"Uh huh..." he continued, rolling his eyes. "I'm not gonna talk about that now," he said, turning his back and hoping if he whispered Nat might not hear him. "Jesus Christ, Adam. Her name was Lola, but she was really Phil, okay' What do you mean anyone could know that' No one else knows about that but me and you!"

It was a strangely domestic scene for a pair who only a week ago had been battling demons in the war to end all wars between Heaven and Hell. And Natalya, much to her surprise, found that she was loving every moment. Unfortunately for Rhys' peace of mind, her hearing was a lot sharper than he'd accounted for, and it was an effort not to snicker aloud. "If it helps," she said cheerfully on the heels of his counterpoint to Adam's obvious objection, "now I know, too." She moved over to him, kissing his cheek. "Let Adam get another hour of sleep before he has to go to work, dusha moya. I'm done cooking."

He slid a gaze at Nat, annoyed with Adam now that she'd inadvertently caught a piece of only one of many embarrassing stories, but with luck, he'd find a way to twist it around and blame it on his friend, who was conveniently not there to defend himself. "I gotta go before breakfast gets cold." Pause. "What' No! If you impound my car, I'm gonna kick your *ss. Adam?" There was a resounding click on the other end as Adam hung up and rolled over to get a few more hours of sleep before deciding how to deal with a possibly rezzed Rhys. "Adam!" There was no answer. "Son of a bitch."

"Language," his petite lover chided him mildly, smiling as she smacked his backside with a wooden spatula to make him move out of the way. "So ....who is Phil?" Of course she couldn't resist asking that, flickering a teasing glance in his direction as she served up the collection of bacon, eggs, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, hash browns and fried bread. She'd lived in England long enough, it seemed, to have mastered the full English breakfast. It was a heart attack on a plate, but well worth it.

"If he makes me go over there..." Rhys started, scowling at the thought of flying....again, though he had Nat to keep him distracted. His last flight hadn't been so bad. "He doesn't believe it's me. He's threatening to sell my car!"

He glared as she whacked his rear, but obediently moved out of her way. "Who?" he asked, playing dumb, as he shoved the cell phone into the right front pocket of his jeans. He swiveled to follow her as she moved past him, sliding his arms around her waist and reaching around to pluck up a sausage and pop it into his mouth, groaning with pleasure. A bit of a hedonist, he loved the finer things in life, and food was one of them.

"Who?" she repeated laughingly, barely objecting to the blatant food stealing simply because he had his arms around her once again. The groan beside her ear didn't exactly help with her libido issues, though. It was just as well her hands were busy. "Lola, who turned out to be Phil. You are not going to get away without telling me that story." Chuckling, she twisted to lay the pan on the hob once again, leaving it aside as she drew cutlery from a drawer, reluctantly to move too far out of the circle of his arms. She leaned back against him, touching another kiss to his cheek. "You're going to have to let go at some point, my love."

He frowned, more out of reluctance to share an embarrassing story than because she had slipped from his arms to finish making and serving breakfast, which smelled divine, even to an ex-angel. He shrugged, searching the kitchen for a cup and pot of coffee. "You know the song Lola" She wanted to climb me, only she was a he. 'Nough said." There was, of course, more to the story than that, but he was more than a little reluctant to share the gory details.

Much to his relief, no doubt, Nat didn't press him for more details, gently steering him toward the coffee pot and the cups set beside it. She would just have to ask Adam for all the gory details when they saw him again. "I do not doubt that there are many bridegrooms in the world who have a story or two like that to tell," she murmured reassuringly, taking up the two plates to slip back into the living room, at one end of which was set up a dining table.

"Yeah, well, for what it's worth, it was a long time ago, and I was drunk, and it didn't go far." Thankfully. He took up a cup and poured himself some coffee, more out of habit than necessity. He felt oddly rested and awake, but coffee wasn't just about the caffeine kick. It was the only thing he'd ever found suitable to drink first thing in the morning since he'd turned sixteen. "Bridegrooms?" he asked, arching a brow after taking a slow sip of the dark, pungent brew. "I thought you had to ask permission first."

"I do," she nodded, glancing back at him. A small smile touched her lips. "Am I allowed a cup of coffee, or are you going to torture me by enjoying that one in front of me?" she asked teasingly, setting the plates down on the table. "And I didn't say I wasn't going to say yes. Just not yet."

"Oh," he blinked out of his thoughts as he realized he'd only poured one cup. "Sorry," he apologized, distracted once again by the mention of marriage. "It's just a piece of paper really. That's what people say anyway." Though he felt it was much more than that - a sacred bond between a man and a woman that no one could tear asunder - at least, as far as he was concerned. He set his cup down and poured one for her, then took both cups over to the table and set one down beside each plate. "Nat, um..."

She happened to feel strongly about the sanctity of that particular 'piece of paper', shaking her head against the dismissive description. "It is far more than just a piece of paper," she disagreed, but reined herself in, pausing by the table to look up at him as he said her name. Her fingers found his, squeezing gently. "What is it?"

"I, um..." he frowned thoughtfully, unsure if he should tell her or not, but he wanted no secrets between them. "I'm not sure you're gonna believe me, but I've been here before." Here, in this house, with you. He searched her eyes anxiously for a reaction. Hell, he'd come back from the dead. A little vision or two shouldn't be too hard to believe.

She gazed into his eyes, quiet for a long moment as she processed the certainty in his voice, the anxious plea in his eyes for her to accept what he said and believe him. It wasn't that she wasn't inclined to believe him, quite the contrary ....but this was the closest thing to a home she had, and she was certain that before Rhys had shown up in Glastonbury, no one had entered here but herself.

"I do not understand how," she said gently. "I have never allowed anyone to enter this house before now, and you know me well enough to know that I have ways to ensure that is the complete truth." A faint frown touched between her brows. "But then ....how did you know which was my bedroom, or even where it was" How do you know my house, Rhys?"

