Archive of Our Own

Michaela

This kind of Saturday, where they sit and drink wine that Michaela scavenged from an adventure, was a bit of a common occurrence at the Kilmartin residence between the two women. Practically a tradition at this point after every trip and it was one that Michaela greatly cherished as it’s an entire evening she gets to spend with her favorite person. Such a thought used to provide her with at least a minor fraction of guilt, but she’s grown used to living with feelings she’s never been in charge of.

She has always been weak willed when it comes to Francesca anyway. It has been this way since they met. Michaela understands why, of course, she’s not blind. She knew it from the moment she set eyes on her in a ballroom full of butterflies. Francesca was simply the most gorgeous person she had ever met, and it only grew worse the more they got to know each other.

The most gorgeous and the most off limits.

These facts still remain true no matter the circumstances or amount of time that has passed since such a meeting. Michaela often lies awake fighting herself on whether she now believes in fate or not because of it. But no, if it was fate, Francesca would have been the sister of her cousin’s bride and not her cousin’s bride. A cruel joke really, that’s what it had all started to feel like over time. A cruel joke that she couldn’t help herself out of.

Francesca is still off limits and Michaela still thinks of her as the most gorgeous person she has ever met and she is uninterested in challenging either of these ideas now, as her life with Francesca is a routine that she finds a comfort in that she had been searching for without fully realizing it. She hadn’t much had a home she truly thought of as her own, even with the welcoming arms of her cousin, until the last few years. She’d rather die than give up what she’s found with Francesca, even if it can’t exactly be everything that she’s always wanted from it.

Michaela pressed the filled glass of wine into Francesca’s hand and tried to ignore the same thing she always tried to ignore, the light graze of their fingertips, the feel of Francesca’s skin briefly touching her own. No matter how she tries, it sits with her all the same, the way it always has since they met around four and a half years ago.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much else to tell about it.” She watches Francesca frown, the slight rose to her cheeks that their drinking had produced endearing in its own way. She always loved it when Michaela brought home something from her travels, along with her stories. Though her stories had been lackluster these past few years, her gifts never were. This time, a special wine that she already knew Francesca liked since they had shared it as one of their first bonding experiences back when Francesca had first arrived at Kilmartin Castle.

A lot has happened since then. “Not one scandalous detail? You always have a scandalous detail.” She bats long lovely eyelashes at her and Michaela has to look away to control the effect that such an action generally produces.

These are not new feelings though, she thinks she’s become a professional at burying the obvious. “Nothing of my own to share, which is your favorite I know.” She teases lightly, glancing back at the soft firelit features of a delicate face, the dim hazel of Francesca’s eyes, a fraction more intense than usual from the couple of glasses they had both already had.

“You have been either holding out on me or living a rather boring travel life recently and I would like to know why.” Francesca’s long honey colored hair is loose and easily falls into her face when she leans forward toward the middle of the couch that’s between them. She is… beautiful as always and Michaela is already reaching forward herself to brush some strands out of her eyes, not allowing herself to linger too long on any notable feature… which is basically every feature that Francesca has.

“I just find home more interesting these days.” Michaela confesses lightly. Nothing that can quite touch close enough to the truth. A half-truth, the closest she can get really. Even though her cousin has passed now, Francesca is still very much off limits and she’s not a fool to think that even if she wasn’t, that she could ever be good enough for her anyway. So, half-truths and comforting Saturdays are hers to keep.

She was mostly content with the life they shared now though. It wasn’t so bad. “You are not a homebody.” Francesca scoots across the couch so that she can lay her head on Michaela’s shoulder. She gets a bit affectionate when they drink wine together, which is a test to Michaela’s strength, but nothing she can’t handle, nothing she hasn’t grown used too after so much time together.

“No.” She mumbles and resists the urge to move an arm around her to tuck her into her body properly. She has not had enough wine herself to fully give in.

“Have you met someone?” Francesca says it a bit distantly, quietly, like she’s not exactly particularly interested in the answer.

From this position it is harder to look at her face and figure out what she’s thinking so Michaela instead takes a drink and stares into the fire, watching delicate flames lick at blackening logs while she turns over such a question in her mind and the almost absurdity of it. “Why do you ask that?” Of course, it’s not like Francesca would know that it’s a completely silly question. It would go against all of Michaela’s efforts these past years for her to understand why she doesn’t need to be asking her that, ever.

Though, her answer seems to unsettle Francesca who leans up from her shoulder a bit abruptly. When she meets her eyes, they’re a bit wide, a worry there that Michaela can’t entirely name. “You did meet someone didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been all coy about your stories. You’re settling down.” She blinks at Michaela rapidly as if trying to process a horrible truth. It amuses Michaela though and before she can help it a small giggle escapes her. She presses a hand to her mouth to try and cover it but it’s no use as Francesca would have heard the sound immediately, and she did. Eyes narrow into a glare. “You think this is funny?”

“Should I not be thinking that this is funny?” Michaela asks, still amused. For her, any thought of there ever being anyone else but Francesca is endlessly humorous to her. She doesn’t think she’s properly looked at another woman in years really. Has she been with others since they met? Yes. Has she really thought of anyone else? No. It’s quite simple for her, but of course Francesca wouldn’t really see any of that and it’s really in Michaela’s best interest that she never does.

“You can’t just settle down and not tell me about it.” She huffs suddenly, placing her wine aggressively enough on a side table that some of it sloshes up out of the glass to stain the wood below it. “Shit.” Francesca goes to wipe it up with her fingers and then those fingers find her mouth and Michaela has to immediately look away, feeling the action travel through her at an alarming rate.

Another reason that too much wine with Francesca is kind of a bad idea… she’s too damn gorgeous for Michaela.

“I don’t know where you’ve gotten this idea.” She mumbles, still amused, but refuses to look back at Francesca. The last thing she needs is to make it rather obvious why her stories have been so tame as of late.

“Since we met you have always had a story, and don’t forget that if you aren’t sharing it, I’m catching you in the act.” When she does look at Francesca again, she is thankfully no longer licking her own fingers and is instead glaring at her, as if she’s committed some sort of crime against her for not sharing every last detail of her traveling life.

She does remember the time rather vividly that Francesca had caught her. Just once, but Francesca will never let her live it down and she isn’t at all interested in being caught in that position again. “You mean that one time, three years ago?” She teases instead of taking her more seriously.

It is a bit hard to take Francesca seriously when she’s tipsy from wine. She’s often too adorable. “Now you are diverting.” Francesca huffs and then stands suddenly. “Who is it?”

Oh, she is not getting off this train for some reason.

“Fran-” Michaela sighs a bit heavily.

“Don’t. Just tell me.” She almost sounds pleading and looks a bit sad even. “Will you move out then and manage from faraway like you once told me, or will you stay, and she will come here?” Her eyes are wider, imploring, glossy and it makes Michaela’s stomach lurch at seeing her becoming so upset. She’s always hated it when Francesca cries.

“You have sent yourself off into a fantasy.” Michaela says with a sigh and stands as well. Francesca is a bit taller than her, so she still has to look up to find her eyes. The difference in height has never bothered her though, it has always had quite the opposite effect really. It was just something else about Francesca she enjoyed far too much.

She reaches for delicate hands that have anxiously fiddled themselves together and takes them between her own, offering them the comfort of a squeeze. The way Francesca answers back with her own return squeeze keeps Michaela feeling warm. “I want you to be happy.” Francesca says rather sadly, her demeanor shifting from something that had been more consistent with battle to something softer, that rim of water in her eyes that makes Michaela’s heart ache almost ready to spill over.

“I am happy. With you, here.” She lets go of her hands and reaches to brush her fingers under Francesca’s eyes, though none of that water is falling. “There’s only you.” She feels something in her melt a little when she feels Francesca lean into the hand cupping her cheek. Tension seems to deflate from her then and with it, the remaining space that had been between them as Francesca sways forward to press her forehead against Michaela’s and curl her arms around her waist.

Sometimes Francesca holds her like she is afraid she’s going to disappear from her. In these moments, Michaela is always worried she’s going to ruin everything by kissing her. “I would not want you to leave.” She mumbles quietly, almost a whisper but not quite. And then Michaela’s world shifts a little because Francesca’s kiss that she had aimed for her cheek doesn’t quite make the distance and lands somewhere near the corner of her lips and before she can help it a bit of a gasp escapes her, the soft wet press of Francesca’s wine stained lips so close to her own has her shivering and tightly latching onto her waist in the process.

It's a rather obvious reaction. One she wouldn’t worry so much about if they had more wine than they both currently have had. But they’re only a few glasses in and only at the beginning of tipsy. She can feel Francesca freeze against her at the reaction, and she fears she’ll see through her.

There’s been several times she’s been worried about being caught and called out on her very obvious feelings. Francesca’s sister had already figured it out and that day had been stressful enough. But for Francesca to figure it out? For her to realize why Michaela doesn’t have scandalous stories anymore, to have her overanalyze each action and gift she’s ever been given?

It’s something that’s featured in Michaela’s nightmares, re-occurring even for several years. She has other ones too, where her cousin, John, accuses her of cruelty and promiscuity. Something he would never truly do and something that would be impossible for him to do since his passing, and yet… they still occur.

“Michaela?” She feels the nerves turn in her stomach at the question in her tone and forces her eyes to open to greet the soft hazel of what is essentially her best friend at this point in her life.

“Hmm?” She says instead of addressing what Francesca might be asking her.

She prays for an out if that’s the case. She’s terrible at lying to Francesca so if she were to ever outright ask her, she knows Francesca would know the truth before she even fully phrased the question. “Do you remember… when…” Francesca backs up from her a bit, her cheeks still rather rosy and beautiful. There’s even a bit of glassiness to her eyes that Michaela finds a bit mesmerizing.

“Do I remember what?” She asks, her voice a bit croaky with her sudden nerves.

“Do you remember when you kissed me?” She watches eyelashes flutter when those pretty eyes meet her own again and she can’t help but feel herself blush.

She does remember that no matter how hard she has struggled to forget it. She had completely embarrassed herself. She even remembers Francesca’s “you can be just like my brothers” as she had helped her to her room after she had stumbled through the door from a party she had gone to back when Eloise was staying with her sister. She had left Eloise there, the more she drank the more her mind latched onto Francesca at home all alone since John was on some sort of business-related trip at the time.

She missed her, and she didn’t want her to be alone.

Instead, she came home and made a giant fool of herself. “Don’t remind me.” Michaela huffs, breaking their gaze to press an embarrassed hand into a burning cheek at the memories. This is not technically the first time Francesca has brought this very vivid mistake up. All the reminder Michaela needs to refocus her energy on not being that same fool and not drinking too much.

“I have… often thought about it, quite a lot actually.” Francesca mumbles, her fingers gripping tighter to Michaela’s hands. The darkness of her eyes and the water that had been lining the rims is still there. She looks… tired and beautiful and like she’s trying to say something but can’t find the words for it.

Michaela is sure she could find music for it.

She shakes her head. “That was nearly four years ago. I am still lucky you did not tell John; he would have killed me.” In her reoccurring nightmares, John already knows of such a traitorous action and condemns her to hell like his mother had done to her when she had caught her kissing a housemaid at ten and five. The truth is though, the real John, non-nightmare John, would have forgiven her for such a mistake because that’s just who he was… and sometimes that thought makes her feel worse.

“Why do you think you kissed me?” Francesca grazes over the subject of John. Not something uncommon for her to do since his death. She has a hard time talking about it. Michaela is really the only person that she often grieves with, probably because Michaela is the only person that can really understand her grief when it comes to John.

She feels herself blushing further. “Why are you asking about that now?” Francesca has tried to ask her such a question before, but she has always been successful at dodging it or finding a good tease or a piece of flattery that would satisfy her.

Now she is struggling to think of anything to derail her, the wine she has already consumed fogging up the more logical excuse riddled area of her brain. “Because you have never really answered it?” She phrases it like a question, but there’s a determined furrow to her brow that Michaela would find rather adorable if she wasn’t being so closely examined right now.

