It was a long, hard journey, one that Desmond had resolved to keep his head down through. The Templars started as a means to an end, a way to find his footing in a terrifying, strange and altogether uncannily familiar world, and he sensed in his own way that soon it would be time to part from them. Time to be rid of his ragged beard, to trade in his white tabard with its red cross for less conspicuous travel clothes and a long trek to Masyaf in his near future.
He had the first of those tasks completed when he heard the news about de Sable, cut down in Arsuf by none other than Altaïr-- and all thoughts of sneaking out of Acre fled. Maria. Dammit, he couldn't leave without checking in on her in the midst of the upheaval.
So it was that he found himself knocking lightly on her door in the middle of the night. It was unlatched, not usual for her, so after some hesitation on his part he quietly let himself in. Better than getting caught lingering in the corridor outside her room. The Knights' whole vow of chastity which...he sure as shit didn't follow was intense, and he didn't see Bouchart, de Sable's certain successor, as giving up that one any time soon.
"Maria? It's Desmond. I...I heard what happened, are you all right?"
There were no secret tears being shed inside the rather plain room, but nonetheless Maria had taken a few moments to compose herself before acknowledging the knock. It didn't surprise her when Desmond took that opportunity to let himself in.
He was unusual, that one. Better than most of her men, more respectful than just about all of them, and when he made a decision without consulting his superior officers, it was generally a good one. None of it had ever given her cause of concern, only curiosity, but she had never probed deeply into his life before the Crusades. Given her mood, she wasn't going to start tonight.
"I'm fine," she said, turning aside from the simple writing desk where she sat finishing a re-dressing of her wound. "I'll live, in case you heard otherwise."
No doubt some hoped she wouldn't. She herself hadn't expected to see another day if they couldn't kill the Assassin. It had been enough for her to know that even the worst outcome would lead to Robert making his escape; he would live and she would die fulfilled.
Now he was the one rotting and she still drew breath. And Maria truly didn't know what to do with herself.
"I don't put stock in idle gossip," he replied, ensuring the latch behind him firmly caught. It wasn't that he didn't listen to the men carp as viciously as fishwives when they had a mind to, he listened well and made his own judgments, but Desmond had a higher opinion of Maria than that. Maybe she had been in love with de Sable, maybe more with what de Sable represented in a time where women were still thought of as weak, frail objects to be protected-- it wasn't his place to assume.
Nonetheless he knew what loss felt like. Maria had always been a friend of a kind to him here, something he appreciated so much the more he spent in the rank and file.
He came closer, stepping into the circle of light afforded by the candles on her desk.
"Do you need any help with that? It looks painful."
"It's fine," she said, a touch less sharply than she would for most others. "It's healing."
Which was something she still didn't understand. Why had the Assassin let her live? So what if she hadn't been his intended target—she was close enough, and he hadn't been bashful about leaving a trail of bodies behind him before. Perhaps she should be grateful to feel the deep twinges of a healing wound, but the deep bitterness she felt was stronger. If she ever met that man again...
That was a line of thought best suited for another time. She sighed and lowered her hand, leaving the dressing undone. The wound was somewhat awkwardly placed; being caught in a moment of vulnerability by a subordinate was more awkward, or should have been. Past conversation with Desmond had revealed a curious ability to set her at ease; still, she had no liking for idle chatter tonight.
"I don't know what will be happening next, if that's what you want to know," she said. "Matters are still being discussed as Bouchart settles himself." Discussed without her.
"I didn't come here to ask about Bouchart." There was a stool in the corner of the spartan room, one he brought over to sit beside her and help dress her wound. It was healing well at least, pink where it had knitted at the edges in contrast with her pale skin. Altaïr's blade would have been clean, honed razor sharp when it bit home...he tried not to think about it.
At home he wouldn't have cared about casually putting his hands on a woman he knew, much less in such an inoffensive place as her bare shoulder. There was something electrifying about it in that moment, an unexpected thrill of taboo when he put his warm fingers to her skin.
Jesus Christ, secret Assassin or not, he wasn't cut out to be any kind of chaste knight of God. Desmond smoothed the linen wrapping straight so it wouldn't bunch uncomfortably under her tunic, and set to pulling it a bit more taut before knotting the ends together. "Let me know if I've made it too tight."
That was good, as she would have put him out rather quickly otherwise, through the closed door if necessary—quiet camaraderie or not, she didn't want to think about what her near future held. Not when the painful past was still so recent and raw, just as much as the cut to her flesh.
It should have been more painful or at least more awkward to have his hands near that cut, but Maria found it oddly soothing, despite the pain. The last person she'd allowed emotionally close was gone, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd been physically close with anyone. If anyone walked in right now, they'd likely be scandalized her half-open tunic, but that was just one of many things she didn't give a damn about.
"It's fine," she said again, closing her eyes for a long moment before looking up to meet his. "Thank you."
Desmond wasn't quite ready to pull his hand away, to break the little moment of intimacy, and so gave her upper arm what he hoped was a comradely squeeze.
Then she had to go and look at him like that, and it almost took the air from his lungs. Maria had always fought her own battles, had stood up to men twice her size and all the unfathomable horrors the Crusades had wrought and always, always she came out the stronger for it. Even in the current moment, even as he felt the uncertainty rolling off her, Desmond saw the steel in Maria's gaze. He loved her for it so suddenly, intensely, and in all the ways he shouldn't dare.
His mouth was dry, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth up, feeling his pulse jump. "You're welcome," he replied in a low murmur, before he bent, taking a risk in brushing his lips to the crown of her naked shoulder.
For all the impropriety of this situation, Maria was prepared to do the proper thing and send Desmond on his way once she pulled her tunic back on properly. No doubt they both had things to take care of before the next bell tolled, and she'd planned for solitude in any case.
But then something in his expression changed as their eyes met. The look he gave her was hardly familiar, but she knew it somehow, as any woman with sense would know why a man looked at her like that. She should have reprimanded him immediately, or ignored its meaning and rushed him out the door. Maria Thorpe was not a liar, not to herself or to others, and she was not one to feign ignorance.
So she had no excuse to cling to as she remained still and let him touch her.
"Desmond," she said, her voice nearly catching in her throat. "I..."
She hadn't pushed him off his seat, didn't slap him across the face for his impropriety, for all that he would have rightly deserved it. There was a note in her voice that kept him there, prompted him to place another soft, reverent kiss to her shoulder. What he desired, the sudden, fierce urge to take her to bed right then and there, warred with his sense of decency.
What Desmond really wanted most was for her to say his name like that again. Caught in a moment of uncertainty, breath shallow, he leaned in to close the distance between them and capture her mouth with his.
