Topic: A Little Romance

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2013-03-01 05:31 EST
That first afternoon on the island of Grenada had been spent mostly in bed, making love and napping the day away in each other's arms, but as evening came around, and the heat of the day started to ease into the cool of the evening, Rhys had quietly slipped out of bed, leaving Nat resting peacefully until he was ready to wake her. It wouldn't take long. One quick phone call and then he was hopping in the shower to get cleaned up and changed. Rhys had always been a creature of the night, and that hadn't changed. He just hoped Natalya would appreciate the little surprise he had in store for her.

They had already established months before that he had far better stamina than his wife, and the long afternoon had simply reaffirmed that fact for them both in the best possible way. As Rhys slipped out of the bed, Nat sighed in her sleep, rolling over onto her side in a tumble of curls, her arms reaching to hug the pillow beneath her head as the rumpled sheets settled at her hips. The cool breeze blowing in from the beach sent a ripple of gooseflesh rising over her skin, but for now, at least, she simply hugged tighter to the pillow, clinging a little longer to sleep. Like Rhys, she was more of a night owl than anything, but that didn't mean she didn't make the most of sleep when she had the leisure to.

Sleep was all well and good, but Rhys' stomach had been reminding him to eat for a while now. The fruit that had been provided as a courtesy was also all well and good, but it wasn't enough to satisfy his craving for a meal. Once he was finished in the shower, he peeked his head out to check on Nat, but seeing her still asleep, he re-closed the bathroom door to finish getting dressed without waking her. One way or another, she was going to have to wake up soon, either on her own or at his urging.

Slowly, the awareness that his warmth was missing from her side began to make itself known, her other senses rushing to tell her that he wasn't audible in the room with her. Her eyes blinked open, one hand rising to stifle a yawn as she looked around the room, noticing the closed bathroom door, and a half-smile appeared on her lips as she realized he was still with her. Waking without him still, on occasion, brought back memories of waking from that drugged sleep to find him gone, almost a full year before. Sliding from the bed, she picked up her robe from the chair nearby, slipping into it as she padded over to the bathroom, knocking gently on the door. "Rhys" You are in there, yes?"

"Da," he replied, with a smirk that she couldn't see but could probably hear. A little Russian had rubbed off on him since they'd met, though his pronunciation still needed work. "Has Sleeping Beauty awoken?" he asked, through the closed door as he ran his fingers through his hair, the only combing it really needed, looking at his reflection in the mirror with a private little smile. Damn, he looked good, and he knew it.

She chuckled at his answer to her query, always easily charmed by the little bits and pieces of Russian he occasionally threw into conversation. Her fingers scratched lightly at the back of her neck as she stepped away from the door, wondering what he was up to. "That does suppose entirely upon what Prince Charming has a wish to do with Sleeping Beauty, dusha moya," was her answer to his question. "Does he need her to get dressed?"

"Unless she wants to eat her dinner naked, that would be a yes," he replied, frowning a little at his reflection in the mirror. The tie wasn't quite right, but he never had managed to master that skill. It was a rare occasion for him to get dressed up, but he doing it mostly for her, hoping to please her. This entire night was about pleasing her, wanting her to know just how special she was to him. A moment later, he cracked open the door and peeked head head out. He smelled of soap and maybe a hint of men's cologne. He hadn't shaven, a day's growth of beard shadowing his cheeks and chin. His hair was damp and sticking up in the front where he'd finger combed it. It was only a head, disembodied for now, until he gathered enough courage to open the door.

She'd wandered across the room to the closet, browsing the clothing hanging there while waiting for some kind of clue as to what, exactly, he might be expecting her to wear. Hearing the door open, she looked over her shoulder to him with a warm smile. "It is not like you to be shy," she commented teasingly, brushing her fingers over the cool material of one of her favorite dresses - coincidentally, one Rhys had never actually seen on her. "How would Prince Charming like Sleeping Beauty dressed?"

"I'm not shy," he countered, a little defensively. Nervous would be a more accurate word for how he was feeling, but he didn't mention that. He cleared his throat a bit nervously as he pulled the door open and stepped out, dressed in an outfit that was very un-Rhysish. A pink and white striped shirt, white tie, gray dress pants, and white shoes. He even had a silver watch around one wrist, and a tan belt at his waist. He looked very unlike a hunter. It was no wonder he wouldn't let her touch his suitcase while he was packing. The outfit had been a gift from Gina, and she had assured him that Natalya would appreciate it, even if he didn't, and even if it was pink. His appearance would probably answer her question better than any reply he could give her.

Natalya's reaction didn't disappoint. Her expression opened out, her eyes widening as he stepped fully into view. Aside from one reluctant night out in Paris and their own wedding day, she'd never really seen Rhys dressed for the evening before, and certainly not by his own hand. Her eyes skimmed over him, taking in the excellent cut of the clothing, the perfect mixture of color and texture, and a myriad of emotion crossed her face. Surprise, sweet disbelief, gentle amazement ....tender affection for the knowledge that he would not dress in such a way for himself. Her lips curved in a loving smile, brown eyes a-glow with delight. "You look wonderful."

"I do, don't I?" he smiled. So much for modesty. "Think GQ will ask me to do a modeling gig?" he teased, hiding his nervous embarrassment with a joke, though he could certainly give a few GQ models a run for their money. "I....um..." He pointed toward the patio. "I'll be right back." He turned and hurried out back, leaving her to get dressed and wonder what had gotten into him.