“You shouldn’t ask that.” She tries to pull away from her, but Francesca’s hold moves to tighten around her waist and keep her in place. She can feel Francesca breathing against her, a heavy sort of shallow breath with a racing heart, or maybe that’s just Michaela’s heart in between them, as hers hasn’t calmed since the moment Francesca latched onto her. Only briefly stuttering when she had felt her lips against her skin.

“I have always wanted to know. But you have only placated me.” Francesca looks to her right at the fire but keeps her hold tight enough to imply that she would much appreciate it if Michaela doesn’t escape.

She swallows her obvious answer and lets her eyes admire the curve of Francesca’s collarbone she can see, and the slender length of her neck. The unblemished skin she wishes to trace her mouth against. “I do not wish to answer.” She speaks honestly and feels Francesca stiffen somewhat against her.

“Why?” She asks in a tone that implies even more curiosity than before.

“You would not like the answer.” Michaela says with a shrug. Perhaps Francesca might already somewhat be aware by now, maybe she really isn’t because she doesn’t want to be, maybe Michaela is better at hiding things than she thinks, and Francesca has never even had a clue. All she knows is that no good can come from this line of topic. Only pain and hurt and distance and suffering.

She does not wish to lose her home. “How do you know that when you have never given it to me?” Francesca’s hands are only slightly forceful, one on her waist and another reaching for Michaela’s chin to turn her gaze toward her own. “Do you really think after all this time that you could say anything to me that would divide us? Especially after the promise we made that we would always stay together after John’s death?”

“That is not something I wish to test.” Michaela pulls her chin from Francesca’s grip and then pulls herself entirely away from her. She can feel a small amount of frustration at being pushed this way. Francesca doesn’t know what she’s asking of her, doesn’t know how unfair it is.

“The reason you kissed me would test it why?” Francesca persists because she’s a rather determined person, so of course she would. Michaela has dealt with persistence around this topic before but today she was just not ready for it.

She shakes her head and grabs her near empty glass from the table it had been sitting on. “Fran,” She sighs heavily and drinks the rest of it. “Why must you be so stubborn about this?” She asks and continues not to look at her.

“Because.” She says simply as if that’s answer enough. There are a few moments of silence that stretch out the space between them. Silence that feels more tense than Michaela thinks it should, than she would like it too really. “If you do not want to tell me, I can take a guess then.” Michaela’s stomach twists.

“Please, just let it go.” She says it quietly, almost desperately, maybe somewhat ashamed.

Her nightmares about this moment don’t really compare to the actual terror she’s starting to feel. “It is because… maybe… you feel as I do, as I always have.” At such an adventuring statement, released with uncertainness and a shyness that Michaela would find endearing at any other point, she finally looks at her again.

That curious furrow to her brows, her fingers twitch with the desire to trace and smooth them out. “What?” She asks, her heart suddenly thudding too hard in her chest.

“You act as if it is not very obvious.” Francesca rolls her eyes, a blush further traveling through her cheeks and down that smooth expanse of a slender neck she had just been admiring not too long ago. Her eyes struggled not to follow such a pretty action. “I know that I have always been rather obvious about it. That anyone who sees you is likely to be a bit under a spell.” There’s a slight uplifting of delicate pink lips that does well to distract Michaela only briefly from her mounting terror of this moment. “That there is a magnificence to you that everyone is always consciously aware of. But I-” Her voice cracks a bit and then she looks down at the rug she stands on, unsurely swaying in her place as she thinks. “That even John sort of knew before I did that, I was entranced by you.”

“Fran?”

“Maybe it is silly to think that… perhaps I could have that effect or even half of it on anyone, especially you.” Francesca looks at her. “But I always wondered that maybe… well our connection is so intense because of it?” There is an innocent quirk to her eyebrow as if she is not asking something to completely alter the shape of Michaela’s world.

“You are entranced by me?” She asks a bit bewildered, still feeling her heart hammering away in her chest. She can’t help but reach for it, pressing against it unsurely. She thinks, perhaps, she is dreaming again, not a nightmare but one she has had before, where Francesca utters words of devotion, and she finally returns it and gets the chance to drown in her the way that she has desperately wanted to since they met.

“Michaela, I forgot my own name the same day we met. Please do not act as if it wasn’t obvious.” There is a slight roll to hazel eyes, the light dilation and the blush still on fragile cheekbones just makes Michaela more aware that she’s not dreaming.

“It is not obvious.” She says with a minor amount of frustration.

Her tone seems to be taken the wrong way because Francesca flinches a bit and then shyly looks away from her. “You are right, this was a bad idea, forget that I said anything.”

“Forget?” Michaela mumbles quietly, having to contemplate it, feeling it swim around in her head and beat at the walls around her heart with intent to knock down whatever remaining defenses she had placed there in all of these feelings she has always been sinking in for Francesca.

“It was stupid, silly of me.” Francesca waves it off, that light sheen of water returning to the lovely color of her eyes and making Michaela’s heart clench with want.

“It is not!” She rushes forward, back into Francesca’s space. “No, it is not.” She feels like she’s run miles for some reason, nerves she hasn’t felt in such a long time raking their way through her system, making her fight a shiver. “I just… did not believe you to ever see me like that.” She carefully grabs one of Francesca’s hands and feels the immediate comfort of her touch.

“You really did not find it obvious?” Francesca asks with furrowed brows again, looking almost confused.

It makes a laugh bubble up in Michaela’s chest. “No, I often don’t find any of your feelings obvious, you have an uncanny ability of keeping them to yourself.” She reaches forward to smooth out the wrinkle of curious eyebrows as she desired to do so before. “I should not have kissed you the way that I did that night. I am often embarrassed when you bring it up. But it is not because you are alone in such feelings.” Michaela smiles at her. “But it is not something I can act on, because… of John and you know.” She throws her hand around. “Moment of drunkenness aside.”

“But you do feel… the same then?” Francesca seems lighter suddenly, a slight twinkle in her eyes that Michaela finds contagious and endearing.

“Yes. I am somewhat relieved actually that you-” She cuts herself off and then laughs.

Francesca seems to smile at the sound. “I have thought about that kiss a lot as well, but not because I found it embarrassing.” A sweet blush graces her cheeks then, the shyness returning and Michaela gazes at her with a stuttering heart.

Michaela’s own blush begins to appear before she can stop it as well, only furthering when she watches Francesca’s eyes follow the action across her dark skin. “You do not find it embarrassing?” She feels a scoff of disbelief escape her.

Francesca’s eyes turn curious as do her hands as knuckles brush against her cheek as if in an attempt to trace the warmth of Michaela’s blush and feel it against her own skin. It makes everything in Michaela twist with want and hope. “It is the only time I truly understood what my mother was always talking about.” She mumbles softly. “I’ve never felt much of anything when it comes to kissing but I did that night.” Her eyes aren’t exactly meeting Michaela’s and they aren’t exactly shy either. Instead, they seem to be busy scouring features, like she’s trying to memorize what is in front of her face.

It does nothing to help Michaela’s blushing situation. This feels different, Francesca has always been the one more prone to blushing, has always been the quieter, shyer of the two of them. Of many others even. It was her general demeanor. But Michaela has never felt shyer in her life than she does with Francesca’s staring after her as if she’s another sheet of music for her to memorize.

She can’t help the desire of wanting to be memorized by her from surfacing through her chest. “What did you feel?” Michaela mumbles quietly, feeling the gentle touch of Francesca’s fingers tracing the line of her jaw and unable to stop the slight shudder that travels through her at such an intimate touch.

“Everything.” She says it so softly and seriously that Michaela can feel her heart stutter in her chest, the fluttering of her eyelashes as she blinks mesmerizing in its own way. And then a whimper is escaping her because Francesca is kissing her, and she did not really prepare or anticipate such an outcome for tonight. This is something they can’t do, can never really do. But it’s something she has wanted, that she wants so badly that she can’t find the strength in her to push away at the gentle press of soft lips against her own.

It is the lightest of kisses, exploratory really, and yet it still shifts Michaela’s world, tilts it in an unanticipated way. Everything feels different and it takes her a moment to open her eyes when she realizes that Francesca isn’t still kissing her. Hazel stares at her a bit shocked, like she hadn’t anticipated her doing that either and it would be amusing if Michaela’s focus hadn’t shifted to be on one track.

She would not last the night if she couldn’t kiss her thoroughly, in the way she’s wanted to since they met. Reaching forward Michaela cups her jaw and leans up on her toes to try and even their height difference and then she kisses her again before much else can be said between them. She swallows a small gasp that Francesca makes at the sudden contact and shivers when her hands leave her face to curl around her waist and pull her body against hers.

The first time that Michaela had felt this feeling between them, straining for action, her limbs and mind had loosened from alcohol. This time, neither of them were near that and everything was so much better for it… or worse depending on how Michaela looked at it.

Right now, the only thing she could really think about is how soft Francesca’s lips are against her own and the taste of wine as she drags her tongue against a lower lip. It makes Francesca gasp again, her mouth opening just enough for Michaela to tangle her hands more thoroughly in honey colored hair and slip her tongue inside of Francesca’s mouth to meet hers.

There is the smallest of whimpers Michaela can’t help but make at the taste of her, the feeling of soft strands of her hair with her body pressed against her. This is something that has only ever occurred in Michaela’s imagination, or in dreams she’d wake up from in a sweat. This time it wasn’t a dream though or in her imagination, it was real and everything about Francesca felt so much better for it.

She wanted so many things all at once that surprisingly, she was at a loss of where she should even start, almost overwhelmed with it. She felt she didn’t even have time to be overwhelmed, that eventually they’d have to stop kissing and feeling this and remember why they can’t be doing it in the first place. It made her feel more desperate, more urgent.

Francesca seemed to echo her thoughts because her own movements, her own soft kisses, seemed to get more hurried. Her hands leaving her waist where she had been nearly pinning Michaela to her to tug at the laces of her dress, while she turns her head just slightly to deepen her kissing, her tongue pressing more insistently against Michaela’s own, more exploratory.

A soft whimper escapes her at Francesca’s change, her fingers curling tighter in soft hair while her lungs begin to burn.        There is an urgency but also a forcefulness to her touch, Francesca’s fingers, strong and talented, have already brushed through the complicated places of Michaela’s laces on her dress and she only really notices that when she feels the garment slipping off of her by persistent hands.

A whimper climbs its way up her throat and escapes into Francesca’s mouth. She’s finding clarity the moment the dress pools around her feet, understanding that this isn’t a dream and that this also isn’t something they should be doing together… that this has always been off limits for them no matter how badly Michaela has always wanted it. “Fran,” She gasps, pulling herself back, feeling the shock of this moment surface through her.

She doesn’t want to stop. She doesn’t want reality. “Yes?” Francesca asks her with a worry in her eyes but also… something else, something similar, like maybe… maybe they both just want to forget that they can’t do this for a little while and instead just have this one moment, after all this time.

What can it hurt?

“You’ve not done this before so tell me if you get uncomfortable or would like to stop.” Michaela whispers, shutting down the logic in her brain and giving in to the parts that usually keep her up at night in her own bed anyway when she’s alone.

She’s completely addicted to the dark look that’s still swirling through pretty hazel, dilated significantly. She wants to see this look a hundred times. “I do not want to stop.” Francesca blushes deeply, her normal shyness is trying to take over, but she seems to be fighting it as her eyes brush down Michaela’s body since she had pooled the dress around her feet, leaving her in a thin shift. Somehow, Francesca looked almost hungry while staring at her.

It made everything inside Michaela feel warm and wanting. “Can I take yours off?” Michaela asks almost nervously, something that is uncommon for her. She is a bit more used to control in these situations, confidence. But she’s never been in this situation with Francesca before, so perhaps it’s okay that things are already different.

Francesca just nods her head, blushing deeply and then backs up from her to turn around to give Michaela easier access to her laces. “You will show me how?”

“I’ll show you whatever you would like me to show you darling.” Michaela mumbles almost too eagerly and lets out a sigh of relief when she’s tugged open the last remaining laces. Francesca helps her brush the soft material of her dress off, it pooling to the floor as well and leaving her in a similar state of undress. Michaela brushes her fingers across narrow hips, feeling the bone between her fingertips and tries to control the ravenous hunger struggling to take over her. Instead, she gently turns Francesca around so that she can meet those dark gorgeous eyes again.