He pulled out a chair at the table, first for herself, then for him, frowning further as he settled himself on the chair, not really understanding how Abaddon could have plucked the information from his brain when he'd never been here before. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I dreamed about this place when I was in Lourdes." He wrapped a hand around his mug of coffee, a little lost in thought as he tried to resurrect the memory of that dream-vision. "It was years from now. Christmas. There was a Christmas tree and snow on the ground, and I was napping on the couch, while you were cooking dinner." There was more, but he wondered just how much he should tell her. Was it shades of what would be or of what might be? He felt like Scrooge on Christmas morning.

He wasn't blaming her. None of this was her fault. He wasn't blaming anyone but Abaddon, and Abaddon was dead. There would be no more revenge sought there. He blindly made his way through the kitchen to the living room, where he somehow knew there was a door that opened onto a patio. He didn't remember much about the garden, as it had been winter when he'd visited this place in his dreams, and the patio had been covered in snow. Snow. What a joke. It hadn't snowed here in decades, she'd said. Christ, he should have seen through the demon's tricks. He felt like a fool, telling Natalya about a dream he'd thought had been a glimpse into their future when all it had been was a trick.

He slumped down on the steps that led from the house to the patio, not really caring that he wasn't wearing any shoes. He wasn't going anywhere, but he didn't want her to see him this way, overcome with grief and anger. Not more than ten minutes ago, he'd felt on top of the world. What the hell was the matter with him"

He had to go over it all in his head again, rationalize it, logic it out, but feelings weren't logical. They just were. He didn't want her to see him lose it, to see the tears that were inevitable. Tears for Patrick, tears for the children he'd fallen in love with and was terrified would never be part of their life. How many times had Emily come to him in dreams, urging him to go on' Patrick had come to him in a dream on the train, somehow inexplicably leaving him with a token as proof that he'd been there. But how was he to believe that now" He didn't know what to believe anymore. What was real, what was not' Did any of it even matter" Free Will, Rhys. You make your own destiny. Having held it inside for so long, he let himself feel the pain and the loss. There was healing in the cleansing of tears.

He remained on the patio for what seemed like a long time, but in reality had not even been half an hour. When he was finally finished, he felt weary, wrung out, but cleansed as if a heavy burden had been lifted. Okay, so Abaddon had used his deepest desires against him, but Abaddon was dead now and could no longer hurt him or Natalya. If Rhys wanted his dreams to come true, it was up to no one but himself. He wiped a sleeve across his face to dry his tears and moved to his feet, determined to put the past behind him and look toward the future.

As Rhys grieved for what might never be outside, Nat had tidied up on auto-pilot, turned almost completely inward as she buried every last minute scrap of anything that could even remotely be called a negative emotion deep, refusing to allow herself the luxury of feeling it. She didn't think she had the right, and so, she wouldn't wallow in those feelings. Numb, she had washed the dishes, wiped down the surfaces, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and when, finally, there were no more mindless tasks to be done, she had curled up in an armchair out of sight of the patio, staring at nothing. All she felt she could do was wait, to find out if Rhys could forgive her for causing so much harm with her vindictive action.

He stepped quietly back inside, the tumult of rage having passed, sniffling back the last remnants of grief and tears for the children that had never been. His eyes searched for her, finding her curled up in a chair, looking as miserable as he felt, and his heart ached with regret, worrying he'd caused her even a little bit of pain. He went to her, kneeling down in front of her, and reached for her hands, looking up at her with fresh tears in his eyes. "Nat, I'm sorry."

Her gaze focused on him the moment he came into sight, the blankness in her expression wiped away into loving concern as he came to her. Her legs unfolded from beneath her, bare feet touching the floor by his knees as he took her hands, her body leaning forward in relief that he wasn't leaving her. "Don't, dusha moya," she murmured softly, taking both his hands into one of her own, the other lifting to stroke against his cheek tenderly. "You have nothing to be sorry for." The conviction in her words was reinforced by the kiss she touched to his lips, wanting nothing more than to wipe away his anger and tears until they were utterly gone from his soul.

"I shouldn't have told you," he admitted regretfully, clinging to her hand, not wanting to cause her any further pain. "It's just....I wanted it so badly. I wanted to believe it. I know it's stupid. I know we make our own destiny." He drew a deep breath, the kind one took when they were all cried out, feeling hollow and empty but not alone. Never alone, not so long as she was there beside him. "I want us to have a family someday. I want it so badly..." There was no mistaking the yearning in his voice, the longing. "We were so happy, and our children were so beautiful. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Micah. I'm sorry about your father. None of this is your fault. I want us to get married, Nat. I want us to be together. I don't care what anyone else wants. I know what I want, and I want you."

Natalya held his gaze in slowly growing astonishment. He wasn't angry with her, he wasn't taking his leave of her. He was mourning for something he thought might never happen, when she knew for a fact that it would. "Did the angels not share their vision with you?" she asked in amazement, startled to find that the covenant Michael had told her about had apparently not actually been finalised with the one man to whom it meant the world and more. She slithered down from her seat, settling herself astride his lap, drawing his arms about her before her hands moved to cradle his face. "Dusha moya, we will have a family," she promised him. "I've seen it. I've seen us, with our children. I just didn't know what we would name them, until you spoke to me of your vision."

He looked at her in confused astonishment, following her with his eyes as she dropped into his lap and draped his arms around her waist. "The angels" No, they..." They'd given him no visions, no dreams of redemption or hope for the future, only telling him that this was his destiny - a destiny he'd chosen before he'd been born - and that when he was through, he'd have his reward, whatever that was. "You've seen the future?" he asked, brows arching questioningly, heart thudding hard in his chest, almost afraid to hope.