Her mouth had been in the process of opening to form an answer when he hurried out, blinking in mild bemusement as she watched him slip out of sight. A quiet laugh escaped her lips for a moment as she considered what had just happened, before shaking herself into action. Obviously he had something planned, and just as obviously she should dress accordingly. Scooping a dress out of the closet and underwear from a drawer, she slipped into the bathroom to take a quick shower, musing over what her husband was up to.

He wouldn't reappear for some time, probably not until she was nearly dressed. He slid the patio door partially closed as he stepped back inside to check on her progress, just a little bit nervous. The timing had to be just right. He took to pacing the floor, twisting the watch on his wrist nervously as he waited for her to be ready, wondering what took women so long, though it really hadn't been long at all.

Luckily for him, he'd managed to marry himself a woman who delighted in looking her best and knew how to do it in roughly half an hour at a moment's notice. When Nat stepped out of the bathroom, she was all but ready to go, only needing to slip her feet into a pair of sandals to complete the look. She'd deliberately chosen not to match him, her dress a backless metallic sheen of satin-jersey almost khaki in color, sandals a muted shade of gold. Her curls had been wound up into a loose knot held secure by a tortoiseshell shawl pin, tendrils falling to graze the line of her jaw as she turned to look at him. Hands held out to her sides, she twirled for him with a faint smile. "I hope I will not let you down, milaya."

It seemed almost a shame not to take her out on the town the way they both were dressed, but he had something else in mind. Maybe later, they'd stroll to a nightclub, but for now, he had her all to himself. "You never let me down, Nat," he said, as he turned to her, dropping his fingers from fiddling with the watch to take her in. She could wear a potato sack and he'd think she was beautiful, but of course, that wasn't what she was wearing. Somehow she seemed to grow ever more lovely every time he looked on her. "You look beautiful," he told her, his eyes moving over her admiringly. "I hope I don't disappoint you," he murmured, nervously.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2013-03-01 05:33 EST
"I do very much doubt you could ever disappoint me," she told him in return, moving to join him as he looked her over, surprised by how nervous he seemed. She had no idea what he had planned for this evening, but she knew there was very little chance of it being anything but great. Her hands reached up, cradling his jaw as she kissed him softly. "This is not a test, milaya," she murmured through her smile. "Relax."

"I know," he replied with a small frown after returning that kiss. "But I'm not very good at this sort of thing, and I just want to make you happy." He had debated while she'd slept between taking her out and staying in, deciding finally on a little of both, or on letting her make the choice, depending on how the evening went. "I hope you don't mind....I ordered dinner," he admitted, with that worried frown of his again.

"I do not mind," she promised him, her smile widening as he continued to worry and frown down at her. Her hands smoothed from his jaw over his shoulders, looping her arms around his neck as her lips found his again. The message was pretty clear - she wasn't going to stop kissing him until he stopped worrying and trusted that his decisions were good. She knew he was a bit of a romantic at heart, after all. He was better at it than she was.

His hands came to settle on her waist as she did her best to make him relax, though her kisses were having a different affect on him than the one she was probably hoping for. Still, even Avalon's Champion and Priestess couldn't live on love alone. They had to eat sometime. It had been difficult choosing what to order. He was accustomed to diners and fast food, not fancy fare like they had here, but he had eventually made a decision, once again hoping he'd made the right one. At least, it wasn't escargot this time.

Feeling him at least begin to relax a little, though she knew the flood of new tension well enough to pull back before it got too much, Nat drew back, the tip of her nose nudging his as she stayed close for a long moment further. "What did you order?" she asked softly. Part of her was feeling ever so slightly guilty about hiding the fast-food room service menu when they'd first arrived, but unless she resorted to subterfuge, Rhys would live on cheeseburgers and fries.

"Umm..." He frowned further, a hint he was nervous even about this. "Lobster tails?" he answered, uncertainly, though that wasn't all of it. He reached for her hand to lead her out onto the patio, which was aglow with color as the setting sun lit up the sky in shades of blue, pink, orange, and yellow, the water calm but for the rhythm of the tide washing over the beach. A table and two chairs had been set up just outside the patio doors, upon which dinner awaited, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses, and dessert. A candle stood in the center of the table, the only source of light, other than the setting sun. He would have added soft music, but he thought the sound of the ocean was music enough.

Again, she seemed genuinely surprised, pleased with how adventurous he was being with his diet. Led by the hand, she followed him out onto the beach, momentarily distracted by the beautifully multi-hued sunset over the water before her gaze landed on the romantic table for two set up right in front of her. "Oh ..." she breathed, hugging his arm tenderly as he drew her that way. It wasn't often he managed to render her speechless in any language, but this had achieved it. She turned an adoring smile onto her husband, utterly at a loss for words.

Already nervous, he took her lack of words to mean that she was disappointed. "I....I wasn't sure if you wanted to go out or stay in. I hope you like lobster," he continued, rambling nervously. He wasn't even sure if he liked lobster, but he was apparently about to find out. Thankfully, he'd ordered surf and turf, so there was always the filet if the lobster wouldn't do. For some odd reason, he was looking forward to trying something different for a change, rather than his usual bacon double heart attack waiting to happen cheeseburger. So long as it wasn't fish eggs or snails.