Her breath stutters out another gasp though when Francesca’s impatience wins out and upon turning, she is being kissed again, Francesca’s tongue brushing into her mouth and against her own, tasting like wine. She whimpers and presses into the warmth of her body, feeling the kiss and the forcefulness of Francesca’s touch settle warmly between her own thighs.

“I have imagined this so many times. Since I caught you with that girl.” Francesca whispers against her mouth and Michaela can’t help but shudder again, tightening her hands on Francesca’s hips, while Francesca’s hands seem to be struggling to pull the shift she’s still wearing off. “I want… I want to feel you like she did.” Francesca whispers against her mouth, disrupting their kissing.

Michaela can’t help but whimper at her words again, maybe she really is dreaming. “Fran-”

“Do you want that?” Francesca whispers, interrupting her.

Michaela nods and backs up just enough so Francesca can pull the rest of her clothing off of her. Once it is gone, Francesca makes the quietest, most beautiful noise that Michaela knows she’ll be dreaming about for the rest of her life. Her eyes have dilated so much that the color is nearly gone, and she scours the skin available to her as if she’s starving for it, as if Michaela really is a brand new sheet of music that she has never heard before.

Michaela wishes for nothing more than to be played.

“God, you are so beautiful.” Francesca whispers. “Show me how to touch you.” She even says it with a bit of a demand. Her tone was a bit harsh, her breath heavy from kissing and the general tension of the moment.

Michaela clears her throat, not understanding how she’s lost every last word in the English language so easily. “The bed.” She says simply, unable to come up with something clearer and grabs Francesca’s hand to lead her to her own bed in the middle of the room, away from the couch they had been drinking on.

She lets go of Francesca’s hand so that she can pull the comforter from the bed, shoving it off and when she turns back to Francesca. Her breath leaves her body because she is standing before her with nothing on. There is a bit of shyness back in her demeanor, a deep blush across her cheeks, running down her neck toward her breasts and it makes everything inside Michaela ache and ache.

“I… know I am not a France girl.” Francesca whispers with that mesmerizing blush, her shyness making her look away from Michaela.

Michalea pushes forward, into her space, shuddering at the brush of their skin together, the warmth of it, the soft press of Francesca chest into her own, the hardness of her nipples on her skin. She cups Francesca’s jaw and then instead of saying anything that she wants to say she kisses her. She can’t seem to form proper words, but she can show her how beautiful she is, that’s something she can’t possibly forget how to do.

Not when she’s being blessed with a moment that she thought she’d never have, even if she knows the moment to be temporary.

“Please Michaela, show me.” Francesca whimpers against her lips and Michaela can do nothing else but listen, nodding. She pulls Francesca with her down onto the bed, feeling her breath leave her entirely when her back presses into the soft mattress and she’s enclosed by the warmth of Francesca’s body on top of her own.

Francesca is still full of a blush and looking down at her a little wide eyed and yet… excited? “Give me your hand.” Michaela manages to whisper, her voice raspy and low and she watches how this tone seems to affect Francesca, her eyelashes fluttering. She does what she’s told, a delicate hand with strong fingers brushing against her own, their fingers tangling. “Do you know how to touch yourself?” She struggles to ask and watches honey colored hair waterfall over one shoulder as Francesca tips her head to the side.

“How do you mean?” She asks shyly, her blush still prominent.

“You have thought about this because of what you saw when you caught me? Have you ever… tried to touch yourself like that?” Francesca’s blush seemingly grows, and her eyes cut away from Michaela as if embarrassed. “It is alright, touching me… is kind of like that.” She squeezes the hand still in her own and then guides it to one of her thighs. “What do you want to do?”

Francesca’s fingers squeeze around her thigh experimentally, dark eyes finding the action as she adjusts so she can see what she’s doing better, laying down more beside Michaela rather than on top of her. “I want to make you feel like that girl did.” Francesca whispers softly. “I want…” Dark eyes travel across different features of Michaela’s face, down her neck, her chest, everywhere and Michaela feels like she can feel her eyes as if they’re touching her, as if they’re her hands.

A soft groan climbing its way up her chest and struggling to escape as she fidgets beside Francesca, the warmth between her thighs having grown in the time it took them to get here. It never takes much for her to get worked up when it comes to Francesca, the thought of her alone can often do it. “It is alright, anything you want is safe to say with me. Would you like me to tell you what I want?”

“Yes, please.” Delicate and long fingers are brushing carefully across the skin of her upper thigh, and she can feel herself responding to such a light touch so easily, a wetness settling heavy and distracting between the center of her thighs, but she does her best to keep her mind clear enough.

“I have always wanted you like this, since we met.” Michaela whispers and shivers when Francesca seems to lose control of a soft moan of her own. “To feel you kiss me, to feel you kiss my skin, maybe here.” Michaela brushes her own fingers against her neck. “Here,” along her collarbone, “here,” she brushes her fingers down across her breast and feels herself grow wetter at the way Francesca is watching her fingers move, at the way she whimpers when Michaela’s own fingers brush against a hardened dark nipple.

A spike of pleasure surfaces through her that she can’t entirely help, and she tugs a bit, giving into the want of her body. She stops because Francesca has removed her hand from her upper thigh to brush at the fingers around her breast and move them away. “It is me that should be doing that.” Francesca says almost demandingly, and the tone does something else to Michaela that she hadn’t quite been expecting, a squirm she is unable to help from happening as she shifts her hips against the bed.

“I have dreamed of kissing you and touching you everywhere.” Francesca whispers. “I have imagined it many times.” Skillful fingers, fit for a piano brush exploratorily over dark warm skin and Michaela whimpers softly when they squeeze around her breast and tug at her nipple in a similar way that she had just done to herself. “You make the most beautiful sounds; I would like to hear them all.” Francesca says it low and whispery and Michaela’s hips twitch again before she can help herself.

“Please, kiss me.” She can’t help it, wanting to feel the warmth and wetness of Francesca’s tongue against her own again and thankfully, such a request is not denied. She moans gratefully when Francesca kisses her forcefully and continues to touch her chest in the way she had just watched Michaela do, making her hips twitch as Francesca shifts to lean over her more, pinning her down a bit skillfully for someone who has never done this before.

She complains only barely when Francesca’s mouth leaves her own but stops when she feels those beautiful lips pressing against her jaw and down her neck, following the path her hand had taken. She tangles one of her hands into Francesca’s soft beautiful hair and the other into the sheet below her, trying to prevent herself from begging, not wanting to rush or overwhelm her.

Warm and wet kisses explore her skin for a while, she honestly doesn’t even know how long because she gets lost in the feeling of it, her skin bruising under the mouth of the girl she’s been in love with for four and a half years by now. She almost wants to cry. “Please Michaela, I want you to feel good.” Francesca’s lips mumble it against her collarbone and Michaela nods, trying to steady her thoughts.

She pulls her fingers from the sheets she’d been gripping and finds Francesca’s hand that was laying rather steady on her chest. She pulls it down between her legs and presses their fingers into her inner thigh, shivering at the sensitive touch.

Francesca stutters a bit because where she had pressed their fingers, she could feel the dampness that had already started to stain the inside of her thighs. “Here, please.” Michaela whispers, guiding strong and steady fingers up to press against her, her own thighs falling further open, giving herself willingly to Francesca’s exploration.

Francesca does explore, her kisses returning to her skin as determined fingers brush through her drenched center. Nothing direct but light and curious, the touch teasing enough to make Michaela twitch and whimper against her. “You are very wet.” Francesca whispers softly, almost sounding awed but before Michaela can answer she is being thoroughly kissed again, and her soft moan gets lost in Francesca’s mouth.

Fingers blessed with making music do the same thing to her now, brushing carefully through her and then stuttering when they press into the hardness of her clit, making Michaela break their kissing with a moan that echoes off the walls of the room. She’d feel more embarrassed about it, but Francesca only seems to be listening, and learning.

Michaela feels the way she swirls her fingers against her clit until she seems to find the pattern that makes Michaela twitch up into her hand desperately, soft moans escaping her, not able to be quieted or drown out by Francesca’s mouth since it’s busy brushing kisses into her neck. She feels her touch burning through her whole body, fearing she’s climbing too fast and as the experienced one between the two of them she’s going to embarrass herself yet again.

Francesca seems to be following her instincts however, listening to Michaela’s body like she’s already been learning it, teeth pressing against the skin of her neck as her fingers pick up their pace.

At this rate, Michaela is sure she’s going to be a goner before they’ve gotten anywhere, so with the strength she can muster she tugs at honey colored hair and struggles to control the twitching of her own hips. When she finds dark hazel eyes, it makes everything feel fuller, more vivid. “Inside of me, please, can you do that?” Her voice comes out breathy and low and she feels Francesca shivering to it on top of her.

“Yes.” Francesca whispers and though Michaela’s body wants to protest the pressure leaving her clit, she doesn’t say anything else. She does tug at Francesca’s hair until they can kiss again, parting her own thighs further apart as Francesca’s delicate fingers brush through her and all the wetness Michaela can’t help for her. She moans softly into Francesca’s mouth when one finger makes its way inside of her and then gasps with surprise when Francesca goes for two. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, god yes.” Michaela whimpers and then kisses her more thoroughly, hips pressing up to meet the intrusion of exploratory fingers. They brush and curl up inside of her and Michaela feels the touch travel through her body, another gasp escaping her before she can help it.

“You sound so good.” Francesca whispers softly, sincerely. “You feel so good.” She seems to punctuate the statement with a slow thrust, fingers curling inside of her and making Michaela already start to tighten and clamp down on the digits. She can feel herself nearly falling off the edge, far too soon, far too quickly, but she can’t entirely help it. Francesca has always had a bit of power over her body, but she didn’t realize how intense it truly was until this moment, ready to fall off the edge after a few thrusts and heated kisses.

Regardless of embarrassment or logic, she can feel the starts of her orgasm already brushing through her veins, hanging on by the thinnest thread of her own control. She loses the control entirely when she feels the heel of Francesca’s palm make contact with her clit on another slow thrust in and curl of her fingers, her touch just right, Francesca’s breath in her ear muttering something about her own beauty.

She loses herself easily, clawing into beautiful hair and nails biting into the pale skin of her back. She loses her mind to it too, the pleasure of Francesca touching her for real, of being inside of her, of wanting to be there, is overwhelming and it easily consumes her. She can’t even be sure for how long it lasts, she just knows that when she becomes aware of the world around her again, Francesca isn’t inside of her anymore and deep hazel eyes are staring down in wonder at her while honey colored hair curtains around her vision.

She is completely surrounded by Francesca, another fantasy, another dream that has somehow become reality. “We shouldn’t be doing this huh?” Francesca whispers, almost sadly and the euphoria of her touch and this moment dims just a fraction.

Michaela swallows and moves her hands so that she can cup Francesca’s face. “Forget it for now.” She begs and then she kisses her, hard and thorough and with intent. If this is the only chance she’ll ever have, she isn’t going to waste a second of it on guilt and sadness. She wants to make every moment last for the rest of her lifetime.

Francesca

Feelings for Michaela are not a new occurrence. Feelings for Michaela are as natural for Francesca as breathing. They had been there since the very moment their eyes met, from the very moment that Michaela had smiled so openly at her and asked her for her name, from the very moment she had not fully heard the words she had said before she had directed her attention to her, overwhelmed with the sudden vision of her.

Of course, she had not known at the time what was happening to her, or what it had meant, other than the fact that she hadn’t once in her life met anyone that could tie her tongue so efficiently. That she was quiet though generally composed and had not ever met someone to shake the foundations of the ground she stood on, not until Michaela.

So perhaps it was always inevitable, and fighting it is silly and pointless. Perhaps there’s not really a choice for her, not when it involves Michaela. Perhaps that is why she had succumbed so spectacularly to wants she had buried since the moment they had met, since before she even understood what they were.