"I told you," she said softly. "Heaven made a new covenant for you, because the last was broken. I do not know why they showed me, but I saw us. I saw myself, pregnant, seated on green grass beneath summer sunshine, and I saw you nearby, with a little boy. You were playing together, and we were laughing, and there was an older girl on the grass beside me. And I knew they were our children." She swept her thumbs over his cheekbones, staring fiercely into his eyes as she spoke. "That is what Heaven has promised you, Rhys."

He met her gaze unflinchingly, seeing not only the eyes of the woman he loved with all his heart and soul, but seeing in her eyes, his future. An errant tear slid down his cheek before he could stop it, and he lowered his gaze for just a moment to regain his composure, her words dispelling whatever grief and sorrow he'd been feeling only a short time ago and replacing it with hope.

Her lips touched his brow as he lowered his gaze from hers, trailing another kiss at his temple, warm and tender, accepting of whatever he was feeling, however badly it might reflect upon her. Rhys had opened her heart for the first time, and Natalya knew that she had loved him long before she was made a part of his reward for good service. She would do anything for him ....even walk away, if he asked her to. Winding her arms about his neck, she drew him close, tucking her chin against his shoulder as she closed her eyes, stroking her fingertips through his hair.

She blinked at the abrupt end to his unfinished query, moving to the bottom of the stairs to look upward toward the upper storey. "Rhys?" she called up the stairs, leaning against the wall as she checked the contents of her purse. "Is everything okay up there?"

"Yeah!" he called back. "Just couldn't find my shoes." He still hadn't found quite the pair he was looking for, but what he did find would have to do. He wasn't going hunting, after all, just out for breakfast. He grabbed hold of the jacket he'd arrived there in and started back down the stairs, feeling naked without a wallet, money, or weapons of any kind. "I can't find my gun," he whined with a frown.

The look Nat gave him was the sort any married person knew inside and out. It was fond and resigned and amused and ever so slightly exasperated all at once. She reached out to take his hand, drawing him around to the cupboard under the stairs. Opening up the door, she leaned inside and pressed her fingers lightly to the wall. It opened up as she drew back, revealing a minor arsenal of weapons. "Help yourself, dusha moya." She patted his arm, and went back to locating her house keys.

His eyes widened at the arsenal of guns she had stashed beneath the stairs. He thought he knew the house inside out, upside down, and backwards and forwards, but he'd had no idea about her little stash of weapons. He whistled appreciatively, like a kid in a candy shop, or a man at a strip joint. "Are these all yours?" he asked, muttering to himself in reply, "Well, of course, they're yours. Who else's would they be?"

She looked over at him with a sly little quirk to her smile. "I am a thief, Rhys," she reminded him with playful sweetness. "And I know what is out there. Did you really think I wouldn't have a stash?" She let out a crow of triumph, catching up her keys from the floor beside the door. "There is another cache of weapons in the bedroom, in case I can't get to that one."

"Girl after my own heart," he said with a smile, leaning forward to pick out a nice little black Glock that would serve his purposes nicely. He checked to make sure it was loaded and that the safety was one and slipped it into his jacket as casually as one might a wallet or a car keys. "You're gonna have to show me around." And he wasn't just talking about town, but about the house and any other secrets it might hold.

"Later," she promised, crooking her finger to beckon him to her. The little concealed cache closed itself up after a minute of being open with no action, proving itself to be rigged with sensors. "I promised to feed you, remember?" She smiled fondly, urging him to join her by the door.

He smiled as she beckoned him, following her to the door. "I'm gonna have you for dessert later," he promised with a grin, thinking she looked good enough to eat, all pretty in pink. "You look like a cupcake." He wondered if that should be his new nickname for her. Cupcake. He bet she'd just love that.

"A what?" she laughed back at him, opening up the door to usher him out into the afternoon sunlight. It was still a little chilly, perhaps, but she had grown up in colder climes and he was wearing that jacket. The weather was not going to bother them, even if it rained. Drawing the door shut, she deadlocked it before turning to slide her fingers between his, steering him down the road toward a wide curve that ran along the corner of what could be a tiny market square. The "grimy fork" she had referred to was already visible from here. "What on Earth is a cupcake?"

He laughed again, his laugh getting easier the more he relaxed. Without the Apocalypse looming over his head and every demon this side of Hell out to get him, he could actually relax and enjoy life for a change. Wasn't that what Gabriel had been trying to tell him' That life was about living. All of a sudden, he'd seemed to understand what the angel had meant. He linked his fingers with hers, as she led him toward the greasy spoon or wherever it was she was taking him, debating which definition to give her. "A cupcake is a hot chick....Or a miniature baked good." He smirked, wondering how she'd take that.

Of course, he was reckoning without the language barrier. As good as her English was, colloquialisms were still often beyond Nat's ability to understand. She cast him a confused smile from the corner of her eye. "I am ....a cooked young bird or a small cake?" she asked, amused but not entirely sure whether either of those was a compliment.

Another chuckle erupted from him at her misunderstanding of the English language. Ordinary conversations were going to prove interesting, as his language was generally colorfully littered with slang, figures of speech, and double entrendres galore. "A hot chick is a beautiful woman. A cupcake is sort of demeaning, I guess. If a guy calls you a cupcake, you should probably slap him." He sighed. "I can't believe I just told you that. I'm getting soft."

"So should I slap you, or should I just remind you how hard you are in all the right places?" Nat asked him sweetly, utterly unphased by the eruption of laughter from the woman they were passing as she spoke. The pavements along this street were narrow until you reached the little half-square at the bottom of the slope, proving it to be impossible to hold a private conversation with so many ears close by to hear you.