She could hear his nerves growing worse, realizing that the longer she went without speaking, the worse that was going to get. But she just couldn't find the right words to tell him how touched she was that he had gone to so much effort. She turned shining eyes to him, catching his lips with hers once again to still the rambling. "Shhh," she managed, finally finding her voice. "It is perfect." Her eyes opened once again to find his gaze, touched and soft in the setting sunlight. "This is our first dinner date," she said, almost incredulous that it had taken them getting married to get to what should have been a logical progression when they had first met.

He stilled as she caught his lips and tried to calm his nerves, gazing into her eyes as she looked into his. It was an absolutely beautiful evening on a beautiful island with a beautiful woman. Life just didn't get any better than this, and it seemed to make all the heartache and tragedy of their lives worthwhile. "We deserve this, Nat," he said, for some reason. He wasn't sure why he'd said it, but it seemed important. He blinked at her remark, realizing she was probably right. They'd had dinner together before, but never quite like this. "Is it?"

She nodded, her smile just this side of a quiet laugh at the strange procession of their life together, from a nervous plane ride to this moment in time. "Perfect," she promised him, drawing her fingers against his cheek tenderly. "Where do you want me, milaya?" It might have seemed a question to which the answer was obvious - at the table - but Nat could tell when Rhys was trying to make the effort. She was going to give him every opportunity to play the gentleman, though in reality he was all the gentleman she could want or need, without the fancy manners or mannerisms.

He could have answered with the usual snark he was accustomed to by telling her he wanted her in bed, but he'd had her in bed all afternoon, and he didn't really want to tarnish the romance of the evening with an inappropriate remark. He drew her over to the table, letting go of her hand so that he could pull out a chair for her. "After you, Mrs. Bristol," he said, waiting for her to take a seat.

"Spasibo, Mr Bristol," was her smiling answer, deliberately relaxing her voice, letting her natural accent shine for him in a way she never did with anyone else. Lowering herself down into the seat, she drew herself to the table, laying her arms on the edge, utterly charmed by the romance he'd surprised her with. "This is truly beautiful, Rhys."

"You deserve it, Nat," he told her again, hoping she understood how much he meant it. "Would you like some wine" I was assured it goes perfectly well with both lobster and filet." He smiled, having no real knowledge of wine or fine dining. That was, in his estimation, not his job and what he paid other people for. He reached for the bottle that was chilling in a tub of ice and leaned over to fill both glasses, not waiting for a response. He was going to need a glass or two just to relax.

She smiled again, knowing he probably had no idea what he was about to drink and finding that just as charming as everything else. It took a big man to take it on faith that what he was serving up was suitable. "Thank you, I would very much like wine," she agreed as he poured, her fingertips curling to the stem of her glass as she waited for him to be ready. Lifting the glass, she gently touched it to his. "What shall we drink to?"

He was about as accustomed to making toasts as he was to drinking wine. He touched his glass to hers, pausing moment to consider the question, which, as it turned out, needed very little consideration. "To our future, I suppose," he replied, adding with a soft smile. "To eternity."

"To eternity." Her eyes sparkled in the light of the single candle as she lifted the glass to her lips, the look tenderly intimate as she sipped, promising forever to him all over again with the soft affection that colored her entire being. Setting her glass down, she suddenly found herself feeling a little shy, smiling to herself as her fingers found a loose curl to tuck back behind her ear. "I have not been wined and dined before," she confessed suddenly, laughing a little at the silly admission. "I am glad it is you who are ..." She paused, up against a colloquialism that did not translate well. After a moment of groping, she produced something that didn't quite sound right, but was probably recognizable. "Puncturing my melon?"

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2013-03-01 05:35 EST
He took a sip of the wine, finding it tasted better than he expected, sort of like beer without all the foam only better, more refined, and a lot more expensive. He tossed back what remained in his glass and took a set across from her as he refilled his glass. No one had ever told him that wine was meant to be sipped. He chuckled as she grasped for a turn of phrase he recognized, even though she'd demolished it. "Pop your cherry," he corrected, with a smirk. "And I would have loved to."

She shrugged one shoulder, her cheeks flushing a little at that smirking piece of information. "My ....cherry?" Nat laughed, shaking her head. "I did not think melon was right, but I knew it was fruit." She let her hand creep across the table to stroke the back of his fingers lovingly. "I do not think you would have had patience with me if I had been vaginal when we met," she said with a faint smirk of her own, blissfully unaware of this second slip in the language barrier. "I wore very late bloomers."

He chuckled again, amused by her occasional flubs with the English language. "Virginal," he corrected. "And you were a late bloomer, not you wore them." Of course, that remark let to a question he wasn't sure he'd ever asked her before. "How old were you....when you lost your bloomers?" he added with a smirk as he tangled his fingers with those that were stroking the back of his hand.

Corrected, she laughed herself, not entirely sure what was wrong with what she'd said but trusting him not to correct her just to see her reaction. "I do not understand what large knickers have to do with it," she admitted, vaguely confused by English and Americanisms at the best of times, "but I was ....well, twenty-seven." She shrugged that shoulder again, her fingers playing in and out of his grasp as she very nearly blushed.

"Twenty-seven?" he repeated, brows arching in surprise. He knew she'd only had one lover before him, but for some reason, he hadn't realized she'd been a virgin until only a few years ago. He almost wished he could say the same for himself. "It's not a bad thing, Nat. Being a late bloomer. I mean, there are worse things." He frowned, thinking he probably sounded like an idiot, and he took another sip of wine to hide his embarrassment.