This was absolutely wrong, there was no question about it. Such actions were were forbidden in the barracks, not that the Templars normally had many opportunities to engage in them, and he was still technically her subordinate. And she had kept her distance from any kind of temptation for years now, because so few people believed she had any right to be here and she didn't need to give anyone a reason to send her away.
But so many of her plans had been dashed, and if almost no one wanted her here, Desmond's expression said he wanted her. She closed her eyes once, briefly, as he kissed her shoulder, and when he lifted his head to kiss her she was already reaching for him. A soft sound escaped her mouth before she was kissing him back.
This was wrong, this was beyond wrong. She was his ancestor, his superior officer, his compagnon d'armes, the knight he'd fought alongside for months now... But as Desmond slid a hand forward, caressed the proud line of her jaw and shivered against her mouth, he willed himself to push all of that aside. Right then she was just Maria, a woman he fiercely admired, and she was kissing him in return.
He sighed, a brief pause while he slipped his hand back into her hair, cradling her head, and kissed her again.
Long ago, Maria had tricked herself into thinking it was impossible for her to look at one of her peers, much less a subordinate, and feel attraction. She cared nothing for where such things led, and she had to watch herself carefully as a soldier.
But that delusion was stripped away as Desmond's lips touched hers, and when he kissed her again she met his mouth with an eagerness that surprised her. One kiss wasn't enough, and she couldn't begin to imagine what would be. Half-tentatively, she lifted her hands to rest on his chest, not sure where she should touch him but knowing she needed to.
Desmond had always been a tactile personality, raised on warm affection beyond the regular sting of training on the Farm. There was nothing affectionate about the Templars, nothing pleasing in the suffocating heat or the clash of steel. Whatever gentleness he remembered the last time he'd taken a woman to bed felt remote, almost alien and forgotten. Maria's hesitant touch was invigorating, cool water to a parched throat.
He opened his mouth to her, tasting her bottom lip with the warm press of his tongue. Encouraged, he hummed his approval to her, and let any remaining trepidation fall to the wayside when he brought his other hand up her side. His hands were calloused from soldiering where they once first blistered against the grip of a sword, snagging oh so lightly on her tunic when he boldly cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple through the layers of cloth.
As a sergeant to her steward, Desmond was unquestionably beneath her in the rankings, yet she allowed him to take the lead now. Part of her felt overwhelmed, by her own response as much his actions. She was no maid, but there was something between them she'd never felt with Peter Hallaton. Perhaps it was the difference between desire and duty.
Which wasn't to say she had no initiative. Tilting her head slightly, she let him worry at her lower lip and slipped the tip of her tongue out to meet his.
Without much conscious thought, she leaned into his hand as her own arms went up and around his shoulders to bring them closer together. If his initial touch had been an impropriety, then surely this was a sin, and the intensity with which she wanted him to put his hands on her more was blasphemy beyond the telling.
Far be it from him not to concern all of himself with her, but as Desmond breathed another sigh against Maria's soft lips, he felt his balance on the stool grow a bit more precarious. Not wanting to dump both of them onto the floor, he mapped his way down to her hips with the flat of his hands and slipped them under the firm curve of her bottom.
"Hold on," he warned her with another little kiss, and pulled Maria up into his arms with little effort. Clearly the proper recourse was to take her right to her bed, settling her into his lap so he could drop fevered kisses across her décolletage.
In battle, she'd curse herself for being so distracted, but somehow Desmond's made himself a better distraction than the most well-armed of Saladin's forces. She held tight to his shoulders for the few feet to the bed, then let out a fluttering breath as he got right back to business.
They shouldn't be there. He certainly shouldn't have been in her quarters, and she should have been alone and grieving. But for the first time in a long time, she thought to hell with duty—what she wanted was right in front of her. Twining her arms around his neck, she smiled as she held him against her and got comfortable where she sat.
After his hands had made a thorough study of Maria's perfect ass, he brought them up across her thighs, while he caught the front of her tunic playfully in his teeth. He thumbed open the catch of her belt, the look Desmond gave her nothing short of smoldering.
Whatever else was out there beyond the small room didn't matter, nothing else mattered save for Maria's slight weight in his lap, the taste of her lips as he kissed her again, and the warmth of her skin when he rucked up the hem of her tunic and slipped questing fingers beneath.
'The company of women is a dangerous thing,' a fellow sergeant had once told him, quoting from the Rule that governed all of the Templars. The man probably thought he was being helpful, leading a younger brother away from temptation. It was a phrase that came to mind, unbidden, while Desmond's hands had run up against the linen wrappings that bound Maria's breasts. Oh.
"Arms up," he murmured against her mouth. Desmond turned the quote over in his head and resolved to forget it entirely as he lifted her tunic up and off; when he found the linen's edge and started to unwrap her with a certain unashamed, impatient delight. His appreciation was quite obvious elsewhere as well, in the firm press of his hard length against her inner thigh.
Maria was not unfamiliar with a man's body, but when she'd last had occasion to be this close with one, she was more likely to hurry the experience along or try to avoid it entirely. Certainly she never sought such a thing out while in service to the Order. But they were breaking more than one rule tonight, and she was as impatient as Desmond apparently was.
She traced her fingertips up and down the back of his neck, and didn't try to hide the shiver when he looked her in the eye. It was as if he could already see her bare before him and was only making reality match that vision.
Which was fine with her. When their mouths found each other again, it was difficult to pull away long enough to let him remove her tunic, and as soon as he did, she dropped her hands to his waist and then up and under his own top.
She kissed him hard as he went to work undoing her bindings, sliding her tongue between his lips and pressing closer against him. It was probably making his task more difficult, but she was drunk with the taste of him. And it wasn't only his mouth that caught her attention; straddling his lap as she was, it was easy to feel that she had his. If Maria thought too long about it she might grow a little light-headed, but she just resettled herself a little and ground her hips lightly against Desmond as she continued kissing him.
Desmond gasped audibly at the shift of her hips, at the sudden, wickedly satisfying friction, and surged up against Maria. Forgetting the bindings for a moment, instead he slid his hands back into her hair, dislodging pins.
He all but growled through the kiss, her very touch setting his nerves alight, a shiver against her hands. It had been so long, so long since he'd been with a woman, he might have been embarrassed at letting himself get so overwhelmed, like he was a gawky teenager who just got to third base all over again. Not at all wishing to put an end to things too early, dipping his head to press a frantic line of kisses to her throat, Desmond turned and took Maria with him, depositing her back against the mattress.
The more mess he made of her hair, the less she felt like her normal self—the tidy, overly competent steward who performed all her duties just so to prove she deserved her place. Maria wasn't certain who she might be now.
Even if she'd been inclined to ponder it, there was little time when Desmond put his mouth to her throat and her perspective suddenly shifted in the literal sense. She felt no alarm, though, despite her surprise.