The street was lined with shops, and cafes, and pubs, each indulging in that peculiarity of pagan Christianity that Glastonbury excelled in. Beside the everyday shoe shop was a crystal supplier; between a busy-looking pub and an equally busy new-age tourist shop lay an archway into a small courtyard that proclaimed itself to be The Glastonbury Experience. The town, or at least this part of it, was alive with a mix of people of any and all faiths, people who came on pilgrimage to one shrine or another, to make use of the shops that were a myriad variety from a Catholic dispensary to a witches' dispensary. Yet it was all gathered about the ruins of that old Catholic Abbey, where the presence of the feminine divine was so easily discernible. It didn't take a genius to work out just why Glastonbury was such a wonderful mix of old and new. And above it all loomed the man-made spike of the Tor, where the entrance to mystic Avalon remained, known only to a select few. It was no wonder that Natalya Pimenova had chosen to make a home in this place.

She led him past an ornate stone-clad clock-tower, carefully steering him away from one particular self-proclaiming fortune-teller, and in through the door of a small cafe. The familiar smells of a greasy spoon made themselves known in a blast to the senses, enveloping the pair as the door closed behind them. A middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up and smiled at Nat, waving in a familiar fashion as the Russian woman looked to Rhys and spoke, all trace of her accent gone now they were no longer in private. "What would you like?"

"I didn't call you a cupcake, Cupcake!" he smirked at her teasing, tossing a wink at the woman who seemed amused by Nat's remark. "I've heard no complaints!" he grinned and swung a glance around at their surroundings as they continued down the street toward the greasy spoon, letting go of her hand at one point to turn in place as he walked along to take in all the sights and sounds. He eyed the fortune-teller with interest, but she reclaimed his hand to steer him away.

"Maggie trying to play matchmaker?" he queried, hazarding a guess. "What's a pretty girl like you doing with her nose buried in a book all the time?" He smiled softly as she pressed his hand against her cheek, happy to linger in that moment as long as he could, watching her with adoring eyes until Maggie broke the spell with the arrival of their breakfast. He frowned just a little worriedly at her reply, but she wasn't like the other women he'd been with. She was different, and it wasn't fair to worry about their relationship based on his past. He let go of her hand just as reluctantly, reaching for his cup to take a sip of his coffee. "So, what?s the plan' Want to show me off....I mean around?" A teasing smirk was hidden behind the mug.

"Something like that," she agreed with his mild impression of Maggie, setting her own cup down to begin attacking the full plate before her with enthusiasm. While there was no way she was possibly going to be able to finish everything on that plate, delicately mannered Natalya was definitely going to give it a damned good go. Chewing, she considered his question for a moment before swallowing to answer. "I do not truly have any plans," she admitted, unable to help looking him over with tenderly predatory eyes once again, her brows shifting in a teasingly mischievous wriggle. "I will have to visit the Tor relatively soon. I have something to deliver, after all." She was so careful not to mention Avalon; as a scholar, she could get away with people believing she was returning a book or artefact to the church tower atop the Tor, if they overheard her.

"The Tor," he repeated, having no clue what she was talking about. He set the mug of coffee on the table and took up a fork. "Maybe a little sightseeing. If we're going to be here a while, you should probably show me around." He wasn't entirely sure what it was that she needed to deliver, but he could make a good guess. He darted a glance around momentarily to see if anyone was obviously eavesdropping, but everyone seemed lost in their own conversations. "I need to do a little paperwork," he told her, which translated into, "I need a new ID," since Adam had absconded with his wallet. Finally turning his gaze toward his breakfast, he made a face as he poked at the black blob on his plate. "The hell is that?"

"There is relatively little sight-seeing to do, to be honest," she admitted with a shrug as she ate. "The Tor is the hill I showed you, the one outside the town. And there is the Abbey, which you saw a little of yesterday. People come to Glastonbury for the atmosphere, the shops and the little temples and the connection with King Arthur." A faint smile touched her lips as he poked at his breakfast, not really needing to look to know what he was asking about. "That is black pudding," she told him, trying not to laugh. "You won't like the description. Just try it. It's pork-based."

"King Arthur?" Rhys echoed, brows lifting with interest, the black blob on his plate temporarily forgotten. "You mean, the King Arthur" I thought he was just a legend." But then, he'd always thought Charlemagne's sword was nothing more than legend either. He leaned back in his chair as he thought about that further. There was nothing like this back home in the States.

"Shh," she warned mildly. After all, she could tell him the truth, where others in the town could not. Smiling to herself as she paused in eating, she leaned toward him, her voice pitched for his ears only. "The monks at the Abbey in 1191 claimed to have unearthed the remains of King Arthur and his queen, Guinevere," she explained. "The king and queen of the time oversaw the movement of the skeletons into a black marble tomb in the church of the Abbey, but it was destroyed during the Reformation." She lowered her voice further for him. "Arthur himself is buried in St Paul's Cathedral in London, though no one truly knows it."

He blinked as she shushed him, not realizing that King Arthur was such a big deal here and leaned conspiratorially toward her, as if she was about to share a state secret. He might have scoffed at her story, but then he'd seen stranger things. Hell, he'd witnessed empty suits of armor come to life and talk to him. Share that little beauty and see if it didn't get you a private room in a mental ward. He'd come a little too close to that once or twice and had quickly learned how to lie. "So, who's at the Abbey then?" he asked, matching her volume, as he poked at his eggs, avoiding the Black Blob of Doom. And that was not bacon, in his estimation.

"No one really knows," she chuckled softly, watching him poke at his food in amusement. Her own Black Blob of Doom had already been eaten, mocking him with his conservative approach to foods he wasn't familiar with. "They are probably just a couple of bodies the monks exhumed from other tombs in the Abbey at the time. They needed the income from pilgrims to maintain their beautiful place of worship, hence claiming to have found those particular graves. Monks all over Europe were "finding" relics at the time."

He grabbed a slice of toast and dunked it in the egg yolk before taking a bite. A creature of habit, he didn't mind trying new things so long as he could identify what they were made of. "So..." he started, pausing a moment to chew and swallow. Now that he'd taken his first bite, he realized how starving he really was. "How's it work" You get an assignment and do research and then what?" He deliberately kept the volume down, making sure his questions weren't too explicit.