It has been a week since and she isn’t sure if the want is worse or if the lingering guilt is. Of course, John is not here anymore, he has been passed for two years, and she is not his wife anymore. So outside of… well… it being particularly unusual in the eyes of the world that they don’t much participate in anyways, there really isn’t much to be guilty about. But it still lingers in her mind, still weighs heavily during quiet nights. Not quite as heavy as the memory of Michaela’s lips against her own for the first time since that drunken kiss, or the way her breath had stuttered at the shock of being kissed so suddenly, but still there, nonetheless.

Eloise would tell her that there is nothing to be guilty for… though Eloise is also a massive rule breaker who is not afraid of being very loudly herself. Francesca can’t say she has the same bravado. Even if her want is keeping her awake most nights with the memory of Michaela whimpering in her ear, with the way it felt to be inside of her.

It would not happen again; they had promised each other that. It wasn’t fair to John, even if John was passed. It wasn’t fair to his memory. So, they didn’t do it again and Francesca felt the distance of such a promise tingle hotly under her skin. Every desire she had ever had for Michaela was so much more vibrant than it had been before.

Before, she had only had her imagination to picture such things with for the most part that is, which was honestly severely lacking. Excluding the time she had caught Michaela with a woman several years ago, before John had passed. A discussion that very much enlightened Francesca to what was going on with her when it came to Michaela in the first place. Probably the first time she ever felt the guilt so fully that she should be feeling more of now.

Before it had been easier to pretend that everything was normal. Now… now she had vivid memories of Michaela’s bare skin, and the feel of it under her hands. Now she had memories of Michaela’s soft moan when she had guided her where to touch and the feeling of how warm she had been around her fingers. The way that Michaela’s fingers had tugged in her hair when she had sunk her teeth into the soft skin on her neck.

Huffing, she smashes a few keys below her to jar her thoughts away from her memory, feeling the warmth of them already settling between her legs. Just a thought and she is ready to lose her sanity yet again. She is only lucky that Michaela is not in the room with her, since she often likes to sit and listen to her play. Though, she doesn’t entirely feel lucky about it because Michaela has been avoiding her since… well…

She can’t blame her; it is hard to be around Michaela and not give in yet again.

But… she misses her.

Perhaps it is the thought that summons her because one moment it is quiet while she stares at her keys and feels the melancholy loneliness of Michaela’s absence and the next the door is bursting open and smacking the wall loud enough to make her jump and she is standing before she can help it.

Her breath catches somewhat audibly at the sight of Michaela in the doorway, breath escaping her rapidly as if she had run here. She is wet too from the Scotland drizzle, probably because she had been frequenting the garden outside and the cottage at the base of the estate to maintain a certain level of distance.

She is in men’s trousers and the curls of her hair drip water onto the white of her shirt that has become somewhat sheer from the rainwater. She looks… absolutely breathtaking and Francesca’s heart feels as if it aches in her very chest. That same desire to touch and reach for her surfacing immediately but it feels so much more intense now. Now that she has such vivid memories, such knowledge of everything that she could only vaguely speculate on before.

“Are you alright?” She stutters out, to try and keep her mind clear, a bit shocked by Michaela’s disheveled appearance.

“Am I alright?” Michaela scoffs and steps into the room properly. She looks away from Francesca, who is still standing near her piano, and swings the door back shut a bit too harshly. The near slam of it echoes in the room a bit, making Francesca flinch.

“Were you in the garden again, in this weather?” She doesn’t much like it when Michaela plays in the rain too much. She has a tendency for illness, and it worries her, but she isn’t very worried because Michaela’s demeanor is a bit distracting as she spins from the door to glare at her.

“You have driven me to insanity, Francesca.” She accuses in the softest version of a harsh tone that anyone could direct at her. It is amazing the way it makes her hesitate, the relief the words bring to her are unfair, but they settle in her bones anyway.

“I-” She snaps her mouth shut, feeling the horrible urge to stutter. “What do you mean?” She manages after a moment and feels the wild look in Michaela’s eyes travel through her abruptly and settle in her lower stomach.

Her eyes are always so intense and beautiful, a distracting thing for Francesca. “What do I mean!?” Michaela is still dripping water as she advances forward and Francesca has the urge to step back but there isn’t much space for her to escape too, so instead she stands still as Michaela gets closer. She smells like rain and a bit of firewood today. “I cannot sleep.” Francesca feels herself stuttering out a breath and then maybe stop breathing entirely. “If you are not next to me, I cannot sleep. I cannot stay away from you and yet if I am near you, it is agony to not be touching you. So, I stay away and instead I cannot sleep.” Michaela is much closer to her now, shivering.

“You are cold.” Francesca says instead of answering other jarring statements, ones that she herself agrees with. “You know I do not like it when you play in the rain when you have a weak constitution.” She continues, biting back her own confession. That promise burning under her skin, she hates it.

“Fran,” Michaela huffs as if impatient, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You are not listening. I am not cold.” She is lying, her shivering giving her away. Her pupils are slightly dilated, and they do so further when Francesca reaches forward to brush a wet curl off her cheek.

Her skin is cool against Francesca’s fingers as they brush against her jaw. She watches the fluttering of Michaela’s eyelids, the tilt of her head slightly as she leans into her touch, a quiet noise she wouldn’t have heard if they weren’t suddenly so close escaping her that almost sounds content. “You feel cold.” Francesca whispers. The promise lingers in her head like a siren, blaring over and over as she moves to brush her thumb under Michaela’s tired eyes. “I cannot sleep either.” She whispers softly, a confession she should have held onto tighter.

But it softens Michaela’s demeanor, a less frantic version of her finally appearing once again. “Then why must we maintain distance? It does not stop me from wanting you.”

“We did promise.” Francesca removes her hand and feels Michaela’s whimper of protest at the very core of her being. Her own hands ache to be touching any piece of Michaela she would be allowed to reach.

“We can still keep it. We have been friends for years and nothing happened. It will be fine.” Michaela’s tone is doubtful, but her eyes are full of hope anyway, a desire not to be apart that Francesca can feel echoing into her very chest.

“I did not ask you to stay away Michaela. You simply said you were going too.” She can’t help but smile at her a little, almost amused at her essentially begging to be near her even though she feels much the same way.

“Well, I just figured that you would want-” Michaela huffs before finishing her sentence and then shivers a bit, brushing a hand down her face. When she meets Francesca’s eyes again, she does look about as tired as someone would if they really couldn’t sleep. “I cannot take it anymore. Please assure me that you are as sick of this distance as I?” She looks unsure now, unsure and tired and yet still so beautiful, not a displeasing feature about her.

Francesca can’t help the soft way her heart thumps with agreement, a smile escaping her before she can much help it. “I am quite sick of it.”

 “Do you think… perhaps, that we should talk about it?”

“I do not think that’s a good idea.” Francesca says, already feeling herself blushing, sure that diving into it so openly will eliminate the rest of the will she’s been holding onto to maintain her own control. As it is now, she is already struggling with it, if it was not her care for Michaela’s health keeping her sane, she may have already broken their promise.

“Maybe you are right.” Michaela huffs, shivering again and curling her arms around herself in an effort to find warmth.

“What we will do instead is get you warm. I will bring you some tea and new clothes. Sit by the fire.” She is a bit demanding about it but Michaela listens, as she normally does with her. When she comes back, Michaela isn’t shivering anymore and is seated on the floor near the fire, staring into it as if a bit lost, though she alerts when Francesca clears her throat to set the dry clothes on the couch. “Franklin is coming with the tea.” She assures and smiles softly at Michaela when the cloudiness leaves her gaze to look at the clothes.

“Are you, to leave me to change?”

“Would you like me too?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Francesca sits on the couch as Michaela stands and stares down at her fiddling hands in her lap to offer up some privacy. The sound of clothes being discarded is distracting and she has to curl her fingers into the material of her dress, staring at the way it wrinkles with the action rather than giving in to the urge to look up and find skin. Skin that she had basked in only a week ago, that she had touched every inch of and studied as if it was its own piece of sheet music. She feels the want curl in her stomach and her hands tighten again.

There’s a knock on the door that pulls her head up instinctively, but Michaela is mostly decent by then, tugging a sleeve into position. “Come in!” Michaela says and Francesca watches her for a moment before greeting Franklin when he opens the door.

“The tea you requested ma’am.” He says politely and sets it down on a table. He makes a slight bow before leaving and then clicks the door shut behind him.

“Thank you.” Michaela says in a softer tone, an unusual shyness gracing her as she grabs the tea from the table and sits next to Francesca. There is still a coolness to her skin that she can feel through that material of her dress when their arms brush when she sits rather close.

She doesn’t object, the want feels a fraction more bearable when Michaela is as near to her as she is at the moment. “Are you feeling warmer?” Francesca feels the twitch in her fingers to reach out and check for herself, or maybe to just find Michaela’s hand and hold it. She doesn’t though, instead curling it back into the material of her dress to maintain some control.

“Yes.” Michaela answers, that soft quiet tone to her voice that isn’t very like her. When Francesca looks to her right at her she notices she is blushing, the soft color on the delicate features of her cheekbones leaving her with an urge to trace.

“Good.” She answers quietly, still admiring the light coloring across the dark tones of Michaela’s cheeks. Her tone must imply something because it makes Michaela turn her head to meet Francesca’s eye and she watches that light blush deepen when she finds Francesca staring at her.

Their closeness creates a more obvious friction, one they both promised they would not act on and so Francesca looks away and curls her fingers tighter. “Are you sure we shouldn’t talk about it? Maybe it would be easier.” Michaela’s voice leaves the shyness behind to take on something a bit more reassuring. The cool feeling of her fingertips brushing against the back of Francesca’s hand that’s tightly clenched in the material of her dress makes something in her ease that had been winding tight.

“I believe it would have the opposite effect.” She mutters quiet, honest, already feeling her body answering the barest of Michaela’s touches. Her pulse suddenly thrumming with unwarranted anticipation.

“It is hard for me to pretend as if it didn’t happen.” Michaela’s voice is back to the soft and almost shy sound and if Francesca were to look back up at her she’d most likely see the blush returning too. “Can you pretend?” There is something not so shy in the way she asks her such a question though, something almost challenging.

It is hard not to look at her. “No.” She finds honesty leaves her with Michaela quicker than most anything else.

“Then we should talk about it.” Michaela’s fingers work to unclench Francesca’s fist so that she can twine their fingers together and it eases her as much as it unsteadies her. She watches their skin press against each other, Michaela’s lovely fingers brushing between her own, a deep part of her aches.

“If we talk about it, we will do it again when we promised not to.” Francesca says quietly because her will not to do something completely across the boundary of that stupid promise is paper thin, growing thinner with the way Michaela’s thumb brushes against the skin of her hand.

“You would…” Michaela clears her throat, a slight rasp in her tone that Francesca feels between her legs. “You would want to do it again?” She asks with a clearer voice.

Francesca’s eyes leave their hands to find Michaela’s, brown staring deeply at her as if filled with shock and excitement. It makes Francesca want to kiss her. “Wouldn’t you?” She asks almost confused because she was sure it was obvious to the both of them that this thing was… mutual in its intensity.

“Well yes, but… I just…” Michaela releases a soft sigh, looking down at Francesca’s mouth before abandoning it and looking at their intertwined hands. Francesca watches her eyebrows furrow with her thoughts. “I guess I thought maybe I could have dreamed it, you feeling the same way.”

“Why would you dream it?”

That blush returns, deep and beautiful, and this time Francesca doesn’t fight the urge to trace her cheek and feel the warmth of it, reaching up with her free hand that isn’t being held by Michaela’s. She nearly sighs watching Michaela’s dark eyes flutter shut as she tips her head into the touch. “I have dreamed of you many times.” Michaela’s eyes open to find her and Francesca feels her breath catch at the great intensity of them. “Since we met.”

“You are not helping me keep our promise.” She mumbles quietly, eyes moving down to Michaela’s mouth, a similar confession getting trapped in her throat when she feels the puff of Michaela’s breath brush across her own cheek, making her aware of how close they truly are.