The blush made itself known at his surprise, embarrassed that the societal norms that were so prevalent across the world made her so very unusual. Most people had already been initiated by the time they hit twenty these days, if not long before, but then, most people weren't as sheltered, or as cold, as Natalya had been for most of her life. "It is nothing to be proud of, either," she said quietly. "Because of it, I learned to be afraid of men. It took Demyan months to convince me otherwise."

"What happened to him?" he asked, not really wanting to know, and yet at the same time, needing to know. He dropped his gaze momentarily to look at this linked hands and the matching rings they both wore, a symbol of their love and the vows that bound them together. Nothing and no one would take her from him now, and the past was nothing to fear.

She smiled, following his gaze to their linked hands. That she wore her ring on the right, and he on the left, meant that as they sat opposite one another like this, their rings lay side by side when their hands touched, a tangible reminder of the ties that bind. "He found someone better suited," she told Rhys softly. "I was not made to be always submissive to anyone's whim, but he taught me a lot in the year he gave to me. I understand that he has married her, but we are no longer in contact. I do not follow The Life, and he does. Our circles do not overlap."

"The Life?" he echoed, brows furrowing curiously. Though he was starving, dinner sat before them untouched, mostly because he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "What do you mean?" he asked, taking another sip of wine, doing his best to hide the relief he felt that she no longer kept in contact with her former lover. As for himself, he would never make any demands of her as far as her sexual preferences went, but it seemed to him that they were equals, sharing the submissive and dominant roles in their relationship as the mood suited them.

She released his hand, turning her attention to the plate in front of her thoughtfully. At least they were only lobster tails, she thought, though the sight of Rhys tackling an entire lobster would have been one to savor. Investigating the shell, she tried to answer his query as well as possible without going into too much detail. "The Life is used as a phrase in certain areas to describe the way certain roles are played out all the time," she attempted to clarify herself. "A Master will be a Master 24 hours a day, not simply when the mood strikes, and his or her submissive will be submissive all the time. It is a lifestyle for many people, not just bedroom games."

It was obvious from the look on his face that the thought of that didn't appeal to him much. "That's called being someone's slave, Nat. I don't see the point. I don't want a slave. I want a lover, a partner, a companion. Not just someone who will do my bidding." He shrugged back, wondering if he was making any sense. He took another sip of his wine before setting the glass down and regarding his food with a puzzled look.

"For some people, it is what they want, what they enjoy," she pointed out softly. "The Life is very respectful, the community is very close. An abusive Master or Mistress does not keep their submissive long, and if they do not learn the difference between domination and cruelty, they are not welcome." Her lips curved as he went on to say what he wanted. "I was not made to be anyone's inferior in such a way. But I don't mind being on the bottom from time to time." One eyelid flickered a teasing wink at him, before she lowered her eyes to her meal. It was pretty obvious that Rhys had no idea how to get into the lobster, at the very least. Turning the shell over, she used the sharp steak knife to slice the almost plastic texture of the underbelly open, revealing the meat inside, and very carefully extracted a long black vein, laying it on the side of her plate. Then her eyes rose to her husband, wondering if he would rather do it himself or have the one she had already dealt with.

"Being on the bottom isn't the same as being someone's....submissive," Rhys pointed out, seeing a clear difference between a chosen lifestyle and a sexual preference. "I've never been very submissive myself," he admitted, as he watched her cut the lobster open and....de-vein it' He almost lost his appetite watching, and the subject was suddenly changed. "That's gross. Maybe I should just stick to burgers."

"You have your moments," she chuckled softly, excavating a chunk of meat from inside the shell she'd opened and offering it across to him on the end of her fork. One brow rose at the expression on his face. "You are a man who has eaten snails," she reminded him through a teasing smirk. "Shellfish should hold no terrors for you."

"And I didn't like them, remember?" he countered, scowling at the hunk of lobster meat on her fork, but he was the one who ordered it and he did want to impress her. He leaned in, opening his mouth to accept the hunk of meat. "I have my moments when someone is going down on me in the front seat," he pointed out, with a mouthful of lobster, unsure if she'd understand what he meant by that.

"You still ate them," she chuckled, watching as he took the chunk of flaked fish from her fork with a smile, studying his reaction thoughtfully. His addition to the conversation somewhat confused her, her grasp of American euphemisms failing her this evening for some reason. "I think I understand "going down"," she considered, switching the shells on their plates so that he wouldn't have to face the task of cracking and de-veining his food, "but what is this "front seat?""

He smirked at her question, as he finished chewing and swallowing the bite of lobster. Though it would never replace a cheeseburger on his list of favorite foods, he had to admit it wasn't too horrible. It was almost tasty in a weird fishy sort of way. He dug another piece of it from the shell with his fork as he replied, this time reaching over to dunk it in the lemon butter mixture. "Front seat of my car," he replied, smirking around another forkful.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2013-03-01 05:37 EST
"You have a car?" Now that was definitely a tease. She'd been shown pictures of his baby back in America, but having never so much as seen it, much less ridden in it, Nat was enjoying pretending he was making it all up "to impress her". And Adam had been more than happy to play along, once he'd spotted what she was up to. "Tell me, what is it again? A canary yellow Aston Martin with go-faster stripes?" As she spoke, deliberately distracting him from thinking about what he was eating just in case he encountered the one thing in there she hadn't warned him about, she was busily slicing open the second shell.