After a moment, she hooked an ankle over his leg and bent her head to murmur in his ear. "Put your hands on me, Desmond."
His answer came as movement, in the smooth way he undid the last of the linen, the sound of it like the soft susurrus of fluttering wings. Desmond dipped his head again, chasing the light impression the wraps had left behind with his lips, tasting the salt on her skin when he drew the peak of one pink nipple into his mouth.
In the meantime, his hands kept roaming, one flattening over her hip. The other ghosted the length of her leg to her knee, hooking there for a breathless moment. He wanted to put his hands all over her all at once, very nearly dizzy with the desire to coax more than just murmurs from her. Was this really happening? Was this really him hooking his fingers in Maria's leggings, sitting back briefly to pull them off her, taking each boot with them?
He very nearly did draw more sounds from her with every touch, from both the sensations on her skin and Maria's own surprise. The memories were faded now after so much time, but time spent in her marital bed had rarely prompted any noises of appreciation, and if she ever sighed, it was mostly out of boredom.
But the more of her skin that was exposed to Desmond, the more she had to make an effort to stay quiet. This was no place to be vocal, not when the consequences for what they were doing could be dire. She clamped out mouth shut and held his head against her briefly as he put his mouth to her breasts, squirming against him and only letting out a small sound of appreciation.
As intoxicating as this was, it felt odd as Desmond undressed her but not himself. For the first time in a long while, Maria felt a pang of self-consciousness. Rather than wait for him to ease it, though, she pushed herself upright from her elbows and reached for his belt, leaning in for a kiss as she did.
He turned his head to press his cheek lightly against her breastbone, feeling her hands in his cropped hair while he followed the swell of breast with his tongue tip. They needed to be quiet as possible, but it was difficult. They shouldn't be doing this at all, he shouldn't have his ancestor naked beneath him, shouldn't be going for the laces of his own leggings when she sat them up and attended to his belt.
Desmond didn't want to stop kissing her, touching her, hurrying to shrug out of his tunic for her, a good sergeant responding well to his knight's wishes.
Maria couldn't help but lean into Desmond when he rid himself of the tunic, her hands momentarily fumbling with the belt instead of moving with arch precision. It had been years since she'd had this kind of skin-to-skin contact, and never was it so welcome as now. A shiver ran through her when the tips of her breasrs brushed against his chest, and it struck her that they were proving right all those who'd warned that her role in the Order would lead to sin.
That just meant they'd need to not hear about this. She re-focused on the belt and get rid of it quickly, then slid her fingers into his leggings before she could think about it and stop herself.
Before it really fully registered what she was doing, Desmond felt her sinfully warm hand slip right in against his cock, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He could kill himself for reacting like some fifteen year old virgin who just touched his first boob, and covered up the jolt with more fevered kisses, and the roll of his hips into her questing fingers.
They were just as calloused as his, hard from work, from wielding a sword, carrying a shield, and they felt so fucking good working against the head, the shaft. Maybe it was just what his lizard brain needed, because the part of him that thought this was a terrible idea? It shut its fool mouth, and let him breathe against her lips, let him want all of her, want to be in her, moving with her, one with her.
Forgetting briefly that he meant to get out of the rest of his clothes, he slid his hand in turn to that lovely little bend between her hip and inner thigh, stroking there until the flat of his hand found her mons, and he curled his fingers there in her cleft.
Edited (flowry aw yur) Date: 2015-05-26 04:00 am (UTC)
She wouldn't have wanted to admit to him that she felt shy about what she was doing. It would hardly have been believable, with her fingers wrapped around his cock, and she'd once been a married woman besides. But just as Peter had scarcely given a thought to her pleasure, he'd never asked her to see to his in any particular way. In that sense, she was likely more inexperienced than Desmond.
But there was something shamefully exciting about the feel of him hard in her hand, obviously wanting more. She curled her fingers around him tighter and began stroking, eager to see what other reactions that would garner.
When she felt his hand move lower, though, it was her turned to be surprised, and she let out a breathy sigh before smiling against his mouth as she kissed him again. She'd told him to put his hands on her, and he'd cheerfully obliged, but she wanted more, and found herself lifting her hips slightly against his touch.
His hitching breath gave him away, his abs tensing at the up and down slide against so-sensitive skin, a prickling shiver rolling up his spine. Desmond opened his mouth, sucking on Maria's lower lip.
While his other hand cupped her breast, rolling her nipple beneath his thumb, he slid his other hand lower. Spreading two fingers to glide through her wet folds, he let the heel of his palm be a warm, bracing pressure against her clit, right as he gave her nipple a firm pinch. Turnabout is fair play.
If her mind hadn't been thoroughly emptied of anything but the sensation of his hands on her, Maria might have felt bad that his good work worked against him; her grip loosened as she drifted back against the bed, giving herself something to brace against as she squirmed against his palm.
It hadn't really registered just how wet she'd become until his fingers between her legs made it very clear. She let out a small noise, a cross between frustration and enjoyment, before squeezing her mouth shut and reaching up to place her hand over the one at her breast. "Don't stop," she whispered.
Desmond answered in kind, a low, soft sound of disappointment when her hand fell away, but he kissed the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw once more. "I won't," he whispered against her ear, teasing, tracing her slick entrance with wet fingertips when he rolled his palm against her once more.
The desire that prompted his need to urge more of those noises out of her warred with his sense of self-preservation. They had to be so, so quiet, every tiny sound could mean discovery, punishment for the both of them, quickening his pulse and ratcheting the tension still in the air.
Maria bit her lip for a moment as he kissed her but was able to swallow any further sounds for the moment. The absolute need for silence was a practical consideration, but the effort to fulfill it made things better and worse at the same time.
She slung an arm around his shoulders, drawing him down against her. Maybe this would make it more difficult for him to do what she'd asked of him, maybe not, but she wanted him near her. The feel of his teasing fingers weren't enough—she craved the taste of him on her lips, the smell of him this close. With her other hand she groped blindly toward his laces again, lacking finesse this time but wanting to feel him hard in her hand once more.
There was an awkward moment when he couldn't exactly move with what she wanted, with his leggings hitched that low on his hips, and Desmond had to reluctantly pull back and shrug out of the rest of his kit. Right after, he was back in the cradle of Maria's hips, shivering with the un-fucking-believably good sensation that came with the press of his cock against her wet cleft. He ground there with a firm thrust, kissing her deeply to quiet the both of them.
Maria had enough time to scowl as he pulled away, despite the obvious necessity of it, and then a moment or two to admire the view of him, all of him, before he returned to her and she welcome him into her arms.