“Funny, I cannot remember making one anymore.” Michaela whispers and tips her head just slightly, a distracting invitation.

A gentle whimper escapes her when she feels the lightest brush of Michaela’s lips against her own but before either of them can do anything more about it, they’re interrupted with another knock at the door. It makes Michaela huff impatiently against her mouth and back away from her, an annoyed furrow crossing her brows when she looks at the door. “Who is it?”

Francesca struggles to pull herself back to the same reality, her eyes following the movements of Michaela’s lips as they form the question. She blinks a few times, feeling the fog lift once she hears Franklin’s voice carrying through the door. “I am sorry, I forgot the sugar, Miss Stirling.”

“Oh, that is quite alright Frank!” Michaela manages to make her tone sound cheery even though she still looks somewhat annoyed. Her hand leaves Francesca’s as she makes to stand, and Francesca almost utters a protest at the sudden distance, eyes tracing after her heavily.

She swallows the protest though and watches as Michaela opens the door for Franklin to take the sugar from him, politely dismissing him after. “So that is why I have been losing sleep in the cottage rather than being here.” Michaela’s tone is somewhat shy again as she sits back down. She is further away now, and Francesca can’t feel the coolness of her skin or even the radiating body heat from warming up. She scowls at the distance before she can help herself.

“Perhaps it is because we have spent the last week apart.” Francesca says unconvincingly. “The distance has made me feel…” starved. She bites the word back, not letting it slip but it seems Michaela at least partly understands because when she meets her eyes, she gets to watch them darken slightly.

“No more distance, we will just act as we did before.” Michaela’s voice wavers as does her gaze, brushing across the layered dress covering Francesca’s body as if she can see through it. “Yes, as if it never happened.” She swallows and cuts her gaze to the fire.

Francesca feels the nerves take over then, looking back down at her lap and curling her fingers into her dress again. “I am not sure I can.” She confesses quietly.

“You want the distance then?” Michaela asks, sounding almost devastated.

Francesca’s gaze shoots to her own, fear gracing her. “No!” She says a little abruptly and it takes Michaela by surprise.

Once the surprise wears off it shifts into amusement that colors in the soft browns of her eyes in such a pretty way. “No?”

“No more distance, like you said. I just…” She feels a similar shyness that isn’t unusual for her. “I am sure I cannot forget about you or even pretend to that is.”

“Okay, what do you suggest then?”

“I don’t know.” She smiles at Michaela. “No distance and no pretending I guess.”

Michaela chuckles. “So, you don’t want to talk about it, but you don’t want to pretend either?” She teases, a lightness to her tone that is contagious.

Francesca can’t help but smile just a small amount. “Shut up.” She mumbles and feels herself blushing as she looks back at her hands in her lap.

“I can’t forget you either. You are all I think about.” Michaela mumbles openly and when Francesca meets her eyes, they stare at her with such sincerity that she wishes to appreciate it by kissing her. Instead, she looks back down at her hands that continue to scrunch her dress. The material soft and distracting just enough to control herself from giving into such a feeling.

She sighs almost in relief when Michaela’s hand is back on her own, soothing them to let go of the material of her dress. “You say such soft words.” Francesca mumbles, watching Michaela’s fingers grip at her own, there is a gentleness in the desperation of her touch that she feels vibrate within her soul, answering her as if she’s speaking.

“They are true, not just soft.” Michaela’s voice holds a level of conviction that makes Francesca’s heart summersault in her chest and burn with all her want. She blinks, cutting her gaze from their touching hands to find Michaela’s dark eyes still staring at her, an open want displayed on the prettiest face she has ever had the privilege of gazing upon.

“Michaela.” And then there is the simple thought of: to hell with it, that propels her forward to close the distance between their mouths that they had been fighting so hard against since she burst through the door.

Michaela’s eyes widen only a fraction before Francesca cannot see them anymore because her own have fallen shut to embrace the feeling of the soft plumpness of Michaela’s lips pressing into her own. They are warm and quiver just barely under her touch as if Francesca is the one wielding her beauty like a weapon to drive Michaela crazy and it makes her feel more wild, desperate, to taste what she had only a week ago.

Michaela whimpers against her mouth when Francesca presses her into the couch, allowing Francesca’s tongue to greet her own with the action and that whimper turns into a moan that vibrates into the very core of Francesca’s being, warms her chest as much as the place between her thighs.

Kissing Michaela is absolutely exhilarating, and it consumes every thought in Francesca’s head, leading to actions that she doesn’t even hesitate on, like pinning Michaela to the couch below them, and tangling a free hand in the loose material of Michaela’s shirt while her chest heaves against her hand. Francesca doesn’t think as she grips Michaela’s jaw with her other hand, her teeth tugging the flesh of Michaela’s lip and pulling that painfully beautiful whimper from her throat that Francesca hasn’t stopped dreaming about in the last week.

She’s a bit forceful when she turns Michaela’s jaw so she might reign marking kisses down the delicate cut of it, Michaela shivering below her and latching onto her waist, fingers digging into the material of her dress at her back. She can almost remember the feeling of them on her bare skin, the way they had left marks when Francesca’s fingers had brought her to the edge.

“Fuck, Fran, please.” Michaela moans softly into the room when Francesca skims her teeth below the pulse point of her neck, soothing such an action with her tongue and basking in the way Michaela’s hips lift to try and grind up into the body holding her down. One of Michaela’s hands has risen to her soft hair, tangling and tugging just barely to pull Francesca’s face back to her own, to meet her eyes, sending the pins Francesca had placed in it this morning askew. “We are breaking our promise.” Michaela says it softly, her voice hoarse and it makes Francesca’s eyes shut for a moment to embrace the very sound of it.

Oh, she is in love with the low octave of Michaela’s voice when she has turned her on. “Would you like me to stop?” Francesca asks, opening her eyes again to watch the turmoil surface on Michaela’s face like Francesca was threatening her.

In truth, it is Francesca that feels threatened and starved, she thinks she might die if she must part from her now, if Michaela wishes to deny them this moment after having them maintain such agonizing distance for an entire sleepless week.

Thankfully, Michaela is as weak as she seems to be when it comes to this addictive connection. “God no.” Long fingers curl tighter into the material of her dress as she leans up to find Francesca’s lips and releases a sigh into her mouth once they touch.

She kisses her soft and placating at first before pushing Michaela back down and parting their mouths. A protest in another soft beautiful whimper escaping the girl below her. The pupils consume the brown of her irises when they flutter open again. Her unabashed want twists Francesca’s stomach pleasantly, that low throb between her own legs making her fidget. “I am going to kiss you everywhere.” She promises her, keeping her tone controlled enough while Michaela squirms below her in anticipation. “And you’re going to let me.” She states it firmly, with no argument so that Michaela will not try again to distract her with soft kisses from her goal.

“Fran-”

“Only if you wish to stop should you protest.” Francesca tells her very seriously, disrupting her yet again and awaits to commit anymore actions until Michaela has taken the time to understand her and then nod her head with her consent. Francesca lifts herself from Michaela’s body so that she might adjust her properly so she can lay between her legs, feeling them close around her waist tightly, hips pressing up and grinding into her as if she had been desperate for the pressure, as if Francesca had already made her ache bad enough to need it.

“Fran,” A beautiful sigh of her name escapes kiss swollen lips, a voice that almost sounds dreamy and lost. It settles between Francesca’s thighs heavily, making her throb and grind into the woman below her, urging out a soft whimper of pleasure from those perfect lips.

“Shh,” Francesca utters as Michaela’s legs tighten around her waist. Her hands claw in her hair with a desperation to her movements that implies Francesca might be driving her just as crazy as Michaela makes her, like she is driving her completely wild. It makes everything about this moment better, infinite, perfect. “I am going to kiss you everywhere.” She says again just as seriously as she had previously promised and lets her lips leave Michaela’s to return back to such a fine and pretty jawline, down her neck again, carefully brushing over the bruises that had started to form from her ministrations earlier. Michaela squirms below her at her touch as Francesca pulls the loose-fitting shirt from her trousers and slips her hands below the material to press into the warmth of dark skin.

Her skin tastes like lotion and rain as Francesca’s lips move kisses down to the base of her throat, and the dip of her collarbone. She parts briefly, though she does not wish too, to tug the offending shirt upward and watches Michaela squirm to help her get rid of it. She sighs with relief when it’s gone, tossing it over the edge of the couch and taking in the soft beautiful skin on display that dances in the firelight. The breastband Michaela still wears comes next as Francesca dips to press her mouth to the length of the rest of her revealed collarbone.

Michaela moans her name so softly that it makes Francesca ache in a deeply visceral way, her hips jerking into another grind that make’s Michaela meet her movements, another loud groan escaping her. When the breastband is gone, her hands move to cover what the air touches, her hands filling with the warm softness of her chest. Michaela squirms below her again, hips lifting to grind her center against a clothed stomach and Francesca wishes she were bare so that she might feel Michaela’s desire for her spreading across her skin.

She makes good on her promise, kissing, nipping, licking every ounce of revealed skin from one length of collarbone to the next, down her heaving chest as her fingers carefully and softly pluck at hardened nipples, ripping beautifully delicate sounds from the prettiest throat. Michaela is a blushing squirming mess below her, her hips in a slow grind as Francesca’s mouth replaces her fingers on her right breast. She encases her lips around a hard dark nipple and flicks her tongue against it, sucks the puckered bud and feels Michaela arch into her mouth.

“Oh Fran,” Michaela’s fingers had tightened painfully in her hair, tugging in a way that would be distracting if she wasn’t so focused on her goal.

After she’s thoroughly ravished one nipple she breaks from it, slipping hot wet kisses to the other to give it the same attention and feels Michaela buck more persistently below her, another soft groan of her name that lands between Francesca’s legs yet again. She valiantly ignores her own throbbing and focuses on pressing kisses into a smooth stomach even as Michaela whines at the loss of the firmness of her stomach to grind on with Francesca’s slow descent down her body.

There is another painful tug in her hair when she dips her tongue into Michaela’s belly button, a slightly too loud moan bouncing off the walls of the study. She means to remove her mouth to scold Michaela for being too noisy, not wanting the staff to hear and talk of them but it never makes it off her tongue as she gazes up Michaela’s body to see her head thrown back, the wildness of nearly dry but still damp wet curls around her face, the way her other hand that isn’t painfully gripping Francesca’s hair grips at a throw pillow with a tightness to turn dark knuckles nearly white.

Oh… She is driving Michaela out of her mind, and it makes her feel so damn powerful.

She has never felt more alive than in this moment, maybe only in the moment after this admiration when Michaela’s eyes open to find hers, that dark heavy want in her gaze that she had seen but a week ago. Yes, only that look makes her feel more alive than simply just gazing at her like this does. “You are not stopping right?” Michaela’s voice is hoarse as if overused from all the sounds of pleasure that had been leaking from her mouth up to this point.

A heavy blush staining the dark skin of her chest and neck and cheeks. She looks ravaged and Francesca has yet to even make her come for her again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She promises and breaks her gaze from the stunning image of Michaela to return to her task, almost aggressively snapping open buttons on her trousers as she descends kisses from one hip bone to another.

Michaela’s hips twitch up into her face, trying to catch on something firm enough and the smell of her want makes Francesca’s mouth water and that place between her thighs ache deeply. She’s pressing her own thighs together as she backs up just enough to tug at the offending material of the trousers blocking her path. She smells so divine, like… “heaven.” She whispers softly into the dark unblemished skin of a strong thigh.

“What?” Michaela asks almost groggy.

“You are like heaven.” Francesca mumbles softly, reverently. “You deserve a shrine.” She utters, devotion escaping her. She digs teeth into the sensitive skin of an inner thigh, holding her open enough for her mouth to mark smooth skin and getting a taste of such a lovely scent. “You deserve worship.” She utters it as her breath ghosts across a cloth covered center, damp with Michaela’s desire and she has never known anything better than this.

“Oh, please Fran, I can’t take it anymore.” Michaela begs and it sounds beautiful even as Francesca has to use her hands to still overly twitchy hips before she’s dislodged. She presses her nose against the damp cloth and breathes in the heady scent of her, swears it affects her the same way that downing too much wine on Saturdays does, and licks against the material for a taste of her before she can completely control herself.