"No, it's not an Aston Martin, smart *ss. Do I look like James Bond to you?" He furrowed his brows again, wondering if that was a bad thing. Looking like James Bond. If he did, he hoped he was the Sean Connery version. He'd actually owned several cars in his lifetime, but the one that was known as his "baby" was a dark blue Chevelle he'd rebuilt himself a few ago back in New York. "My first car was a Mustang, but..." He trailed off with a frown and a shake of his head. He'd loved that car more than he'd loved some people, but she was little more than a memory now.

Nat laughed a little as she dipped a mouthful of lobster meat into the melted butter to taste. She had yet to see the appropriate Bond film, but from the way Rhys took pains to mention it whenever he could, she assumed it must be one he enjoyed. Her expression switched to curiosity as he moved on to his first car, a faint furrow between her brows as she tried to reconcile the car she had seen in pictures with the car he was now talking about. "I do not believe I have seen a Mustang, except in films," she offered thoughtfully. "I have ridden one, or at least, a high-breed of a Mustang."

Rhys echoed her laughter, her assumption that the Mustang was a horse and not a car chasing away the blues at the thought of the car's loss. "No, Nat. It's a car model. It's just named after the horse." He picked up his knife and cut into the filet, which was predictably more to his liking than the lobster. "She was a sweet car. Dylan gave her to me when I turned sixteen. I wrapped her around a tree in Tucson." He paused in a very brief moment of thought before popping the slice of steak in his mouth. Whatever sadness he felt over the car was hidden behind his chewing.

She blinked, ever so slightly thrown by the light-hearted colloquialism disguising what must have been quite a serious road accident, pausing to take it to pieces and put it back together again before responding. "If you had such love for that car, why do you now drive an entirely different model?" she asked him curiously, carefully tapping the green tomalley out of her lobster before continuing to eat.

Fortunately, he was distracted enough for the moment by memories of the Mustang and the circumstances that had led to the crash not to notice the disgusting green thing she was pulling out of her lobster. It was a good question, and he had to think about it a minute before he could reply. "It would be like trying to replace someone you love. There will never be another car quite like that one." He wasn't sure if that made sense or not to someone who didn't share that kind of attachment to a vehicle, but it was the best he could do. He sawed another bite-sized piece off his steak.

They'd never really discussed this, though Nat had a feeling it was because Rhys thought she would be bored by the conversation. She knew she gave off the impression of being quite a girly sort of girl, but there were a few things they had in common that she hadn't yet shared with him. "I think I understand," she agreed quietly, setting her fork aside for a moment as she reached for her wine, lifting the glass to her lips for a delicate sip. "You have not seen my Jaguar."

That got his attention, and he lifted his head, arching a single brow in undisguised surprise. "You own a Jag?" he asked, a smile appearing on his face. "You've been holding out on me, Nat. Makes me wonder what else I don't know about you." As well as what she didn't know about him. He wasn't keeping any secrets exactly, but there were some things that just had never come up in conversation or had seemed unimportant.

Her smile was more of a smirk, just this side of smug at his reaction to her hint toward knowing a little something more than he might otherwise have assumed in this area. "Not just any Jag," she told him teasingly. "An E-type Jag convertible." One eyelid flickered a wink in his direction before she lowered her eyes to her plate once again, turning her attention to the filet that was waiting to be tasted. Moments before she filled her mouth, she added, "It took me more than a year to track down the right engine so I could replace it."

There went that brow again, twitching upwards as she hinted at this side of her that he didn't know and hadn't expected, and yet, it didn't really surprise him all that much. What couldn't she do' That was the real question. "Impressive. What year?" he asked, popping the steak into his mouth, the conversation turning toward one of his favorite subjects and one he rarely had a chance to discuss with anyone, much less a woman.

"1974," she told him, as invested in the conversation as he, despite the surprise of her having anything to offer in the first place. "She's a V-12 Roadster." She shrugged lightly, chewing for a long moment. "Your Chevelle is not a model I am familiar with. American classic cars do not travel to Russia very much. You will have to teach me about her."

"Color, and don't tell me she's red," he challenged with a grin and a wave of an empty fork. He was more than happy to talk cars, almost as fond of them as he was of women. Though he was a one-woman man now, it was unclear whether he'd be a one-car man. "She's not really made for hunting, but she's one sweet ride. I picked her up cheap back in New York, fixed her up. She just needed a little TLC. Runs like a charm. I haven't seen her since..." He broke off. Not since Chicago. He didn't really want to think about Chicago.

"Black, I am not that predictable," she laughed back at him, shaking her head at his grinning challenge. "Also not made for hunting, but I can't let her go. I spent a long time making her fit for use, and she's spent a long time in the garage in St Petersburg." One shoulder rose and fell as she set her cutlery down. As long as it had been since they'd last eaten, she had never had a particularly large appetite, and didn't want to disappoint him by not having a little of everything he had ordered for them. "Did not Adam say he had taken your car to New York?" she asked, sensing the need to move away from the thoughts Rhys had provoked in himself. Another distraction presented itself, and she smirked faintly. "You know, Gina thinks she is going to ask him to marry her. If it will not offend his manly pride too much."

"Yeah, he did," he replied, dropping the subject of Chicago for now. He'd told her a little about Chicago once before. In the end, it was just another adventure and part of his past. He just about had his steak finished when she brought up Gina and Adam. "She's going to ask him?" He chuckled at the thought of that. "I'd like to be a fly on the wall when that happens." He smiled, the subject changing again, distracting him once again from unpleasant memories.