She shivered as he kissed her and pressed between her legs. They were far past the point of dissembling about what they were doing, but there was something different about it now, with nothing more between them. Just the feel of his naked skin on hers made something in her ache, and she pulled him close and ran her hands up his back as she lifted her hips against his.
Hesitating wasn't really on the table anymore. He luxuriated in Maria, in the glide of her hands, in the scent of her that was hers alone, the way she kissed with the same intensity she had if she were wielding her sword. When she lifted her hips, he angled his, dropped a hand between them to guide himself inside her with a handful of barely controlled thrusts, impatient and wanting to savor the sensation of filling her all the same.
He drew back only slightly once he was in to the hilt, cradling her head in his hands, touching his forehead to hers. Is she all right? the silent question.
As badly as she wanted him, Maria's breath caught in her throat and she found herself tensing up as he entered her. It was a dull pain at worst, closer really to discomfort than any real hurt, but it surprised her. Maybe it shouldn't have; it had been so long, after all.
She expected to brace herself and adjust to his thrusts, but then Desmond paused and she blinked up at him in surprise. It wasn't until he held her face and met her eyes that she understood the reason, and she was able to take stock of what else she felt.
The sensation of being filled wasn't a bad one, not even a little, and she still tingled everywhere they touched. She lifted her head to press her lips lightly against his, then relaxed her whole body against the mattress as she brushed his hair back from his forehead, and smiled.
He smiled too, flush with excitement, trading kiss for kiss. Maria might have relaxed, but she was still tight where it counted, so hot it mad him dizzy. It had been a long, long time.
Desmond shifted his weight and passed a hand back to her nape, still wanting her close, needing the intimacy of her mouth and their skin to skin heat when he rocked into her, then again and again. He set a slow pace for her, letting them still feel each other out, building that glorious friction.
She had no objection to even more closeness, none at all. Maria let him take the lead for once in their relationship—and why not, as it had taken on an entirely new dimension in the last hour—and slid her arms around his waist to hold him.
There was nothing rushed about the way he moved, and that was better and exquisitely worse at the same time. A small, breathy sigh escaped her mouth and then a louder squeak before she managed mute herself against his mouth, her eyes opening wide.
She had never had a problem staying quiet in bed before.
It was a week later later and Desmond...hadn't skipped town. He hadn't slept the rest of the night after he left Maria's room, had stumbled through the day after in a fog. Brother Isaac, who knew him best, made a comment on how distracted he seemed, how he even appeared to be avoiding Sister Maria at all. Uncommon for him, who always made a point to act as though the Steward were just another man.
"Some think you've come to your senses, Brother," Isaac had said to him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Bouchart hasn't appointed everyone yet. You've been a rising star since you came onboard at Rouen, it would be best for you to distance yourself from Master de Sable's mistakes."
That kept him awake for another night, between his dreams about Maria, filled with the scent of her hair, the press of her fingers as they dug into his back, the feel of her, tight and wet and gasping -- ah Hell, there was no way he could sleep. Slipping from the barracks, cloaked against the night chill, Desmond skirted the night's watch and found himself in the stables instead.
They were dimly lit at that hour, but he had no trouble finding Maria's chargers, one of which he himself had ridden since he'd been assigned to her in France. With his thoughts a mess, full of uncertainty, Desmond set to brushing the mare in the silence, for lack of anything else to do. At least, if he wasn't going to sleep, he could tend to something constructive.
Everything and nothing had changed in the week since Maria had spent the night not being the chaste knight of god she strove to be. She hadn't gotten a wink of sleep after Desmond slipped away to his own quarters, and it was only the ache in muscles that didn't usually ache that told her it had happened at all.
In the morning, she'd braided her hair tightly, pinned it up and gone about her duties like nothing was different.
But things were different, and they didn't all have to do with her sergeant. Robert was still dead, and Bouchart was still making it clear that his style of leadership would not be dictated by the decisions of his predecessor. Maria had served him for years without error, proved herself to be far more of an asset than any man, and she could feel all the esteem that she'd wrested for herself slipping away. It was nothing horribly obvious—she still had her title and her duties. But those lower in rank looked to others for orders, messages passed her by and after-the-fact apologies didn't stop it from happening again.
Even Desmond seemed to look through her, though she didn't know whether that was because of what had happened between them or because he sensed what direction the wind was blowing and had decided to go along with it. It was just as well. She'd resolved to go on as if nothing had happened; perhaps this way was better for them both.
All of this was eating at her, and she found it no easier to sleep than she had one week ago. Left with few other ways to occupy her time, Maria made her way to the stables. Looking after her horses was not technically beneath her, but normally she had enough work at hand that it made more sense to delegate these tasks to someone else. But her load was lighter now, and it would be nice to interact with a creature that might actually be glad to see her.
She frowned when she came close to the horses, though. It was only a soft sound that caught her ear, but it was enough. She wasn't alone. Who would be here at this hour?
It was warm to him by the time he really settled in to his rhythm, the few sconces lit here and there affording enough light even where he was mostly in shadow. Desmond had since curried and brushed and wiped down one side of the charger to a glossy, chocolate gleam, and stepped around her to tend to the other side.
He tossed his heavy cloak into the pile of clean, sweet-smelling hay at the end of her stall, and rolled his shoulders, tilting his head from side to side to crack his neck.
Constructive, right. Now how often had he been thinking of Maria in the past...however long?
Too often, he realized with a heavy sigh. It wasn't fair, but it was the way things had to be. Lifting a hand to the charger's neck, patting gently, he murmured softly to her, and set to work once more.
Maria wasn't really surprised when she saw who it was. Her men were dutiful, of course, or they wouldn't be her men, and she didn't expect standards to slip under Bouchart's rule, but no one was supposed to be here; whoever it was would be someone inclined to go above and beyond. So of course it was Desmond.
She had only a second or two to watch him before he realized she was there, and she went still for that time. Did he look different to her, now that she knew what it was like to have him panting into her neck, naked and against her and inside her?
Not really. And yet they both knew it had happened. But there was no point in acting as if it had. She passed him and went to the next stall, whose occupant nickered at her.
He was stooped over, intent in his brushing, and stood back up so fast his charger stepped away from him, scolding the sergeant with a shrill remark.
"Ma-Maria!" Well then. Shit.
"I could say the same for you," he returned after his pulse had returned to something approaching normal, touching the mare's neck, soothing her where he couldn't be soothed. Not with the object of his....what was it? Affection? Lust? in the other stall. She was awfully chill about the whole thing...maybe in the grand scheme of things he mattered less than he'd previously assumed.
"Couldn't sleep," Desmond finally offered, rubbing his forehead with his wrist. "You?"
"The same." She patted her horse's nose before reaching for a brush of her own. "I haven't been sleeping much at all, lately."