Michaela makes a noise that’s much too loud again, but Francesca doesn’t have it in her to scold her, not when she sounds so heavenly. She wastes less time tugging the garment out of the way, Michaela tries to help as much as her shaky legs allow and soon the damp cloth is gone, joining the discarded clothes over the side of the couch and Francesca is taking in the swollen wet sight of her and feeling like she has never been more starved in her entire life.

“You’re so divine.” She utters with endless reverence as Michaela throws her head back in a way that thuds a bit on the arm of the couch when Francesca descends, swiping her tongue through the center of her and promptly getting thighs closed around her ears, hips lifting to meet the touch of her tongue. Michaela’s sounds muffled by her thighs as the taste of her covers her tongue.

She thinks she moans into her because she tastes so damn good.

“Please,” Michaela begs beautifully, dripping against her mouth and Francesca feels merciful. She decides to waste no time, even if she wishes to savor the moment a bit more. Michaela’s desperation for her drips down her chin as she brushes through her from her entrance to the aching bud of her clit which she promptly latches onto and feels that sharp pain in her head again at Michaela’s tugging.

The sounds of the pleasure she’s in echo off the walls and ache between Francesca’s legs but she tries to stay focused, shoving Michaela’s thighs open more from where they had been clamped around her head. She sucks relentlessly at Michaela’s clit and flicks her tongue against it and drowns in Michaela’s wetness. Her hips chase her tongue erratically and she feels the way her thighs quivers under her fingertips as she holds them open, so close to falling apart for her even though she feels she was just getting started.

She abandons Michaela’s clit, much to the other girl’s dismay, and slips her tongue down to press it inside of her, to taste her more potently and she moans at the way Michaela’s walls try and cling to her. She abandons that adventure too and guides her tongue back to her aching clit, the sound of her name uttered with such pleasure is probably going to be her favorite version of her own name she has ever heard for eternity.

The moment Francesca removes a steady hand from a shaking thigh so that she might slip a finger into the tight clenching of Michaela’s center while she goes back to sucking on that beautiful hard clit, Michaela comes, arching into her beautifully, her name said like a prayer loud enough for all of Kilmartin to hear but she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed for the moment.

She is too caught up in watching Michaela’s body arch for her, stiffening in her grasp as an increase in wetness is there to stain more of her chin, her finger trapped against the spasming clench of Michaela’s tight walls.

When Michaela relaxes in her grasp, only then does she release her clit and start leaving a trail of wet kisses up her quivering stomach. She leaves her finger inside of her, even as the clenching of her walls lessens, refreshes the bites and bruises she had made on her original descent and basks in the moan Michaela echoes into her mouth when she finally makes it back to her lips, brushing her tongue into her mouth so that she might taste how heavenly she truly is.

“I think you have ruined me.” Michaela mumbles, voice raspy and deep and quieter now than it had been for the last several minutes. Her words spoken with a brush of vulnerability that Francesca was not entirely prepared for but can’t bring herself to shy away from.

Instead of matching such vulnerability, Francesca chooses to ease them into safer territory as she licks the taste of her off her lips. Dark eyes watch the movement of her tongue. “I believe you already ruined before I got to you.” She teases, watches the light spark in the dark brown eyes she has become obsessed with and giggles when Michaela huffs and tugs her back down to her mouth.

Michaela

She had not lied the moment she said it; she is ruined. Ruined in a way she had not thought herself possible, truly. Her deep devotion to Francesca, her love for her, had not been enough to prepare her for this ruination. She cannot keep away, it does not matter how much she should, how often they promise each other that it will be the last time or how often they lie to themselves about being able to control it. Neither is strong enough.

Michaela is ruined and she never wishes to be repaired.

“Michaela” It’s the softest of breaths but still too loud.

“Shush darling, you do not wish to be heard, remember?” She looks up at her where she’s leaning on her knees, trapping such a gorgeous creature against a hallway wall. She hadn’t meant to do this here, she had only been caught up in the moment, unable to stop herself from pressing kisses to those gentle lips the moment they had ascended the stairs, parting from the party of Bridgerton’s that they had been entertaining all day upon a surprise visit.

“You are louder than me.” Francesca reminds her, which she truly doesn’t need to be reminded about because she’s aware. By the look Frank gave her just the other day, which was one of completely avoiding eye contact, he had heard her being much too loud not too long ago. They are lucky their staff is discreet and would never blab of the scandals to the outside world that her and Francesca had been committing, frequently and with not as much decorum as they should.

“Do you wish to challenge me while I am on my knees for you?” Michaela can’t help but tease as she lifts a soft pale thigh around her shoulder, letting her fingers graze and caress the smooth soft skin below her fingertips. She knows such a thigh is already blemished with marks from her teeth, but she is sure they have faded enough to warrant more attention.

Francesca shudders below her touch in such a beautifully distracting way. “I am not sure we have the time, but I-” Francesca’s soft hazel eyes roll to the back of her head as she arches into Michaela’s touch that presses delicately between the wetness of her thighs. “Anyone could come up.” She moans so softly, but again, possibly, too loud for a castle full of family members.

“Do you wish me to stop, my love?” Something she has learned about Francesca since they started these dalliances is that she loved the control, being in charge of whether she is to receive pleasure or not, no matter where it is. Michaela being on her knees is satisfying as long as it’s in service to her. Michaela finds that she absolutely loves this side of her, that it is better than the thousands of dreams she has had in the past that featured her before that fatal night but a month ago. So, when she asks, it is not a tease at all, but a call for direction.

The shift in Francesca’s eyes lets her know that she will get to service her the way she desires, despite their risky setting. “You must make quick work of it, I do not wish to get caught.” It’s a soft dominance that escapes her. A controlled breath as Michaela offers up her understanding nod.

The lovely thing about Francesca like this is that she was so damn responsive, so quick work would not be difficult. She let her fingers press between the wetness of her lips and pressed against the swelling bud of her clit and dipped her head below her skirt so that her vision of the gorgeous woman above her would be obstructed.

Francesca’s thigh tightened on her shoulder, but she did not press in further, avoiding disrupting her path. She let out a soft breath, the quietest of moans that made Michaela want to fight for a louder sound to grace her ears, but she knew now wasn’t the time to draw anything out or test waters.

She dove into Francesca like she was a fine dessert and felt a sense of satisfaction race up her spine at the slightly loud slap of Francesca’s hand against the wall, a muffled moan into what must be her own palm. Francesca’s hips shot forward to greet her exploring tongue and Michaela wasted no time in pressing it inside of her while she circled Francesca’s clit with her fingertips, not quite touching it in the way she’s learned the woman truly likes.

The sound of her wet on her fingers and tongue is louder than any moaning breath Francesca has released, making a valiant effort to make sure it is not noise that would get them caught, even if such a thing is slightly disappointing. Michaela is obsessed with the sounds Francesca makes when she is at the height of her pleasure.

She adjusts to get closer, sinking her tongue deeper and loving the way Francesca’s walls clench around her and try to pull her in even deeper, the way she tastes spilling down her throat. She could live here, drowning in her until her very last breath in life and she would not want for anything else because of it.

She presses her tongue against her front wall upon a deep thrust in that she can get with her tongue and presses her fingers roughly and sloppily into the throbbing bud below her fingertips and she is rewarded with the muffled sound of Francesca’s pleasure, a whimper high in her throat that she tries to bury, so she repeats the motion again and again and again until the sounds are spilling into her hand, muffled but noticeable and her hips are pressing forward insistently, chasing a high that Michaela can feel her on the edge of by the way her walls grow tighter upon each intrusion of her tongue, her taste deeply distracting.

“Fingers Michaela, fingers.” She’s mumbling the request against her hand still, Michaela thinks because the words are muffled like all her lovely sounds, but she hears them anyways even if she can’t see the state of her while buried under her skirt. It is almost devastating to pull her tongue from inside of her so that she might replace them with her fingers but now was not the time for her to do as she pleases.

She makes quick work of swapping her tongue with one finger and then two to stretch her, knowing Francesca likes that, sometimes she wants three even. “Michaela.” It is a deep soft moan of her name, almost not a whisper but still quiet enough. “Kiss me before I alert the entire castle.” It is a demand, one that Michaela is more than happy to listen too, her aching knees finding some relief as she pulls herself from Francesca’s skirt and stands, holding her thigh around her waist and pressing her fingers deep inside her, curling, crashing her lips against Francesca’s just as deep noise of satisfaction escapes her lovely bitten lips.

She brushes her tongue deep into Francesca’s mouth, mirroring how she had been fucking her with it, and it does exactly what Michaela hoped it would. Francesca comes, deep and hard on her curling fingertips, the heel of Michaela’s hand pressing against her clit as she falls and her mouth muffling the aching sounds of pleasure that Francesca can’t stop from spilling from her throat. It is not as fast as Francesca probably wanted, her orgasm shaking through her and holding her there for several long seconds while Michaela muffles the sounds of it with her mouth and presses her forcefully into the wall to keep her upright.

She loves feeling her tightness on her fingers, and only when she’s loosened slightly does Francesca rip her mouth from her own, gasping for breath. That is probably the loudest of all their actions, and she rests her forehead against Michaela’s shoulder, shaking in her arms and whimpering as Michaela pulls her fingers free from her warm heat. “Now who is the ruined one.” Michaela teases her and chuckles when she rears back from her shoulder to slap at it.

“I do not appreciate your sass.” Francesca says, a lie, Michaela is sure as a dopey warm smile crosses lovely, chapped lips, her flushed cheeks a mesmerizing look with the glassy satisfaction swirling in the deep hazel of her eyes. She watches those eyes darken a bit when she brings her own hand to her mouth to lick Francesca off her fingers because she can never get enough of her taste. “You are unbelievably magnificent.” She mutters warmly. She grows quite romantic when they are with each other like this and though Michaela had never considered herself soft enough for such affection in the past, with Francesca it is a craving she cannot mask.

“So, I believe it was good then?” She teases, watching the way her mouth tilts into a grin, the slight giggle escaping her at Michaela’s audacity.

“Incorrigible.” She mumbles and then kisses Michaela. Not softly at all but hard enough to start an entire new round of ruinous deeds to get them into trouble. “I do not wish to return to our family, I wish us to go to our chambers and not ever leave.” She mumbles against her mouth, a full pout when Michaela parts further from her and places just a bit of distance between them.

“I believe they would come looking for us.” Michaela is unable to fight her own answering grin at the pout that is gracing Francesca’s lovely mouth.

“We can tell them we are not feeling too well.” She offers up instead of giving into a visitation that is already upon them.

It is unendingly endearing of her. “You believe they would leave if they thought us ill?” Michaela offers with a disbelieving laugh. “We would never get rid of them then.” She says with a shake of her head because Bridgerton’s were quite a clingy loving bunch. None of them matched Francesca’s need for silence and quiet and instead would be apt to spend as much time in someone else’s business as possible as long as they loved them.

Before Francesca can respond, there is thumping of feet on the stairs below, disrupting their comfortable cuddling against the wall. Francesca pushes her back lightly and she parts from her regrettably, watching as she straightens out her dress. “I am decent?”

Michaela takes in the flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips, the slightly askew hair. “There is no time to fix you.” She can’t help but tease and watches as it makes Francesca’s pale skin color a deep red.

“Frannie!” It is the sing-song tone of Benedict’s voice, thumping up the stairs with another pair of feet and Michaela reaches over to help her straighten out her hair, pulling it free of the careful updo it had been in.

“Better to wear it down I think.” She tries helpfully. It does not ease the blush on Francesca’s face, but it does make her look less… thoroughly loved and more just winded, like perhaps she had been sprinting down the hallway. A better thought for her brother to assume than the alternative.

“Yes?” She asks, her voice still has a slightly low rasp to it that she gets when she is turned on, but her family will not notice the difference. It is Michaela that will go mad having to listen to it without being able to do anything more about it.