"I believe it is a case of Gina asking, or Joey jumping the gun somewhat," Natalya chuckled softly. She could only imagine the look on Adam's face if an eight-year-old informed him that he was going to marry the woman he loved whether he wanted to or not. Her lips quirked fondly. "As terrible as it was to lose you for seven days ....I am glad of it, in a way. Without that loss, your friends would not be so happy as they are."

"If she waits for him to ask, she might be waiting a while," he remarked with a smile, the look on his face softening at her admission. "I'm sorry, Nat," he found himself apologizing again for putting her through all that sadness and grief. And yet, everything seemed to have happened for a reason. He wasn't sure what would have happened if he hadn't died and been brought back. She was right, in a way. If it hadn't been the tragedies of their pasts, they might not be where they were today. "All's well that ends well, I guess," he remarked, reaching for the glass of wine.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2013-03-01 05:38 EST
She shook her head. "There have been enough apologies, milaya," she told him quietly. "What happened was beyond anyone's control, and if it had not happened, then we would not have won the day." The reach of her arm echoed his, her fingers curling to the stem of her glass as she smiled pointedly. "As to all things ending ....I would rather they did not."

His smile mirrored hers as she once again chased away the demons of his past and maybe of hers, as well. "To the future," he lifted his glass to her, toasting the future for the second time that evening. A future he had seen a glimpse of and longed for with all his heart.

"The future." Her glass touched his once again, and she smiled for him as she took a sip of the expensive wine, savoring the moment with strangely vulnerable tenderness. The food had been all but forgotten as she held his gaze, attempting to suppress the urge to rise and kiss him once again, knowing it would likely bring a premature end to the romantic meal he had been so nervous about arranging in the first place.

"What else about you don't I know?" he asked with a smirk as they clinked glasses, candlelight reflected in his eyes as they met hers. It was almost a challenge. Though it seemed like they'd been together forever, there were still things they didn't know about each other. "Let me see..." he mused before taking another sip of his wine. What did he want to know about her that he didn't know yet"

"Mmm ..." That was a good question. They were still learning one another, though it seemed highly unlikely that they would ever learn something that would change the state of play between them. She searched her mind for something to offer up in answer to that, setting her glass back down to let her fingertip run around the rim lightly. "Guns frighten me," was what she eventually came up with. He'd never seen her fight, after all; he didn't know her preferred weapon brought her up close and personal with anything that might have deadly intentions.

That bit of information surprised him for a moment, but then it seemed to make sense. She wasn't a hunter after all; she was a thief. "They should frighten you. I'd be worried if they didn't." As for himself, he preferred firearms. He preferred to keep as much a distance between himself and his enemies as possible, though lately, it seemed most of his fighting had been done with a sword of one kind of another. Guns didn't really scare him, unless one was pointed his way. "I wonder how the Lady feels about guns," he remarked thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if he should get used to using a sword more often.

"You have spoken more with her than I have," his wife said with a faint smile. There was a little envy there, but not enough to color her tone or expression. She was glad that Rhys had been welcomed so completely into the secret of Avalon. "Perhaps she would tell you if you asked her. For me ....I do not know. I do not like to even hold a gun; I certainly do not know how to fire one, nor how to maintain one. It does not mean that I cannot fight if I must, but ..." She sighed a little ruefully. "I am at a disadvantage in a fire-fight."

Rhys frowned thoughtfully at her admission. Though he didn't really want her to ever have to use a gun or a weapon of any kind, it would be foolish not to teach her how to defend herself, especially now that she was the wife of a hunter. Champion of Avalon or not, he had made plenty of enemies, and he needed her to know how to protect herself and their children, if they were ever so blessed. "I'll teach you," he told her without hesitation. He had a feeling she'd be teaching him a lot more than he could ever hope to teach her. "If we're going to be together..." He broke off. Not if. They were married now. There were no ifs. "You should know how to use one."

She looked a little uneasy at the thought of learning that particular skill, knowing herself well enough to know that he was going to see a part of her when he first put a gun into her hand that she did not like to show anyone. "I know," she agreed reluctantly. "I will warn you now, though ....you will have to push me."

Though Rhys thought having a wary respect for firearms was wise, she seemed to be hinting at a fear that went deeper than just wariness. He drained his wine and set the glass down, studying her across the table in the dimming light, as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. "What happened that scared you about guns?"

"I ..." She stopped herself in the act of forming the first true lie she had ever tried to tell him, stilling her tongue before it could make itself known. "I want to say that I do not know," she admitted uncomfortably. "This is not a subject for such an evening, milaya. I will tell you, but ....please, not tonight. The memory frightens me."

If anyone could understand that, it was him. Though curious, he wouldn't push her for an answer, not until she was ready to explain. After all, there were plenty of things he'd rather not talk about or even think about. "All right. When you're ready." He momentarily fingered the wine glass, debating a refill. Debating admitting to his own phobia, though she had probably already guessed it by now. "I'm claustrophobic. Not crazy about heights either." Both of those fears had obviously figured into his fear of flying.

She smiled, grateful that he had not pushed. She'd tell him eventually, just not tonight. "I am also claustrophobic," she admitted ruefully. "And ....I am afraid of drowning." It wasn't so much water that frightened her as any suggestion that she might drown; that could paralyze her easily. Another little fact came to mind, one that widened her smile. "You should never let me cast a spell in Latin," she told him cheerfully. "I cannot pronounce it. The last time I tried, I conjured a live mammoth rather than closing the portal I was attempting to seal."