The moment that the words left her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. He'd assume her restless nights were because of their anything but restful night together when that wasn't the case. Or was it? No, it certainly hadn't helped, but there had already been other things on her mind than impropriety with a sergeant. There was just more on it now.
"I meant that a great deal is changing, and I'm not sure how things will turn out," she added, rushing to fill the silence. "It's been weighing on me."
Desmond weighed what to do, what to say. He chose, in the end, to draw closer to her, resting his arms on the top of the rail dividing the pens from one another. What would he have done even before he climbed into bed with Maria? Listen. They've always been able to have some kind of dialogue, even when his French was still shitty and he'd had yet to take up the sergeant's tunic.
"Well I'm here, you're here," he said, as nonchalant as he could. "Do you want to talk about it?"
It was tempting to turn him down, to continue on normally as best she could, but with Robert gone now, Desmond was the only person she could bear to open up to.
"No and yes," she said, automatically stroking the horse's mane even as her mind took her far from the stall. "Our work didn't end with Saladin's defeat at Arsuf. Now may be a critical time. But I don't know how much I'm going to be included in it."
And wasn't that selfish, even if her original motivation for coming to the Crusades had been exactly that? This was a Holy Crusade, after all. And there was more—they were meant to bring peace and learning to the people, Christian and Muslim both, even if Desmond wasn't fully aware of every nuance of the Templars' true plans.
"Bouchart has different ideas on the proper role for woman, and people have recognized that," she said, and looked up to meet his eyes. "If you'd prefer to serve another steward, I won't be angry. It might be better for you."
It made him angry, the way she was already divorcing herself from all of it. Defeated. Bouchart had been swiftly chosen almost before de Sable's body was cold in the earth, and already he was out to scrub away anything he thought might have led to his former knight brother's downfall. Women didn't rank particularly high in his regard, regardless of how much this woman had done for the Order.
She would have died for them all if Altaïr had been any less kind, and the same men she fought alongside were ready to cast her off like a leper.
"No." Desmond shook his head, vehement. "Bouchart is an ass," he said hotly, clipped, bitter for her.
Feeling impulsive, reckless he reached over to take the edge of her cloak, tugging firm. "I don't want to serve another steward, Maria."
A mixture of emotions washed over her at his response—gratitude, relief, something bittersweet that didn't quite have a name—and in this raw, exposed moment, Maria wasn't foolish enough to think she was able to keep any of them from showing in her expression. But that was fine; she'd trusted Desmond with more, already.
"I don't disagree," she said, and the next wave of feeling that came when he pulled her closer contained things she wasn't certain would be good to examine too closely. "And don't think I'm not glad to hear it. But—"
But what? She could reassure him again, push him away, but her heart wasn't in it and he wasn't stupid. He didn't need to hear the warning again. Bouchart didn't deserve a sergeant of Desmond's caliber, and she...well, regardless of what had happened between them and what her future with the Templars held, Maria didn't want to give him up.
She touched the hand that held her cloak, fingertips resting lightly on his knuckles. "What do you want, then?"
For all that he managed to articulate precisely what he thought about Bouchart, about his feelings on serving Maria, he found himself at a loss to answer her next question.
What did he want, indeed. Masyaf should be next, it was what he set his sights on since he first came to be in this time. Desmond felt the gnaw of that old anxiety. Would the Apple well and truly have the power to bring him home?
...did he even want to go home, after everything that happened?
Maria's hand on his brought with it a rush of feeling, a warm, electric reminder that drew a shiver up his spine. Even in the dim light, even dressed as she was, he still saw her naked beneath him, wearing little else but that smile that was just for him.
Desmond licked his lower lip, weighing his reply. He turned his hand beneath hers, and let his fingers drift against her wrist. "Not to have to think for a while," he admitted, self-deprecating.
That made her smile, which was an odd feeling, and she realized that the last time she'd smiled had been a week ago, also been in his presence. There hadn't been much reason to do so otherwise.
"That's not something I should encourage," she said, but gave no indication she might scold him. Along with his combat skills, Desmond's surprisingly keen mind was what she'd valued most in him, but she was far past the point of viewing him only as a commander should. Truthfully, that had been the case since before he'd come to her quarters and made her forget about everything she'd begun to lose.
Her skin tingled where he touched her, and though Maria knew she made her own decision about what to do next, it didn't feel that way. It seemed more like an inevitability, and not one she objected to.
"But I understand the feeling," she said, and leaned in and over the stable barrier to kiss him softly.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-07-19 07:26 am (UTC)He had the first of those tasks completed when he heard the news about de Sable, cut down in Arsuf by none other than Altaïr-- and all thoughts of sneaking out of Acre fled. Maria. Dammit, he couldn't leave without checking in on her in the midst of the upheaval.
So it was that he found himself knocking lightly on her door in the middle of the night. It was unlatched, not usual for her, so after some hesitation on his part he quietly let himself in. Better than getting caught lingering in the corridor outside her room. The Knights' whole vow of chastity
which...he sure as shit didn't followwas intense, and he didn't see Bouchart, de Sable's certain successor, as giving up that one any time soon."Maria? It's Desmond. I...I heard what happened, are you all right?"
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Date: 2014-07-19 04:21 pm (UTC)He was unusual, that one. Better than most of her men, more respectful than just about all of them, and when he made a decision without consulting his superior officers, it was generally a good one. None of it had ever given her cause of concern, only curiosity, but she had never probed deeply into his life before the Crusades. Given her mood, she wasn't going to start tonight.
"I'm fine," she said, turning aside from the simple writing desk where she sat finishing a re-dressing of her wound. "I'll live, in case you heard otherwise."
No doubt some hoped she wouldn't. She herself hadn't expected to see another day if they couldn't kill the Assassin. It had been enough for her to know that even the worst outcome would lead to Robert making his escape; he would live and she would die fulfilled.
Now he was the one rotting and she still drew breath. And Maria truly didn't know what to do with herself.
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Date: 2014-07-21 04:11 am (UTC)Nonetheless he knew what loss felt like. Maria had always been a friend of a kind to him here, something he appreciated so much the more he spent in the rank and file.
He came closer, stepping into the circle of light afforded by the candles on her desk.
"Do you need any help with that? It looks painful."
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Date: 2014-07-21 05:17 am (UTC)Which was something she still didn't understand. Why had the Assassin let her live? So what if she hadn't been his intended target—she was close enough, and he hadn't been bashful about leaving a trail of bodies behind him before. Perhaps she should be grateful to feel the deep twinges of a healing wound, but the deep bitterness she felt was stronger. If she ever met that man again...