"Sometimes," she nodded. "Or sometimes I'll come across a rumor that needs to be followed up. Occasionally they hand out specific instructions and locations, but that doesn't happen often. They cover a wide sphere of influence, and there are not so many of us as you might think. There is a true wealth of knowledge to be located and catalogued still in this world."

"So, what do they recruit you or something" It sounds kind of Raiders of the Lost Ark to me." He smirked as a thought came to mind. "They find that yet, or is that just a legend?" He dunked his toast again, soaking up more egg, before skewering one of the sausages and taking a bite, waggling the fork aloft at her, with a half-eaten sausage hanging off it. "You're like....I know....Lara Croft. Man, she's hot!"

Nat laughed again, her eyes crossing momentarily as she followed the wild flail of the sausage in front of her face. "As far as I know, the Ark is still hidden, and yes, there are others working on finding it," she told him with a smile. His allusion to the computer game character brought a roll of her eyes into her amusement. "I am far better dressed than Lara Croft, Rhys."

He lowered the sausage-laden fork, all amusement leaving him, looking slightly awestruck. "You're kidding me, right?" He wasn't thinking about breakfast now or Tomb Raider - the Angelina Jolie version, by the way. Okay, so the Ark of the Covenant was real. Why should that be any big surprise" He'd wielded Charlemagne's sword, hadn't he" "What about the Holy Grail" Has anyone found that?" he asked, a long list of legendary artifacts popping into his head. He might act like an *ss at times, but he wasn't by any means stupid.

Sitting back as she set her cutlery aside, defeated by the sheer size of the meal before her, Natalya took up her coffee cup, swallowing a gulp of the bitter drink before answering him. "The Grail is in Avalon," she told him, her lips barely moving. "It is the beginning of the collection, if you will, the first artefact brought to the island."

All too aware that his hand was now perched on her thigh, he pulled it loose from her hand and slid it beneath the hem of her dress, leaning close enough to kiss her but not quite meeting her lips, a teasing smile on his face. "Hm, has to be something worthy of the wager," he mused, as his hand found her knee and slid a little higher.

Her fingers curled around his wrist, not quite restraining him but in place if she had to protect her modesty. The other hand dropped back into his lap as her lips curved back into her own grin, their breath mingling as they teased one another. "I agree, it does," she chuckled, not even trying to hide the soft gasp that came with the creep of his hand over her skin. "If I win," she murmured against his lips, "you're not allowed to touch me or take care of yourself for twenty-four hours, regardless of what I do to you." And that was pretty evil, as stakes went.

"What?" he gaped, a shocked expression on his face. "That's not a wager. That's torture." His hand came to a halt inches above her knee, careful not to go too far, though he really didn't give a hoot about propriety and never had. "If I win," he countered, "you have to do anything I want for twenty-four hours."

She held his gaze for a long moment, trembling just a little with easily recognisable lust at the possessive cup of his hand to her sensitive skin, one brow finally rising as she smirked faintly. His terms weren't as bad as they could have been. This was one wager she wouldn't be worried about losing. "Done. How do you want to seal this deal?"

He smiled at the question. There was really only one way to seal the deal, and he was pretty sure she already knew what that was. "Like this," he said, leaning just that much closer, close enough to capture her lips in a toe-curling kiss that sealed the deal and promised more passion to come.

His kiss captured lips that were already parting in low laughter, her fingers releasing his wrist as she accepted and returned that deal-maker of a kiss to cup his jaw tenderly. Had they been in private, no doubt it would have gone a lot further than just a kiss within the space of a heartbeat, but the bustling discretion of Maggie Devore bumping deliberately into their table hard enough to make the plates rattle brought Nat back from the brink with sparkling eyes and a laugh that only Rhys knew wasn't embarrassment. She licked her lips, tasting him on her tongue, the fingers of her other hand rippling against his thigh cheekily. "What was my name again?"

He grinned in devilish amusement as he successfully distracted her, chuckling to himself when Maggie hip-bumped their table, reminding them that they were in a public establishment and not to get too carried away. He pulled away just enough for polite company and gave Nat's knee a playful squeeze. "If you don't know, how should I?" His eyes danced with amusement and good humor. Whatever had been brought him to tears earlier seemed to have been completely forgotten.

She stuck her tongue out at him, catching the dip of his upper lip quite purposefully in the process, and leaned back further, putting on a pout for his amusement. "Come on, oh master of the universe," she teased, moving to rise onto her feet, offering her hand to pull him up with her. "You need exercising before you go back to bed."

"Master of the Universe?" He laughed. "When did I get a promotion to superhero status" If I'm He-Man, does that make you She-Ra?" He pushed his chair back as he got pulled to his feet. "Sex burns calories, you know," he said, pointing out that there were more than just the traditional ways to get exercise.

The smile she gave him was more than a little confused, utterly unfamiliar with He-Man and She-Ra but not able to point this out until they were out of the cafe. "I did say bed, didn't I" I didn't say what the exercise was." She drew him out into the afternoon sunshine, wriggling her fingers in a wave of goodbye to Maggie and her husband. "Or where."

"Ah, but you said..." He lifted a finger to make a point, then trailed off, realizing where she was going with her thought. "Oh, I see." He smiled as his thoughts drifted back to the wager. "So, how do you plan on wearing me out?" he asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer, pausing outside the cafe and looking around for the fortune-teller than she seemed so desperate to avoid.

"I was considering restraining you," Nat offered up with grinning honesty, slipping her fingers between his as she settled into an easy walk back up the road toward the house. She, too, was on the look-out - the last thing anyone needed was for that particular local psychic to attempt to read the recently angelic, far-more-recently dead Rhys on a busy afternoon in the town center. "You did respond very well to being the sole beneficiary of my attention yesterday, of course."