The drowning he knew, just as she already knew about his fear of flying. Just as the conversation was in danger of turning serious once again, she made him laugh with her cheerful confession. "You didn't. A mammoth' What did you do with it?" He made a decision regarding the wine, taking up the bottle and refilling both their glasses. Hell with it. They were on vacation. They were supposed to be having fun.

She laughed with him, chasing the fears away in a peal of giggles that wrapped about his own laughter and filled their private little stretch of beach. "What do you think I did?" she asked incredulously. "I dropped the book and ran away - I wasn't going to face up to something that was nearly too big to fit inside the room I was in!"

He arched his brows at her response, even as he refilled their glasses and set the bottle back down. "What happened to it' That's not something that's going to go away all by itself." He made a mental note to give her some lessons in proper Latin pronunciation, just in case.

"As I understand it, the school had a good supply of fresh meat for a long time," she replied playfully. In all honesty, she had no idea what had happened to the conjured thing, though she had a feeling it had returned wherever she had summoned it from after a few hours. All she really knew was that she had never tried Latin ever again after that experience, preferring a little ignorance over a lot of dead.

"You're joking," he replied, assuming she was. Something like that wouldn't have gone without being questioned. Rhys contemplated his glass a moment as he considered her experience, trying to compare it to one of his own, but there was really only one experience he could think of that came close, and it wasn't one of his pleasanter memories. The problem was that few were. Oh, he'd had good times and bad, but until he'd met Nat, the bad had often outweighed the good. He certainly had more than his share of weird experiences. "What was your first job?"

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2013-03-01 05:41 EST
She paused thoughtfully, uncertain quite what he meant by "job". Did he mean her first legitimate paycheck, or was he referring to the less-than-legal past-time her father had trained her in. Her fingertip dipped into the wine in the glass, lifting out to draw about the rim once again, producing a clear tone. "I ....I helped my father to steal the ruby from the Imperial Crown of Russia," she confessed quietly. And it had been a good job - as far as she was aware, no one had noticed the fake yet.

Fortunately, he didn't audibly gasp, but his mouth did drop open for just a moment at not only the audacity of it, but at the assumption that they'd gotten away with it. "And you didn't get caught?" he asked, just to be sure, taking a sip of his wine and contemplating the chocolate cheesecake he'd ordered for dessert, which he knew he was going to enjoy far more than the lobster.

"I didn't." The somewhat smug smile that flickered across her face suggested that her father had been in a fair amount of trouble from someone for that audacious move, but she'd avoided it. "It is not a ruby, exactly, but a red spinel from China. Nothing supernatural about it. Perhaps he wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing." Her lips quirked into a cheeky grin. "I still have it around somewhere - I think possibly still in St Petersburg."

"What happened to him?" he asked, catching her drift that someone had gotten caught and he assumed she meant her father. He didn't want to dig into any painful memories, but one question seemed to lead to another, and there was still a lot they didn't know about each other.

"He double-crossed the buyer who'd paid upfront to have the spinel stolen in the first place," she explained. "Thought he could sell it back to the government for more than its value, since back then they believed it to be a ruby. The buyer shopped him, but since the police could not find any trace of the stone, they had to let him go." She shrugged one shoulder, her eyes straying toward the temptingly sinful cheesecake just waiting to be tasted. "I spent a year at boarding school with the thing sewn into the lining of my suitcase."

"How old were you?" he continued, asking the next logical question. He'd been just a boy when he'd had his first encounter with the supernatural, though he hadn't actually hunted until he was a teenager. He'd learned and accepted at a young age that he was never going to have a normal life, no matter how he might want one. He noticed her gaze straying to the cheesecake, and he smiled, considering the same thing. "Would you like to do the honors or shall I?" he asked, with a nod of his head toward dessert.

Her smile turned sad once again, but this time for the knowledge that though her father had invested time in her, he had not kept her at home the way she had longed for as a child. "I was ten years old," she told Rhys quietly, quick to shake the sadness away with a sip of her wine and a warmer smile as her gaze wandered to the cheesecake once again. "Can I trust you not to give me a slice that will be too big for me?"

He mirrored her frown, if only momentarily. "That's a bit young for your first heist," he remarked, reaching for the cheesecake so he could cut them each a slice. "Define too big," he said with a smile, knowing their definitions of "too big" were likely to be very different.

Natalya shook her head lightly. "He trained me on the mundane so that when I began with the supernatural and occult, the skills were second-nature," she explained as lightly as she could, not wanting to dwell on her father too much. "I had seven years of experience before I ever entered the elite circle that go unnoticed." She laughed at his smiling query, knowing if she wasn't specific, he was going to overload her on chocolate. "Anything bigger than this," was her response, holding her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart.

"That's not dessert. That's a taste of dessert," he replied with a smile as he picked up a knife and cut into the cake, cutting them each a slice and handing her a plate. Her slice was bigger than what she'd asked for, but not nearly as big as his. "I was nine when I killed my first demon." But then, he'd told her about that particular encounter already, the demon that had possessed his father. "Had my first run in with werewolves when I was ten. After that, Dylan tried to keep me out of trouble, but trouble always seemed to find us anyway."