That was a line of thought best suited for another time. She sighed and lowered her hand, leaving the dressing undone. The wound was somewhat awkwardly placed; being caught in a moment of vulnerability by a subordinate was more awkward, or should have been. Past conversation with Desmond had revealed a curious ability to set her at ease; still, she had no liking for idle chatter tonight.
"I don't know what will be happening next, if that's what you want to know," she said. "Matters are still being discussed as Bouchart settles himself." Discussed without her.
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Date: 2014-07-21 07:31 am (UTC)At home he wouldn't have cared about casually putting his hands on a woman he knew, much less in such an inoffensive place as her bare shoulder. There was something electrifying about it in that moment, an unexpected thrill of taboo when he put his warm fingers to her skin.
Jesus Christ, secret Assassin or not, he wasn't cut out to be any kind of chaste knight of God. Desmond smoothed the linen wrapping straight so it wouldn't bunch uncomfortably under her tunic, and set to pulling it a bit more taut before knotting the ends together. "Let me know if I've made it too tight."
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Date: 2014-07-21 04:35 pm (UTC)It should have been more painful or at least more awkward to have his hands near that cut, but Maria found it oddly soothing, despite the pain. The last person she'd allowed emotionally close was gone, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd been physically close with anyone. If anyone walked in right now, they'd likely be scandalized her half-open tunic, but that was just one of many things she didn't give a damn about.
"It's fine," she said again, closing her eyes for a long moment before looking up to meet his. "Thank you."
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Date: 2014-07-22 02:40 am (UTC)Then she had to go and look at him like that, and it almost took the air from his lungs. Maria had always fought her own battles, had stood up to men twice her size and all the unfathomable horrors the Crusades had wrought and always, always she came out the stronger for it. Even in the current moment, even as he felt the uncertainty rolling off her, Desmond saw the steel in Maria's gaze. He loved her for it so suddenly, intensely, and in all the ways he shouldn't dare.
His mouth was dry, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth up, feeling his pulse jump. "You're welcome," he replied in a low murmur, before he bent, taking a risk in brushing his lips to the crown of her naked shoulder.
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Date: 2014-07-22 02:55 am (UTC)But then something in his expression changed as their eyes met. The look he gave her was hardly familiar, but she knew it somehow, as any woman with sense would know why a man looked at her like that. She should have reprimanded him immediately, or ignored its meaning and rushed him out the door. Maria Thorpe was not a liar, not to herself or to others, and she was not one to feign ignorance.
So she had no excuse to cling to as she remained still and let him touch her.
"Desmond," she said, her voice nearly catching in her throat. "I..."
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Date: 2014-08-05 12:19 am (UTC)What Desmond really wanted most was for her to say his name like that again. Caught in a moment of uncertainty, breath shallow, he leaned in to close the distance between them and capture her mouth with his.
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Date: 2014-08-05 01:05 am (UTC)But so many of her plans had been dashed, and if almost no one wanted her here, Desmond's expression said he wanted her. She closed her eyes once, briefly, as he kissed her shoulder, and when he lifted his head to kiss her she was already reaching for him. A soft sound escaped her mouth before she was kissing him back.
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Date: 2014-08-14 10:53 pm (UTC)He sighed, a brief pause while he slipped his hand back into her hair, cradling her head, and kissed her again.
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Date: 2014-08-14 11:47 pm (UTC)But that delusion was stripped away as Desmond's lips touched hers, and when he kissed her again she met his mouth with an eagerness that surprised her. One kiss wasn't enough, and she couldn't begin to imagine what would be. Half-tentatively, she lifted her hands to rest on his chest, not sure where she should touch him but knowing she needed to.
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Date: 2014-08-15 04:39 am (UTC)He opened his mouth to her, tasting her bottom lip with the warm press of his tongue. Encouraged, he hummed his approval to her, and let any remaining trepidation fall to the wayside when he brought his other hand up her side. His hands were calloused from soldiering where they once first blistered against the grip of a sword, snagging oh so lightly on her tunic when he boldly cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple through the layers of cloth.
God, he wanted her.
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Date: 2014-08-15 05:27 am (UTC)Which wasn't to say she had no initiative. Tilting her head slightly, she let him worry at her lower lip and slipped the tip of her tongue out to meet his.
Without much conscious thought, she leaned into his hand as her own arms went up and around his shoulders to bring them closer together. If his initial touch had been an impropriety, then surely this was a sin, and the intensity with which she wanted him to put his hands on her more was blasphemy beyond the telling.
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Date: 2014-08-22 03:31 am (UTC)"Hold on," he warned her with another little kiss, and pulled Maria up into his arms with little effort. Clearly the proper recourse was to take her right to her bed, settling her into his lap so he could drop fevered kisses across her décolletage.
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Date: 2014-08-22 03:53 am (UTC)In battle, she'd curse herself for being so distracted, but somehow Desmond's made himself a better distraction than the most well-armed of Saladin's forces. She held tight to his shoulders for the few feet to the bed, then let out a fluttering breath as he got right back to business.
They shouldn't be there. He certainly shouldn't have been in her quarters, and she should have been alone and grieving. But for the first time in a long time, she thought to hell with duty—what she wanted was right in front of her. Twining her arms around his neck, she smiled as she held him against her and got comfortable where she sat.
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Date: 2014-08-31 01:25 am (UTC)Whatever else was out there beyond the small room didn't matter, nothing else mattered save for Maria's slight weight in his lap, the taste of her lips as he kissed her again, and the warmth of her skin when he rucked up the hem of her tunic and slipped questing fingers beneath.
'The company of women is a dangerous thing,' a fellow sergeant had once told him, quoting from the Rule that governed all of the Templars. The man probably thought he was being helpful, leading a younger brother away from temptation. It was a phrase that came to mind, unbidden, while Desmond's hands had run up against the linen wrappings that bound Maria's breasts. Oh.
"Arms up," he murmured against her mouth. Desmond turned the quote over in his head and resolved to forget it entirely as he lifted her tunic up and off; when he found the linen's edge and started to unwrap her with a certain unashamed, impatient delight. His appreciation was quite obvious elsewhere as well, in the firm press of his hard length against her inner thigh.
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Date: 2014-08-31 02:13 am (UTC)She traced her fingertips up and down the back of his neck, and didn't try to hide the shiver when he looked her in the eye. It was as if he could already see her bare before him and was only making reality match that vision.
Which was fine with her. When their mouths found each other again, it was difficult to pull away long enough to let him remove her tunic, and as soon as he did, she dropped her hands to his waist and then up and under his own top.
She kissed him hard as he went to work undoing her bindings, sliding her tongue between his lips and pressing closer against him. It was probably making his task more difficult, but she was drunk with the taste of him. And it wasn't only his mouth that caught her attention; straddling his lap as she was, it was easy to feel that she had his. If Maria thought too long about it she might grow a little light-headed, but she just resettled herself a little and ground her hips lightly against Desmond as she continued kissing him.