His slid his fingers through hers as he fell into step beside her, not seeing the fortune teller anywhere in sight. He blinked, swinging a glance at her, jaw dropping, undisguised shock at her suggestion. "Restraining me?" he echoed, sounding surprised. Fortunately for him, he wasn't eating or drinking at the time or he might have choked. He cleared his throat, unsure if he was embarrassed or flattered. "Ahem, um....Are we talking kinky bondage stuff here or what?" He wasn't really into pain, but seduction was another matter.

His reaction earned him another of her rich, fruity laughs, her body twisting to walk backwards so she could savor the expression on his face with bright eyes. "Could be," she teased impishly. "Obviously you don't know everything about the house, if you do not know about the box under the bed." Blowing him a kiss, Nat shifted back to walking beside him, wondering just what was going through his mind. Did he really think she was depraved enough to enjoy pain, or was he open to exploring the more ....adventurous ....side of his sexuality with her"

"Box....Under the bed?" he echoed, brows arched curiously. No, his dream-vision hadn't so much as hinted at their sex life or any toys she had stashed in their bedroom. It wasn't like she was the first woman to ever have wanted to play games with him in the bedroom, but she was the first to be so bold and forthright about it. He hadn't known about the hidden cache of weapons either and wondered what else he didn't know, not only about the house but about her. He reached for her hands to pull her back toward him as she momentarily danced away. "You, uh....do this a lot?"

"I mean..." He frowned, unsure what he meant. She was obviously no virgin, and he'd slept with his share of women, so who was he to question her past' Somehow he didn't want to think of her in bed with anyone but him ever.

White teeth found the pink pillow of her lower lip as his hands roamed, her back arching in unconscious encouragement to press the soft fullness of her breasts into his palms even as she groped to push the door shut behind them. Breathless, she leaned back into him, her face turning toward his with a barely there moan. "Is it still a seduction if I say yes?"

He leaned back against the door to make sure it was closed, reaching behind him momentarily to turn the deadbolt in the lock as she leaned against him. "It is if you want it to be," he replied, hands lowering to unfasten the button at the front of her sweater and slide it away from her bare shoulders to toss it carelessly over his head. He swept her hair back from one shoulder as his head dipped again to leave a soft trail of kisses against her bare flesh.

It had been a long time since she had given up control to anyone, even for the most trivial of things. But, as Rhys teased and touched, Nat found that what she wanted in that moment, more than anything, was to give it all up to him. Skin tingling beneath his lips, she drew her fingers through his hair, his to play with at whim as her eyes fell closed, feeling her body soften to his touch. "Yes," she breathed in sweet submission. "I want it to be."

She was so much different than anyone he'd ever met before, softer, more feminine and yet possessing an inner strength and intelligence that contrasted with her outward appearance. He smiled as she submitted to his request, and the challenge was on. Who could wear who out first' He slid the strap of her dress down against her shoulder, lips teasing her flesh as his hands once more found the soft swell of her breasts, breathing in the scent of her, soft and feminine and alluring. He didn't want to take her there at the front door; this was only a preview, a titillation, a teasing.

And yet, for all that she was soft and submissive against him, she was not passive, not at all. Each sound she made, be it a gasp or moan, even the tender exhalation that carried his name; each movement of her hips that pressed the sweetly rounded curve of her rump into his crotch; each caressing of her fingertips through his hair or over his wrists; these were all passionate plays toward teasing him as much as he teased her, indulging in his titillating teasing preview as much as he would allow.

His fingers found the buttons of her dress and he slowly worked his way downward, freeing her from the trappings of clothing one button at a time, stopping midway and sliding his hands inside the opening of her dress to catch hold of her breasts again, thumbs nudging each sensitive pink tip, even as his own body rose to the occasion. Doing his best to ignore the delicious tension she was sparking in himself, he turned her slowly to face him, pulling her toward him as his lips left a trail of soft, wet kisses against her neck, downward toward the cleft between her breasts.

Consciously or unconsciously, she had dressed in clothing only too easy to remove, and now she was reaping the benefits of that decision. A very soft, breathless cry escaped her lips as his hands found her flesh, the sudden skilled heat of his fingers shocking the sound from her as she shuddered, the soft peaks of her breasts rising to aching buds beneath his thumbs. She had never reacted this way to just a touch, and yet Rhys could draw that eagerness from her very bones with what seemed the barest of effort. Drawn about slowly to face him, her lips parted, expecting a kiss that did not come to her mouth. Instead, she swayed against him, eyes half-opening once again to watch the slow progress of his mouth over the sensitive flush of her skin. Her hands rose just enough to curl fingers in and out of his hair, over his neck, beneath the heavy collar of his jacket, arms trapped at her sides by the hang of her dress.

Rhys was determined to take his time with her, to show her he could be an attentive lover. He was no slouch in bed, experienced enough to know what to do with a woman, but not so experienced that he knew everything or that there were never any surprises. Kisses would come, in time; there would be plenty of time for kisses. This was not about love so much as it was about seduction. She had thrown down the challenge and he was more than ready to prove himself worthy.

In so many ways, this was reminiscent of their first meeting, that first coming together on a plane miles above the Atlantic Ocean. Yet one contrast was beautifully profound. That first meeting, they had both been certain they would never meet again; here and now, they both knew they would never again be apart. Pressed back against her own front door, there really was nothing she could do - nothing she wanted to do - to deny Rhys what he wanted.

"Rhys!" His name left her lips once again, this time in an exclamation that was as much a plea as it was a declaration of delight. There was another dull thump as her head snapped back once more, chestnut curls tumbling down over her shoulders to sway in suggestive cover over the aching softness of her breasts as she arched from the door. "Please ....oh, please ..." It was testament to how good he was at this, how sweetly primed he had made her, that he now heard her begging him for the release he held just out of reach with lips and tongue. Her knees really did buckle in the exquisite agony of hovering just on the blissful edge, one hand at her mouth as she bit down on her knuckles with a groan.