Michaela pulls her off the wall just as the pairs of feet turn down the same hallway. “What are you two up too, surely it can’t take that long to find a cloak?” Benedict takes in his sister and the fact that she lacks a cloak at all, Gregory beside him.

“Yeah, you are such a slow poke and Anthony wants to play Pall Mall.”

“You do not need me for that.” Francesca says with a level of amusement that only her siblings can pull out of her. She does not meet Michaela’s eyeline but does sway toward her, as if not touching for even a second is as much a pain for her as it seems to be for Michaela. It is funny how they both cannot seem to resist each other. It leaves her to wonder how they ever went so long without touching each other in the first place.

That thought is too real though, one that would lead her toward the guilt she has been burying away, the reality of the promise they broke and never kept, the one they will inevitably have to return to, so if she doesn’t think about it… well she might delay it a bit longer.

Benedict is quite suspicious of the both of them now though, green eyes glancing between the two of them, back and forth quickly as if picking up on the very thing they had been doing despite their efforts to make it look less obvious. “You are looking flushed, are you feeling alright?” He reaches out to press a hand to Francesca’s forehead, but she dodges it quickly, her blush returning in full force.

“I am perfectly well, no need to fuss.” She waves off his hand and though Michaela looks at her, Francesca does not meet her eyeline, probably feeling that it would be even more obvious than it may already be.

“Are we having a party up here?” Eloise asks, though they had not heard her come up the steps to join them. A head of brown hair peaking over her brother Gregory’s side at her sister, who is still very much cloak-less.

“No, I was just on my way back down.”

Benedict stares at her then, an eyebrow ticking. “But you do not have your cloak?” There is amusement in his tone as the question lingers between them and Francesca flushes with more embarrassment, Eloise and Gregory both joining his suspicion, eyebrows tripping up at what they must interpret as strange behavior.

“Right…” Francesca says, her embarrassment palpable.

Feeling slightly bad for her even though she perhaps looks just as suspicious she finally speaks up, swaying a bit closer to Francesca so that their arms might brush. “It is my fault, I distracted her to discuss something about the estate, she did not have the time. Why don’t you go get it darling and I’ll take your place in Pall Mall?”

“You hate Pall Mall.” Francesca says with a warm laugh escaping her, hazel eyes twinkling softly into her own now that she has spoken.

She feels that look in her chest, twisting a warmth that she cannot run from, no matter how hard she could try. She doesn’t want to try though; she is not interested in it anymore. “Yes, but I do adore you.” She answers tenderly, aware of the eyes that watch them and yet unable to help herself. It is truly Benedict and Eloise that are the most likely to pick up on her behavior, as they already have before and they have not said a thing against it in the past even if the conversations had been plucked from her nightmares at the time.

She can’t quite remember why she had been so afraid of it before.

“I will be quick then.” What is different for Francesca to do in front of them involves the way she tips into her and presses the warmest of kisses against her cheek. It is not a display of affection they have often shared with others to see, though Francesca has graced her with such affection on many occasions long before they had started sharing each other in ways they were not exactly permitted too. Outside of the staff, this is a level of affection reserved only for them, not for the other Bridgerton’s. “I will make it up to you.” She whispers in her ear, and Michaela is unable to help the way her body shivers at the uttered promise, the way she wishes that it could be night and they could be alone despite how nice it is to be around the Bridgerton’s and their lively behavior.

“Will do.” She answers, clearing her throat and watching her make her way back down the hallway toward her original destination before Michaela had followed her up and thoroughly distracted her, taken advantage of the very brief moment they had alone because she had not kissed her, had not touched her, since early that morning before they had fallen asleep. The Bridgerton’s had graced them with a surprise visit early in the morning and now who knows how long they’d be here, occupying guest rooms and sure to raise alarm at them sharing a room together.

She had just wanted a moment and yet… she is painfully aware a moment is never long enough when it comes to Francesca. These wants never end.

“Frankly Michaela, if you don’t mind me saying, you are quite bad at Pall Mall.” Gregory interrupts her staring, and she cannot help but laugh, greeting his gaze and avoiding the somewhat understanding looks that Eloise and Benedict lay on her. She has received them before, though Benedict’s had been more of pity and Eloise had always been more of a teasing.

But that is what made them different, Eloise did not much agree with love whereas Benedict was a bit of a hopeless romantic. These are just more thoughts to brush to the back of her mind as she takes in Gregory’s slightly smug grin at his stated fact.

He is not wrong. “All the easier to win against me then, I suppose?”

“True!” He grabs her wrist then and tugs, pulling her toward his desired goal. Eloise and Benedict following them instead of waiting on Francesca, a slight bickering taking up behind her as they insist that they shall win this time against the other. It can be somewhat comforting to be around the Bridgerton’s sometimes. Though it often makes her feel a bit lonely knowing she has never had what they do.

She bites her tongue to keep from interrupting them to inform them that if Kate is playing, it will likely be Kate who wins, knowing that would set off a new tirade of bickering, though amusing, would possibly give her a bit of a headache.

“Let me get my gloves.” She utters, freeing herself and grabbing them off a side table that she had abandoned them on before she had followed Francesca upstairs.

“Yes, you will probably need those.” Eloise says with a slight tease in her tone that makes Michaela hesitate and meet her eyeline. “You know, because it is quite chilly today.” She says, her eyebrow edging up with quite a bit of amusement and Michaela thinks she actually blushes.

“Yes, quite cold.” She agrees, clearing her throat as she pulls her gloves over her fingers.

“The weather really calls for those cloaks and gloves, interesting how we find ourselves without them so easily.” Benedict says with a grin though he does not look at Michaela and simply follows Gregory outside who is shoving Anthony away from his favorite Mallet.

Eloise enters her space suddenly, her own gloved hand reaching over to brush something off the edge of her jaw and she blinks, shocked, watching as the white glove stains themselves a careful pink… Francesca’s lipstick marking them. Now Michaela is properly blushing. “Do not worry, I won’t say a word.” Eloise truly is Michaela’s favorite Bridgerton after Francesca.

“It is not-” what you think. But that would be a lie, so she cuts herself off.

She swallows and feels a pressure weigh on her chest as Eloise gazes at her with knowing and understanding blue eyes. She is not afraid of the Bridgerton’s knowing really. At least the ones that know her peculiarity such as Eloise and Benedict, mostly because they share the same peculiarity, but it is the fact of acknowledging what it means that worries her.

Eloise smiles at her. “I do not need to know until she utters such things to me.” She reaches up with one hand and mimes a zipping motion, gives Michaela her most supportive smile and turns toward the outdoors. She watches her go, fiddling with the end of her gloves that she had pulled on and feeling the weight of Eloise’s knowledge settle over her.

“You are alright?” She jumps as Francesca’s hand presses into the small part of her back, alerting her to the fact that she had been standing in the foyer, lost in contemplation for long enough for her to return to her.

She looks much more put together now. She has opted to keep her hair down. The ravaging blush all but gone and Michaela thinks it’s kind of a pity because she always looks so devastatingly pretty when she’s blushing. She wears a heavy red cloak that is Michaela’s favorite actually and it pulls a smile from her instantly. “That is mine.” She says with a tease, reaching up to tug at a tied string in the center.

Francesca’s smile is warm and inviting as she meets her eyeline. “It smells of you which I cannot resist.” She utters as if such words do not completely devastate her. She watches endearingly as Francesca buries her nose into the collar of the hood so that she can breathe in her scent and something warm and complicated and disastrous unfurls in Michaela’s chest, aching brightly and urging her to do the impossible.

Like get on her knees to propose, as if marriage would ever be a capability for them.

If only I were a man…

“Francesca come on!” Gregory yells at the doorway, breaking them of their bubble once again though Michaela cannot bring herself to part her eyes from the vision of Francesca’s smile, even as she rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“I’m coming!” She says with a shake of her head and reaches out to grab Michaela’s arm. “You are ready?”

“If I am by your side, I am ready for anything.” Michaela promises but she says it as if she means to say something else, she says it as if Francesca will be able to hear every last ounce of aching love she has for her in such small words that don’t even come close to how deeply she feels.

Francesca’s smile is warm but not knowing, she does not understand, not truly, the level of aching, of yearning that Michaela is actually under for her. “On we go.” She says easily, as if she feels none of the weight of all of it and Michaela is aware that she is honestly scared out of her mind.

Francesca

“You are to leave then?” She asks it but does not wish to hear the answer, the idea of being apart more unbearable than it has ever been, despite the fact that Michaela was a frequent traveler. She had not thought ahead at all, perhaps she would have examined her inability to part from Michaela for even a couple of seconds at a very minor distance, a more worrying factor.

“Just a couple of weeks, really as fast as I can possibly be and I will be right back here, with you.” Michaela’s arms snake around her waist, her lips immediately brushing up her neck and Francesca tips her chin to give her more access to her skin, but her gut turns unpleasantly at the thought of being alone, being without her.

“I do not want you to leave.” She mumbles quietly, a pout the best description even as her eyelids flutter with the warm feeling of Michaela’s mouth on her neck. “I do not want to be apart, why must you go? Why can’t you do what needs to be done from here?” She clings to Michaela then, almost as if she fears her disappearing right now and she is shocked with herself to realize that… she is actually afraid of that.

They have not parted for over a month, not been able to keep their hands from each other, not able to stop themselves from giving into this impossible feeling. What happens when Michaela goes? What happens when there is once again distance and time to think? What happens when there is no easy distraction from the guilt of their actions?

What if Michaela comes back and does not want her anymore?

“It is just to discuss some financial stuff with a distant uncle, my love, it will take no time at all, you’ll hardly have time to miss me.” Michaela’s charming beautiful grin graces her mouth as she backs up to meet her eyes, but it does little to comfort her.

There is an aching desperation, a need to solidify something in stone but she is unsure what exactly it is that she’s looking to make permanent. All she knows is that she is terrified. “That is untrue, I miss you when you are simply in the next room over from me.” She admits easily and watches the confession ease it’s way across soft cheekbones, coloring the dark skin there in a warm blush.

“Well, I miss you before we have even parted.” Michaela responds much too easily.

Though Francesca laughs she does not feel that Michaela is quite understanding the gravity of their parting. “Oh, it is a competition now? It is one I will win.” She assures, knowing deep in her bones that Michaela is incapable of matching her on this, that there is no one in the world that loves someone as deeply as Francesca has found herself in love with Michaela, and she has no idea what to truly do about it.

“Mmm.” Michaela bends down to kiss her, gentle and soft and Francesca savors it even though Michaela is pulling away too soon. “You underestimate my level of affection for you.” She answers after a moment, her tone not teasing at all, serious, her eyes a deep dark gaze of a truth they are both avoiding unmasking.

“If you are able to leave me, then it is not affection enough.” She says, a bit bratty and watches the way it makes Michaela tilt her head back with a laugh.

“If I could have my way, I would tie myself to you for eternity so that we might never have to part.” And the statement is painfully romantic, everything that Francesca feels in her bones, everything she wishes to hear for the rest of her life which is what makes it even more terrifying.

She wants to tell Michaela that she is scared of her leaving and everything changing again, of this love being abruptly ripped from her hands the same way John had been ripped from the both of them. Sudden and abrupt and out of their control. She could not bear it if Michaela were to never come back to her, whether that were to be because of death or simply because Michaela left and decided the world was better than her and didn’t want to return.

She could not bear it.

“Hey,” Michaela whispers suddenly, brushing thumbs against her cheeks. “It’ll be the fastest two weeks of our lives I promise.” She mumbles it, almost sounds as if she’s begging. “God, I wish I didn’t have to leave but I will miss you with every fiber of my being and I will spend every last moment thinking of you.” She says it with so much certainty that it almost comforts away all of Francesca’s insecurities.

Almost.

“Promise?” Francesca finds herself blinking rapidly, wanting to cry and managing it when Michaela gives her the softest of kisses.

“If God would permit it, I would have married you a thousand times over.” And then Michaela kisses her properly and she basks in it, drowns in it, stutters breathlessly into it and grips Michaela’s cloak like a lifeline.

When Michaela parts from her only to breathe she is not sure where she finds the strength to joke. “That is only because you have disgraced me, it would be the honorable thing to do.” She grins at Michaela, even as water spills from her eyes.