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Date: 2014-08-31 05:22 am (UTC)He all but growled through the kiss, her very touch setting his nerves alight, a shiver against her hands. It had been so long, so long since he'd been with a woman, he might have been embarrassed at letting himself get so overwhelmed, like he was a gawky teenager who just got to third base all over again. Not at all wishing to put an end to things too early, dipping his head to press a frantic line of kisses to her throat, Desmond turned and took Maria with him, depositing her back against the mattress.
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Date: 2014-08-31 05:47 am (UTC)Even if she'd been inclined to ponder it, there was little time when Desmond put his mouth to her throat and her perspective suddenly shifted in the literal sense. She felt no alarm, though, despite her surprise.
After a moment, she hooked an ankle over his leg and bent her head to murmur in his ear. "Put your hands on me, Desmond."
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Date: 2014-10-26 04:33 am (UTC)In the meantime, his hands kept roaming, one flattening over her hip. The other ghosted the length of her leg to her knee, hooking there for a breathless moment. He wanted to put his hands all over her all at once, very nearly dizzy with the desire to coax more than just murmurs from her. Was this really happening? Was this really him hooking his fingers in Maria's leggings, sitting back briefly to pull them off her, taking each boot with them?
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Date: 2014-10-26 08:36 pm (UTC)But the more of her skin that was exposed to Desmond, the more she had to make an effort to stay quiet. This was no place to be vocal, not when the consequences for what they were doing could be dire. She clamped out mouth shut and held his head against her briefly as he put his mouth to her breasts, squirming against him and only letting out a small sound of appreciation.
As intoxicating as this was, it felt odd as Desmond undressed her but not himself. For the first time in a long while, Maria felt a pang of self-consciousness. Rather than wait for him to ease it, though, she pushed herself upright from her elbows and reached for his belt, leaning in for a kiss as she did.
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Date: 2015-05-26 02:58 am (UTC)Desmond didn't want to stop kissing her, touching her, hurrying to shrug out of his tunic for her, a good sergeant responding well to his knight's wishes.
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Date: 2015-05-26 03:17 am (UTC)That just meant they'd need to not hear about this. She re-focused on the belt and get rid of it quickly, then slid her fingers into his leggings before she could think about it and stop herself.
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Date: 2015-05-26 04:00 am (UTC)They were just as calloused as his, hard from work, from wielding a sword, carrying a shield, and they felt so fucking good working against the head, the shaft. Maybe it was just what his lizard brain needed, because the part of him that thought this was a terrible idea? It shut its fool mouth, and let him breathe against her lips, let him want all of her, want to be in her, moving with her, one with her.
Forgetting briefly that he meant to get out of the rest of his clothes, he slid his hand in turn to that lovely little bend between her hip and inner thigh, stroking there until the flat of his hand found her mons, and he curled his fingers there in her cleft.
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Date: 2015-05-27 12:51 am (UTC)But there was something shamefully exciting about the feel of him hard in her hand, obviously wanting more. She curled her fingers around him tighter and began stroking, eager to see what other reactions that would garner.
When she felt his hand move lower, though, it was her turned to be surprised, and she let out a breathy sigh before smiling against his mouth as she kissed him again. She'd told him to put his hands on her, and he'd cheerfully obliged, but she wanted more, and found herself lifting her hips slightly against his touch.
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Date: 2015-05-27 02:41 am (UTC)While his other hand cupped her breast, rolling her nipple beneath his thumb, he slid his other hand lower. Spreading two fingers to glide through her wet folds, he let the heel of his palm be a warm, bracing pressure against her clit, right as he gave her nipple a firm pinch. Turnabout is fair play.
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Date: 2015-05-27 02:51 am (UTC)It hadn't really registered just how wet she'd become until his fingers between her legs made it very clear. She let out a small noise, a cross between frustration and enjoyment, before squeezing her mouth shut and reaching up to place her hand over the one at her breast. "Don't stop," she whispered.
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Date: 2015-05-27 03:11 am (UTC)The desire that prompted his need to urge more of those noises out of her warred with his sense of self-preservation. They had to be so, so quiet, every tiny sound could mean discovery, punishment for the both of them, quickening his pulse and ratcheting the tension still in the air.
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Date: 2015-05-27 03:22 am (UTC)She slung an arm around his shoulders, drawing him down against her. Maybe this would make it more difficult for him to do what she'd asked of him, maybe not, but she wanted him near her. The feel of his teasing fingers weren't enough—she craved the taste of him on her lips, the smell of him this close. With her other hand she groped blindly toward his laces again, lacking finesse this time but wanting to feel him hard in her hand once more.
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Date: 2015-05-29 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-29 02:50 am (UTC)She shivered as he kissed her and pressed between her legs. They were far past the point of dissembling about what they were doing, but there was something different about it now, with nothing more between them. Just the feel of his naked skin on hers made something in her ache, and she pulled him close and ran her hands up his back as she lifted her hips against his.
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Date: 2015-05-29 03:29 am (UTC)He drew back only slightly once he was in to the hilt, cradling her head in his hands, touching his forehead to hers. Is she all right? the silent question.
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Date: 2015-05-29 04:03 am (UTC)She expected to brace herself and adjust to his thrusts, but then Desmond paused and she blinked up at him in surprise. It wasn't until he held her face and met her eyes that she understood the reason, and she was able to take stock of what else she felt.
The sensation of being filled wasn't a bad one, not even a little, and she still tingled everywhere they touched. She lifted her head to press her lips lightly against his, then relaxed her whole body against the mattress as she brushed his hair back from his forehead, and smiled.
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Date: 2016-02-18 08:48 pm (UTC)Desmond shifted his weight and passed a hand back to her nape, still wanting her close, needing the intimacy of her mouth and their skin to skin heat when he rocked into her, then again and again. He set a slow pace for her, letting them still feel each other out, building that glorious friction.
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Date: 2016-02-18 09:14 pm (UTC)There was nothing rushed about the way he moved, and that was better and exquisitely worse at the same time. A small, breathy sigh escaped her mouth and then a louder squeak before she managed mute herself against his mouth, her eyes opening wide.
She had never had a problem staying quiet in bed before.
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Date: 2015-06-09 04:04 am (UTC)"Some think you've come to your senses, Brother," Isaac had said to him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Bouchart hasn't appointed everyone yet. You've been a rising star since you came onboard at Rouen, it would be best for you to distance yourself from Master de Sable's mistakes."
That kept him awake for another night, between his dreams about Maria, filled with the scent of her hair, the press of her fingers as they dug into his back, the feel of her, tight and wet and gasping -- ah Hell, there was no way he could sleep. Slipping from the barracks, cloaked against the night chill, Desmond skirted the night's watch and found himself in the stables instead.