He could have been cruel and made her wait longer, teased her back and forth, until she begged and pleaded and could stand no more, but as it was, her pleas were having a profound effect on him and he felt close to bursting. He groaned against her, catching her hips as her knees buckled and she swayed, fulfilling her request and finishing what he'd started, releasing her from the exquisite agony and pushing her over the edge.

And this, too, was a first for her. Despite three years of being submissive, of always doing as she was told, of taking what she was given, never had she felt anything so wonderfully exquisite as the lightning flash of climactic pleasure that swept through every last nerve in her body as Rhys gave her what she begged for. Her vision dimmed in the grip of that release, her voice risen in a desperate cry of sweet abandon that was only his to hear. And when, an eternity later, that blissful throb began to recede, she found herself caught still in his grasp, on the verge of sliding into a breathless, giggling, deeply satisfied heap between him and the door.

He waited until he was sure she was well satisfied, until every last shudder and moan had gone out of her, before he pulled away. Not wanting to risk her collapsing, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the stairs, intending to continue in the comfort of her bedroom. He said nothing as he bore her up the stairs, in a hurry now that he'd tormented himself by focusing on her, his body screaming for release. He kicked the door open and laid her back on the bed, hastily yanking his jacket off and tossing it aside, Glock and all, as he leaned over and kissed her with hungry, needy lips that tasted like her.

I am not worn out, she told herself firmly as she felt her feet leave the floor, forcing her eyes open as if to prove it to the man who had taken her to that shuddering brink with such determined affection. Her arms looped around his neck as he bore her upward, her lips bestowing one soft kiss to his cheek in thanks for his selfless attack on any last vestige of shy reserve she might have had in the moments before she found herself tossed onto the bed in a flail of limbs. Pushing herself up on one hand, her mouth opened to tease him for his haste only to be stopped with a kiss that made her toes curl, igniting anew the steady flame of passion deep inside as she fell back against the bed, dragging him with her. Screw stripping what was left of her clothing from her own body, she wanted him bare to her hands and lips, tugging at his shirt with an impatience that threatened to shred the material as she moaned for him.

He sighed as she traced his spine, eliciting a shiver of pleasure. Worried he was crushing her with his weight, he arched upwards suddenly, frowning down at her. "No, am I" Sorry, I got a little carried away, I guess." He rolled to one side, pulling her along with him so that they remained joined, reluctant to pull himself away from her exquisite warmth. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, looking suddenly concerned.

"Oh, no," she breathed, the word mingled with a sigh of sheer thrilling delight at the twist and shift of their bodies as he drew her with him, her tangle of curls spilling out over the sheets as she settled into the hot wrap of his arms. "I am not so fragile as I seem." Her lips teased against the tip of his nose for a moment. "Did I hurt you?"

He snorted at the ridiculousness of her question. "No," he replied. It had been just the opposite in fact. His expression turned serious, earnest even, green eyes regarding her with loving adoration. "Nat, I've never loved anyone the way I love you." And he meant it, too. Not Jessie, not Cara, not Riley, not Kellie. None of them compared to the feelings he felt for her, right here and right now. There was no doubt in his mind that he had returned from the clutches of Death for her, and that she was his destiny and his soul mate.

What could she possibly say in answer to such a declaration' It more than matched her own; indeed, to her it exceeded her declaration made so fervently in the moments before this game had begun in earnest. He had loved before, he knew what he was feeling, and yet he had never loved any as he loved her. The warm brown eyes softened to something impossibly vulnerable, open and unguarded, his to read each expression of emotion with enviable ease as her lips curved into a smile that almost didn't make it. "I hope I never make you regret that love."

He'd been in love before, and there had been times when he'd only thought he'd been in love, but whatever it was that he was feeling for Nat seemed to transcend all that, to go beyond anything he'd ever felt before. Fingers tenderly traced her cheek. "I could never regret it. This is where I belong, where I want to be. Here, with you, always."

That impossibly soft, terrifyingly adoring gaze held his for long moments further, her palm settling warm and flat against his shoulderblade as, slowly, she drew herself close enough to taste his lips once again. This kiss didn't hold the overtures of passion, though that remained kindled at the very deepest level, nor yet did it seem to be given in apology for a lack of words. This kiss was a promise returned, her own covenant with Rhys sealed with tender certainty. Until death and beyond, spoke that silent oath, tenderness exchanged with each breath that passed from woman to man.

He seemed to sense something different in that kiss, no less passionate but deeper somehow, so much more to their connection than merely physical. An silent oath pledged between them, binding their hearts and their souls, without any words spoken, but a single kiss - a kiss that burned his love for her into his very soul. He returned her kiss with equal passion, silently pledging his unending love and devotion. "Nat," he whispered, as their lips slowly parted. There were no words to adequately express what he was feeling, no words to properly describe his undying love.

On the same breath, his name left her lips, soft and devoted, more an integral part of the breath than a conscious formation of that single word that summed up everything that was him. Her fingertips trailed up along the dip between his shoulderblades once again, drawing a loving caress over his cheek as she nuzzled to him, the adoring moment lengthening between them. And very slowly, very deliberately, she tightened every muscle in her body, watching him with love-drunk eyes to enjoy the reaction this would receive.

His eyes rolled closed at the physical sensation the resulted from her teasing, his body responding with a delicious feeling of tension that rekindled his arousal. If she kept this up, he was going to give in and let her have her way with him, losing the wager, but he didn't really care. Either way, he was a winner. "You're driving me crazy," he murmured, not really complaining or minding that she was reigniting his desire.

Her face lit up with a laughing smile as the words reminded her of something she had said to him during their first meeting. It had been him accusing her of being crazy then, but still ...."Join me in a little crazy, Rhys," she purred softly, her breath hot against his lips, her body relaxing once more as her fingers again trickled down the groove of his spine. "We have more fun."