"Sometimes a taste is all you need," she protested laughingly, knowing even before the slice hit her plate that it was going to be at least twice the size she'd indicated. Her smile only faded a little as he mentioned his father's death in passing, understanding why he skimmed so neatly onward. "I was eighteen when I crossed paths with my first real creature," she told him, a very faint blush darkening her cheeks as she remembered that experience. "Let us say it was not what I would have expected from a werewolf."

"Did he think you were Little Red Riding Hood?" he asked, with the slightest of smirk as he cut into his pie. Though they called it cheesecake, everyone knew it was really pie. The only were-anything he'd ever been on friendly terms with was his ex-fiancee, and he didn't want to talk about her. He was happy to leave well enough alone, so long as they'd didn't start preying on humans. As far as he was concerned, the same went for most supernatural creatures, but demons....those had been his specialty.

"It was a she," Nat admitted awkwardly, her eyes fixed on her plate as she cut a piece from her own dessert. "And ....well, if I had not been ..." She cleared her throat, wondering why this was so difficult to say. "....that time of the month, she would have killed me. But I suppose I was no threat." She shrugged, glancing up at Rhys as she closed her lips around her laden fork. The instant the peppermint chocolate touched her tongue, the topic of conversation was forgotten. "Mmmm ....bozhe moi, that is good ..."

He was watching her, studying her expression, trying to read between the lines of what she was telling him. She couldn't mean what he thought she meant, could she" He'd heard of vampires getting freaky like that on occasion, but never a werewolf. "Wait, you don't mean..." he trailed off, unsure if he really wanted to know. The pie was temporarily forgotten as he dwelt on the werewolf a moment longer.

It took her a moment to realize just where his mind had taken him, but she caught on fairly fast once she was there. Her eyes widened, disgusted by even the thought of that. "Oh ....oh, no, nothing like that," she hurried to assure him, shaking her head quickly. "No, she was hunting for a mate, and she had decided that she wanted my ....I suppose you would call him my escort for the evening. I was ....in mid cycle, so to speak ....and all she did was tear my back open to warn me off. I was very lucky."

"She tore your back open?" he echoed, temporary relief at her explanation quickly replaced by shock. He didn't recall seeing any scars on her back, but then he hadn't been looking for any either. The scars from the wound he'd received as a boy had disappeared, as if he'd never had them at all - an unexpected benefit of dying and being rezzed.

Again, Nat shrugged lightly, dismissing the shock with a gentle smile. "It was more than ten years ago," she told him. "And I come from a family rich in resources. I do not know quite what was done, but I was healed fast and with barely any sign of the damage done." Her eyes met his, warmly reassuring as she smiled for him. "The scars are only visible in moonlight, milaya."

It was another expected thing they had in common, and though he'd briefly told her about his own experience with werewolves, he didn't recall her mentioning her own. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked, no accusation in his voice, only curiosity. He wondered why it had taken them so long to find these things out about each other, but then, it had been a busy year.

"I rarely think about it," she told him softly, grateful that he didn't feel any recrimination for her lack of sharing when he had first mentioned werewolves all those months before. "It is a conscious decision, I ....It was while I was recovering that I found what was left of my mother." She did not need to elaborate; the image she had painted for him, of a single human heart, still beating, kept out of the way for so many years, was still strong. Natalya swallowed, lowering her fork to the plate, her appetite gone as that memory flared, however briefly, to pale her cheeks. "It is a place I do not like to visit in mind."

His frown deepened, not wanting to bring up any bad memories or cause her any pain. There were things he had not yet told her, things that were perhaps better left unsaid, unshared, unexplained. They no longer mattered - or so he thought - and yet, they were part of what made them who they were. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He noticed how she'd lowered her fork, her appetite gone, and he regretted bringing up the past. He set his own fork down and pushed away from the table to his feet, offering her a hand. "Come here. I want to show you something."

Guilt flamed forth in her gaze as he rose to his feet, recognizing that he was abandoning his own dessert to distract her but not quite having the strength of will to insist that he continue eating without her. "You did not hurt me, Rhys," she heard herself promise him as her fingers slid over his palm, letting him raise her to her own feet. "I am sorry. I should not have gone to that place, I know better than to do it."

He closed his fingers around hers and pulled her toward him, smiling warmly down at her as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "It's all right. We've both been through a lot, but we've got each other now. I love you no matter what, and you should know that you can tell me anything." He leaned close, but instead of kissing her lips, he pressed a protective kiss against her forehead, loving and compassionate.

The curve of her lips flickered toward the hint of a smile as he drew her in for that kiss, her hand loosing from his to wrap her arms warm about his waist as she leaned into him. "I do know that, dusha moya," she murmured fervently. "But I did not mean to destroy the evening with bad recollections. There is a time for everything, and this was not that time."

"You didn't." He smiled reassuringly down at her before wrapping his arms around her shoulders to pull her into his embrace, his lips brushing her forehead as he spoke. "We both have our ghosts, but they can't hurt us, unless we let them." He knew they'd both been through hell, but that was all in the past now. No matter what happened from this moment forward, they'd face it together, and so long as they were together, they could surmount any challenge. To some it might sound corny and trite, but Rhys truly believed that so long as he and Nat were together, love would conquer all.

((Astonishingly, they stayed fully clothed this time! Amazing! That's it for the taste of the honeymoon, folks, bringing the Bristols up to date just about. Awesome thankidoodles to Rhys' player!))