. On Paul. "Tsesarevich—"
Your grip on his arm tightened. "He said he's not playing," you interrupted.
He could sense the hackles rising on the pair of you, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to watch, or wanted to put a stop to it. The cutting look in your eyes spread warmth through to his fingers. You were staking your claim.
The lady balked for a moment before laughing slightly uncomfortably. "I would go easy on you," she explained, meeting Paul's wide eyes despite how you leaned protectively in front of him.
He almost considered relenting, but one sharp glance down over your shoulder at him dashed any thought of that away. "I appreciate your interest in—" A heel pressed onto his own foot. "Perhaps next round," he bit out.
"You can ask me," you spoke up, leaning in further to block Paul from her view.
The pressure on his foot increased until he felt compelled to reach down for your leg and lift it, his hand finding the back of your knee even among the thick skirts.
Almost a scoff. A slight eyeroll. But put on the spot, the lady gave in, tossing the coin into the air with a sigh. She watched it fall and spin for a moment before it settled onto its back, The Tsarina staring up at the woven ceiling.
The lady's lips settled into a satisfied smile. "A dare."
Paul had a feeling you would not enjoy whatever this was.
"The old mausoleum on the far side of the grounds, I want you to walk there, remain for five minutes, then you can return."
Paul knew where she meant. The remains of a great many of his ancestors could be found there. It was where he might one day reside as well.
"It will take me ten minutes just to get there!" you protested.
The lady raised her eyebrows. "If you would like to bow out, you are more than welcome to." She didn't bother to hide her disdain.
You rose to your feet and snatched up one of the lanterns from the table. It was large and unwieldy, but you cared not. "Fine."
Your gaze fell to him. You said nothing, but he could hear you in his head, asking him to go with you.
"We will take good care of the Tsesarevich," the lady smiled.
Suddenly your hand was clenched on his jacket and you were hauling him up to his feet.
"Right," he muttered, moving to follow you out of the confines of the tent.
After walking quietly for a couple of minutes, air dense around, the mood veering towards uncomfortable, a noise left you. You turned your head to the side, eyes still avoiding his.
"Sorry."
"No, it's—"
"I forgot myself," you admitted. "She just… gets under my skin so easily."
Paul smiled to himself. "You two have a history?"
"A rivalry, more like."
He let out a hum of acknowledgement.
More silence. Silence that felt stifling with such latent emotions on display, visible and begging to be dragged into the soft moonlight.
The soft thump of his heart beneath his ribs seemed stronger, like when he stood before his men, emboldened with pride for the banners they held. The power it gave him. Like he wasn't pinched between Catherine's fingers.
"It's okay, you know."
You slowed, meeting his eyes again finally. "What is?"
"The way you feel…" He watched your face, saw your eyes widen slightly. "Even if I shouldn't, I… well, I enjoy it."
It felt good to say it, to put it out there. Now he waited to see what you would do with it.
"I never got that impression from you." A little stony, a little cautious.
He understood. Perhaps he had gotten a bit too good at hiding his emotions. Especially when his mother was within view. And as you spent nearly all of your time at her side, well…
"I didn't think you cared for me very much. I honestly thought you'd brush me off tonight."
"Well, you avoid me most of the time. It is… confusing to me, this behavior," he admitted. "Not that I would dare complain."
You frowned, but did not contest it.
He worried for a moment that he had upset you, but then you spoke.
"I am not meant to so much as look at you, Pavel. Your mother, she…"
He felt a little hopeful at that. "Me either. Can't look, can't even glance. At you, I mean."
The conversation paused as the large mausoleum came into view. The burial site of a whole host of his family members, and quite a few of those that came before. Though, not his father.
"We made it," you sighed, walking on ahead. He watched you, dress shining in the glow of the moon, looking like some conjured dream among the statues and stonework.
You turned and looked over your shoulder at him. "Scared, Pavel?"
He bit back a smile, walking over slowly until he reached you. "Are you?"
You placed the lantern on a pillar of stone and approached him. A soft touch smoothed out his lapel, easing the wrinkle there from when you pulled him to his feet. A moment that sent a jolt down his spine even as he was loath to admit it.
Before he could think twice, his hands gripped your sides, pushing you back into the soft bed of leaves along the wall of the mausoleum.
"We cannot," you insisted, even as you lifted your head back against the viridescent wall, body language very much inviting him in.
He studied you, all pressed up against the vine-covered stonework, bosom heaving. He knew he shouldn't, but the soft lace framed it all so nicely. Why else was it there if he wasn't meant to look?
A gentle pressure at his chin lifted his face so his eyes met yours again. He let out a hum at being caught staring. Not that he was attempting to hide it. "Is it my mother?"
You let out an exasperated sigh.
Yes.
"We could keep it secret," you suggested. "Just between us."
His hands climbed the bodice, that gentle pressure still there, keeping you pressed into the ivy. He could feel the heat of you even through the many layers.
"No."
"No?" You breathed, affected by his touch, but fearing his meaning more. You covered his hands with yours.
He leaned in close, closer than he ever had before. He fought to keep his breathing steady. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you a secret," he whispered softly against your lips.
"She will not allow it, Pasha," you breathed, your lips pulling at his. It nearly drove him mad.
"I will no longer let her deprive me of this," he muttered, pressing his lips to yours urgently.
He felt you give in to him and it emboldened him. He was sure now that he made the right choice. The consequence did not matter, not anymore. Nothing did, just the softness of you, the way your chilled skin warmed rapidly beneath his palms.
The pulse at your neck hammered on ever faster, his thumb lingering there just to see if you felt anything close to how he did in this moment. Even as he grew more insistent, his touch firmer, a bit desperate, you didn't let up.
As he finally pulled back, fighting for every breath, he immortalized the way you looked before him. Chest heaving, kiss-swollen lips parted. A look in your eye that screamed 'more,' and he very much wanted to give in to that wish.
"Well," you sighed, righting his jacket, "I guess we must return now."
Your eyes fluttered closed as he swiped a finger along the line of your bottom lip. Just because he wanted to. He did not want this night to end. Not yet. Not when it was going this well.
"Do we have to? The palace is just there," he nodded off to the side, his eyes darting over briefly before falling to yours.
"I have to make sure she knows I didn't weasel out of the dare," you explained, trying and failing to keep a determined look out of your eyes.
"Surely she will doubt nothing tomorrow when you join me for breakfast." A dare of his own. He ran a knuckle along your cheek, his touch gentle and full of yearning. He was warm despite the chill in the air.
Relief washed over him as you nodded. You reached up for his hand, wrapping it in yours. "Lead the way."
An impish grin. "Of course, my lady."
A/N: I hope you liked this! I've always loved Pavel but I wasn't sure about writing for him. Thanks for reading <3