They were dimly lit at that hour, but he had no trouble finding Maria's chargers, one of which he himself had ridden since he'd been assigned to her in France. With his thoughts a mess, full of uncertainty, Desmond set to brushing the mare in the silence, for lack of anything else to do. At least, if he wasn't going to sleep, he could tend to something constructive.
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Date: 2015-06-09 08:46 pm (UTC)In the morning, she'd braided her hair tightly, pinned it up and gone about her duties like nothing was different.
But things were different, and they didn't all have to do with her sergeant. Robert was still dead, and Bouchart was still making it clear that his style of leadership would not be dictated by the decisions of his predecessor. Maria had served him for years without error, proved herself to be far more of an asset than any man, and she could feel all the esteem that she'd wrested for herself slipping away. It was nothing horribly obvious—she still had her title and her duties. But those lower in rank looked to others for orders, messages passed her by and after-the-fact apologies didn't stop it from happening again.
Even Desmond seemed to look through her, though she didn't know whether that was because of what had happened between them or because he sensed what direction the wind was blowing and had decided to go along with it. It was just as well. She'd resolved to go on as if nothing had happened; perhaps this way was better for them both.
All of this was eating at her, and she found it no easier to sleep than she had one week ago. Left with few other ways to occupy her time, Maria made her way to the stables. Looking after her horses was not technically beneath her, but normally she had enough work at hand that it made more sense to delegate these tasks to someone else. But her load was lighter now, and it would be nice to interact with a creature that might actually be glad to see her.
She frowned when she came close to the horses, though. It was only a soft sound that caught her ear, but it was enough. She wasn't alone. Who would be here at this hour?
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Date: 2015-09-04 03:37 am (UTC)He tossed his heavy cloak into the pile of clean, sweet-smelling hay at the end of her stall, and rolled his shoulders, tilting his head from side to side to crack his neck.
Constructive, right. Now how often had he been thinking of Maria in the past...however long?
Too often, he realized with a heavy sigh. It wasn't fair, but it was the way things had to be. Lifting a hand to the charger's neck, patting gently, he murmured softly to her, and set to work once more.
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Date: 2015-09-04 03:52 am (UTC)She had only a second or two to watch him before he realized she was there, and she went still for that time. Did he look different to her, now that she knew what it was like to have him panting into her neck, naked and against her and inside her?
Not really. And yet they both knew it had happened. But there was no point in acting as if it had. She passed him and went to the next stall, whose occupant nickered at her.
"You're here awfully late," she remarked mildly.
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Date: 2015-09-04 04:02 am (UTC)"Ma-Maria!" Well then. Shit.
"I could say the same for you," he returned after his pulse had returned to something approaching normal, touching the mare's neck, soothing her where he couldn't be soothed. Not with the object of his....what was it? Affection? Lust? in the other stall. She was awfully chill about the whole thing...maybe in the grand scheme of things he mattered less than he'd previously assumed.
"Couldn't sleep," Desmond finally offered, rubbing his forehead with his wrist. "You?"
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Date: 2015-09-04 04:11 am (UTC)The moment that the words left her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. He'd assume her restless nights were because of their anything but restful night together when that wasn't the case. Or was it? No, it certainly hadn't helped, but there had already been other things on her mind than impropriety with a sergeant. There was just more on it now.
"I meant that a great deal is changing, and I'm not sure how things will turn out," she added, rushing to fill the silence. "It's been weighing on me."
That...didn't actually clarify anything.
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Date: 2015-09-04 06:13 am (UTC)"Well I'm here, you're here," he said, as nonchalant as he could. "Do you want to talk about it?"
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Date: 2015-09-04 01:17 pm (UTC)"No and yes," she said, automatically stroking the horse's mane even as her mind took her far from the stall. "Our work didn't end with Saladin's defeat at Arsuf. Now may be a critical time. But I don't know how much I'm going to be included in it."
And wasn't that selfish, even if her original motivation for coming to the Crusades had been exactly that? This was a Holy Crusade, after all. And there was more—they were meant to bring peace and learning to the people, Christian and Muslim both, even if Desmond wasn't fully aware of every nuance of the Templars' true plans.
"Bouchart has different ideas on the proper role for woman, and people have recognized that," she said, and looked up to meet his eyes. "If you'd prefer to serve another steward, I won't be angry. It might be better for you."
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Date: 2015-09-22 02:59 am (UTC)She would have died for them all if Altaïr had been any less kind, and the same men she fought alongside were ready to cast her off like a leper.
"No." Desmond shook his head, vehement. "Bouchart is an ass," he said hotly, clipped, bitter for her.
Feeling impulsive, reckless he reached over to take the edge of her cloak, tugging firm. "I don't want to serve another steward, Maria."
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Date: 2015-09-22 03:54 am (UTC)"I don't disagree," she said, and the next wave of feeling that came when he pulled her closer contained things she wasn't certain would be good to examine too closely. "And don't think I'm not glad to hear it. But—"
But what? She could reassure him again, push him away, but her heart wasn't in it and he wasn't stupid. He didn't need to hear the warning again. Bouchart didn't deserve a sergeant of Desmond's caliber, and she...well, regardless of what had happened between them and what her future with the Templars held, Maria didn't want to give him up.
She touched the hand that held her cloak, fingertips resting lightly on his knuckles. "What do you want, then?"
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Date: 2015-09-22 07:47 am (UTC)What did he want, indeed. Masyaf should be next, it was what he set his sights on since he first came to be in this time. Desmond felt the gnaw of that old anxiety. Would the Apple well and truly have the power to bring him home?
...did he even want to go home, after everything that happened?
Maria's hand on his brought with it a rush of feeling, a warm, electric reminder that drew a shiver up his spine. Even in the dim light, even dressed as she was, he still saw her naked beneath him, wearing little else but that smile that was just for him.
Desmond licked his lower lip, weighing his reply. He turned his hand beneath hers, and let his fingers drift against her wrist. "Not to have to think for a while," he admitted, self-deprecating.
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Date: 2015-09-22 03:40 pm (UTC)"That's not something I should encourage," she said, but gave no indication she might scold him. Along with his combat skills, Desmond's surprisingly keen mind was what she'd valued most in him, but she was far past the point of viewing him only as a commander should. Truthfully, that had been the case since before he'd come to her quarters and made her forget about everything she'd begun to lose.
Her skin tingled where he touched her, and though Maria knew she made her own decision about what to do next, it didn't feel that way. It seemed more like an inevitability, and not one she objected to.
"But I understand the feeling," she said, and leaned in and over the stable barrier to kiss him softly.