Frank clears his throat, and Francesca finds herself clutching even tighter to Michaela’s cloak. Michaela glances at him, gives him a nod and then turns brown eyes back on her own, looking at her so deeply, so seriously that Francesca feels as if she might be cradling her very soul. “I would marry you if it was the most dishonorable thing to do in the world.” She kisses her lips, stares at them. “I would marry you even if we were just couple of fishes in a river.”

“You are so ridiculous.” Francesca utters, giggling, but a pleased warm feeling graces her chest that she cannot erase.

“Would you marry me?” Michaela asks, looking rather serious with the question.

Francesca wonders how she can even ask her something so silly when the answer has been so obvious from the very moment they met, but she then remembers just over a month ago how she had stated that nothing was obvious and so she gives her the answer that has been written on her face for their entire relationship. “I would marry you.” She says quietly, feels her heart hammer so heavily, like it’s trying to escape and watches the way Michaela’s eyes grow glossy with her confession.

“Truly?” She whispers.

“Are you truly asking?” Francesca decides to tease and watches the glossy sheen ease slightly as Michaela rolls her eyes.

“Tease me if you like, I just wish to hear you say it again to make sure I am not dreaming.”

Francesca reaches up and cups her cheek, brushing her thumb against the softness of her skin. “I would marry you.” She says just as seriously as she had before and sighs openly when Michaela lurches forward to kiss her just as deeply as she had before. They kiss so long that Francesca’s lips hurt and lose feeling and yet it is still not long enough.

“I am sorry to interrupt Ms. Stirling, but we must be going if we want to make the boat before nightfall.” Franklin says, sounding unsure and truly apologetic.

It is the only thing that parts them, even though it feels like agony to let her go. “You are right, sorry Frank.” Michaela answers him once she looks at him. “One moment longer?”

“Please ma’am, make haste if you can, you will see her again.” He is teasing now, a small twinkle in his eye as he winks at them and leaves them alone again.

“You will write me?”

“I always do.” Michaela offers warmly and brushes honey colored locks behind her shoulder. “I will return with a gift as well. Goodbye, my darling.” She says it like it’s the most painful thing she’s ever had to do, and Francesca isn’t sure why she feels it vibrate in her chest, echo and ache like she agrees.

I will see her again.

She tries to repeat it over and over as Michaela leaves, over and over as she watches her carriage descend down the dirt road to Kilmartin castle and she hopes that such repetition will ease the uncomfortable ache that her absence brings but it doesn’t, not truly. The moment that Michaela’s carriage is far enough that she can no longer see it, she feels like curling into a ball and crying, it is such a ridiculous feeling, and yet she cannot help it.

She spends their time apart much in a similar state, a bizarre melancholy overtaking her every action. It is the most depressed she has felt since grieving John and she is not even sure fully why that is, if it is just the fear of the heartbreak of not being what Michaela will want when she returns or that sense of guilt they had been harboring for falling into this new romance in the first place, or if it truly is just the terrible ache of being apart from the one person she never wishes to be away from.

It is a complicated mix of emotion that she struggles to analyze in the best way she knows how, which is music. It’s also the best distraction because it is about the only thing she can do that allows her mind to think about something other than how deeply she misses Michaela. She thinks she might even write her an endless sonnet, and it would still never be long enough or passionate enough to express the depth of her feelings for her.

Michaela sends her letters as she promised with sketchings of the city to go along with all she updates her with, and it eases the ache of missing her just barely for a time. She cannot remember a time she has dreaded solitude the way she does now when all her life it has been something she sought at every turn. Now, if that solitude cannot be shared with Michaela, she is uninterested in it.

Not for the first time she is struck, utterly bewildered by the fact that her mother had been right all along, that love really was like this, that it was meant to be this way. She supposes the next time she sees her she should apologize for ever doubting it. That girl she had been felt so far away now, she had lost so much, learned so much, she felt like an entirely different person and yet… somehow the same.

She wonders if her mother would be proud of her for truly falling in love, or if it would jar her spectacularly to learn such a love was found with a woman. Thinking of it returns her worry that she might not get the chance to ask, that Michaela could return to her and everything will be changed yet again.

How is she ever to live without Michaela’s touch now that she has had it so thoroughly and so often? How is she to bear breathing the same air as her and not getting the chance to kiss her again? The thoughts make the melancholy worse, turns her music notes dark and she has to remind herself that she is letting her anxieties get carried away again in order to maintain it.

When Michaela does return to her, it is later than it was supposed to be, and she had fallen asleep fitfully in her own bed because she was supposed to arrive before the setting sun and yet she had not. When she awoke, it was to the sound of the piano, a sloppy rendition of a classic she loves pulling her from the sheets of her own bed.

She is the only one that ever touches the piano in the castle.

Uncertainty and fear are easily replaced when she graces the music study and find’s Michaela’s back, hunched over keys with long fingers pressing down with hesitation. A joy she has not felt since their parting surging through her chest and gripping her heart in a tight fist making her utter her name aloud with absolute reverence.

Michaela’s playing stops at the sound of her voice and she turns with the prettiest smile that Francesca has ever seen, and she is moving to her before she can help herself, climbing into her lap and kissing her the moment she gets the chance. Her anxieties quiet as Michaela’s hands curl around her waist and tug her body against her own tightly. She can tell in the way that she is being held, in the way that Michaela returns the fervor of her kiss, that she had been missed just as dearly.

“You are home.” Francesca says with utter softness, blinking as she feels the threat of tears stinging her eyes. Why she must always be so emotional for this woman she will never fully know, but she cannot help herself as Michaela’s nose brushes against her own.

“I am.” She answers softly. “I was going to play something for you, but I fear I am quite terrible.” Michaela says with a laugh that echoes its way into Francesca’s chest and rests over her heart like the warmth of a hug. “I am sorry I am a bit late, I got held up retrieving something.” Michaela’s fingers graze her cheek and Francesca shivers slightly because they are a bit cold to the touch.

“It is alright, you are here now.” There is a joy in her tone she cannot mask, and she watches the way it softness Michaela’s demeanor further, a look in her eyes that makes Francesca’s heart ache with longing. She wishes to utter every last ounce of love and devotion she had been plagued with for years but she does not quite know where to start and finds herself a bit tongue tied, gazing into the soft brown of the prettiest eyes she will ever have the privilege of looking into.

“I wish to ask you something, and it is probably silly that I am so nervous about it but I still-” Michaela sighs, cutting herself off, resting her forehead against Francesca’s. “The way you look at me is unsettling.” She whispers instead, brushing her lips against Francesca’s own before parting from her and effectively separating such a connection.

“Unsettling?” The word felt jarring, not at all the one she would hope to hear when describing how her feelings might make Michaela feel, it brings back her anxieties.

“You look at me like that and I yet again fear that I am only dreaming and am bound to wake up in the cottage, alone and having never kissed you.” Michaela blinks several times at her, her touch growing tight as if she fears such a thing becoming a reality and it makes Francesca’s heart race in her chest.

“If it is a dream, you should kiss me when you wake.” Francesca offers comfortingly, letting her touch graze against a soft cheek and melting at the way Michaela’s eyes close as she leans her face into the touch.

“Fran, I-” Michaela swallows and slowly her eyes open again, big and imploring as if she’s willing her to become a mind reader but unfortunately, she cannot. It is scary, terrifying, as much as it’s exhilarating. “You must know already.” She whispers it like she might break them both if she speaks any louder.

Francesca’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to follow Michaela’s line of thinking. “Know what?” She asks just as softly.

At the question, Michaela huffs and cuts their eye contact. A deep contemplative look crossing her face that sends Francesca’s heart racing and then she is adjusting below her and at first Francesca thinks she must have asked the wrong question because she is trying to leave but then she is reaching into her pocket and pulling something out, a small box of some kind. “Michaela?” She asks softly, breaking her determined gaze from what now sits in her hand, her other hand is still curled against Francesca’s waist, holding her in place.

“I do not know why I am so terrified when I am sure of what you’ll say, or mostly I am anyway.” Michaela whispers again, her voice shaking slightly and finally soft brown eyes meet her own again, glossy like she is ready to cry, and it makes Francesca ache. “I went to London. It is maybe, the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done really.”

Francesca tilts her head, eyebrows furrowing curiously. “What?”

“I went to London, to this place your mother told me about when she was here a couple of weeks ago.” Michaela breaks their gaze and her hold on Francesa’s waist so that she can place the box between them and pull it open. “If you think it is stupid, I understand, I for the life of me could not comprehend why I thought this would be a good idea and yet… I still cannot stop myself from asking you, like I were a man.” Michaela turns the open box so that Francesca might be able to see the contents of it and feels her heart stutter as she takes in a small round ring with a delicate white stone in the middle, glinting at her. “I know it is stupid because we cannot truly get married, not really and that would technically make this ring useless no matter how you wish to answer me and yet… I cannot help but ask you, cannot stop myself from asking you if you would please,” Michaela urges the box closer to her, and Francesca notices her hands are shaking. “Marry me?”

She is stunned into silence with the gesture, feeling Michaela’s eyes on her but unable to take her own off the ring in the box. Her hand reaching up to touch it, confirm that it is really in front of her… that Michaela went to her mother’s favorite jewelry and got her a ring…

She means to speak but she cannot, for a horrifying second, she remembers the first time they met and the way that words just would not come to her, her own name would not surface. It is like that now, her answer twisted and lost somewhere, she cannot pry them from her lips as she stares at the ring.

Michaela shakes below her slightly. “Oh please, Francesca do say something before I explode, even if it is to reject me, I cannot take it.”

Finally… finally she can remember the word she was searching for and a soft “yes” escapes her in a gasp, a bewildered breathless gasp, like she had also forgotten how to breathe and horrifyingly, she realizes, she did.

“Yes?” Michaela’s eyes are spilling water, maybe she had started to cry before Francesca had even uttered an answer, but it made her look all the more beautiful.

“Yes!” She gasps again, closing her hands around the box and snapping it shut to protect the stone as she lurches forward and kisses Michaela properly, still gasping for breath against her mouth now that she remembers how to actually breathe.

“Truly?” Michaela asks, crying, a soft laugh in her tone.

 “It is not stupid or useless, Michaela, it is real to me. As true as my feelings for you that I have held the moment that we met, truly, the answer is yes.” Michaela kisses her joyously and she can’t help but giggle against it, tasting the salt of her tears against her lips.

“Allow me to put it on then.” Michaela whispers against her mouth, reverent and happily, with brown eyes blinking rapidly to try and rid themselves of the overflowing emotion.

She can’t help but laugh and offer her hand as Michaela tips the box open again and tugs out the small ring. She grabs her hand then, delicately and with care, pulls her fingers to her lips and kisses them softly and affectionately before sliding the ring onto her finger. “I figured that you would appreciate it being smaller and less gaudy if you were to wear it every day.” Michaela says softly, staring at the ring on her hand and the image seems to bring water back to her eyes because tears are suddenly spilling down her cheeks again.

“Can we get you one?” Francesca finds herself asking as she too, admires the item.

Michaela chuckles, her hands moving around Francesca’s waist again and holding just as tightly as she had before. “If you would like?”

“Husband’s wear wedding bands along with their wife, right? Just because we shall both be a wife does not mean one of us should not get one.” She teases slightly, feeling a lightness in her chest that she cannot ever remember feeling before.

“You do make a good point.” Michaela says with another joyful laugh.

It is the prettiest sound Francesca has ever heard. “I do not believe that I have stumbled into such luck to get to love you for the rest of my life.” Francesca says rather seriously now, watching her tone calm Michaela’s bright smile down.

Michaela’s smile turns soft and indulgent. “You love me?” As if she hadn’t just said yes to a proposal.

Francesca chooses not to tease her this time though. “More than anything.” She promises instead and gasps when Michaela tugs her back down to kiss her, turning to press her back into the piano bench.

“Let me show you what an excellent wife I will make for you.” Michaela mumbles against her mouth and moves to turn Francesca’s giddiness to pleasure.

The End