"I think I already have," he replied, rolling her to her back again and covering her with his body. He instinctively knew that she had not joined him in his climax, though they were thus far even, one for one. He smiled down at her, green eyes dancing with playfulness, and drew his hips back achingly slowly until he was just barely holding on. Leaning close, he nipped at her earlobe, breathing quietly into her ear. "Tell me what you want."

She shuddered as he drew back, her hips rising toward him even as he retreated, whimpering in soft supplicating protest at the unexpectedly empty feeling he had left her with. "What I want?" was repeated in a tender tone, her own lips brushing the ridge of his ear as both hands now roamed listlessly over the smooth flex of his back beneath her palms. She breathed him in, slow and steady, intoxicating herself with the scent of him as she summoned the confidence her only other lover had taught her to have in bed. One of those hands rose up to lift his head back, her lips catching his with a growling little grin, teeth tugging on his lower lip as she drew back not entirely gently. "Mark me," she whispered to him, brown eyes glittering with playful challenge. "Make me wild with you, Rhys."

He swallowed a breath as she tipped his head back and tugged at his mouth, not quite a kiss, tension coiling in his middle and rippling outward in a delicious sensation of warmth and desire. What she was asking for required more than safe, vanilla sex - the kind you saw in the movies - but what exactly did she want from him' Was she giving him permission to do with her as he would" What if he lost control" What if he hurt her" But wasn't this all part of the game, part of the wager" Ever so slowly, he moved within her, back and forth so slowly it was almost like torture. He turned her head aside, nibbling at her earlobe, leaving a trail of kisses from ear to shoulder, lingering at the place where her pulse throbbed in her neck.

She seemed to read his concerns from his eyes, aware of his reluctance to go too far, to lose control. "Harm is caused in the intent," she murmured against his lips even as he began to move in her, her voice thickening with undisguised ecstasy. "You will never hurt me."As he turned her head, she arched beneath him, the equally slow undulation of her spine matching the mesmerising rock of his body over hers as she moaned for him, the sound as much an encouragement as it was an exclamation. And beneath his lips, her pulse jumped, quickening discernibly with each breath that trembled from her chest.

Encouraged by her reassurance, as well as her moans and kisses and rising undulations, he felt a shudder move through him, heightening his arousal. Winding an arm around her back, he slid her body toward the end of the bed, feet planted on the ground to give himself leverage, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist. Slowly, he rocked his hips back and forth against hers, driving himself deeper, stoking the flames of passion, capturing her lips again and again, each kiss deeper and more needful than the last.

How long she held his gaze in that soft wrap of loving silence was beyond Natalya to grasp, not sensing the minutes that passed as she gloried in the mystical rarity of something so profound that her heart ached to be a part of it. But slowly, she seemed to come back to herself; back to an awareness of the sheets, warm and rumpled beneath her; to the sensation of his skin against hers, hot and slick with mingled sweat; to the tender ache gathered at the apex of her thighs, not yet so sensitive as to insist upon the denial of his physicality; to the relief of a playful smile that touched her mouth as she rolled Rhys onto his back, crawling over him in a tumble of chestnut curls.

The tip of her nose touched his as she leaned down, not to give him another kiss from her love-swollen lips, but to tease him with the unsatisfied prospect as one arm reached down the side of the bed. Her fingers found the edge of the box she had mentioned before, drawing it out just enough that she could reach in and find, by touch alone, a knot of silken scarves, drawing it up to trail the cool, soft material down his arm. Her warm brown eyes twinkled sweetly as she nipped at his lips, drawing back to look down at him with brows raised in impish challenge once again.

He seemed to linger in that mystical moment longer than her, lost in her gaze, lost in the wonder that was Natalya, wondering what he'd done to deserve her. Was she truly his reward for saving the world" She was all he wanted, all he needed. He came back around to the physicality between them, the ache in his own loins that seemed to ebb and flow with every sweet, tender touch. He noticed the playful twinkle in her eyes and arched a brow as she turned him onto his back and moved over him, the luscious heat of her body painfully close to his. He followed her with his eyes, sensing what she considering, warning her with his gaze. "Don't even think about it."

The warning was taken with a smile that widened enough to part her lips, the twinkle that flashed in her eyes taking on a level of amusement that went far deeper at the way he was trying to prevent her from doing something with words alone. He should know by now that words just weren't enough with his Russian thief. She leaned down, drawing the silk scarves between them to unpick the knot as her lips played against his. "I'm thinking about it."

"You wouldn't dare," he warned, eyeing her steadily, watching her pick the knot from the scarves and wondering if he should beat her at her own game, though the thought of being completely at her mercy held a different kind of excitement he'd never considered. He'd been at the mercy of a demon once before, but she was no demon. She was his beloved and his soul mate and he trusted her like no other.

"Oh, my love," she murmured to him innocently as the scarves came away from one another under her fingers, rising onto her knees beside him with calm confidence in her own nudity and perhaps over-confidence in his tendency to just give in to her whims. "I f*cked you in First Class barely an hour after we met, and you think I would not dare to do this?"

"You never have explained that," he countered, watching her carefully, ready to catch her wrist if she got out of hand. He was an experienced hunter, after all, and she would only get out of him what he allowed. "Why me" What was so special about me that you decided to pluck me out of the crowd to entertain you?" He'd already asked her this at least once before, but wasn't really sure if she'd answered him truthfully. It seemed almost too ironic to be pure coincidence. Serendipity, perhaps. Fate. Destiny.

The scarves, five in all, pooled onto the sheets beside her as she seemed to give in, setting them away. But any good hunter would have noticed the way her fingertips lingered close to them, even as she leaned down to smother him in a slow kiss, seeking to dull his senses just enough. "I don't know," she told him truthfully. "I'd never done it before - picked someone out of the crowd to sit with me on a flight." Her lips quirked faintly against his. "I saw you, downing scotch at the bar and looking more nervous by the minute, and I knew I had to speak to you. That I wanted to know you. I suppose you might call it love at first sight ..." Another slow kiss was administered, and this time, her hand moved very carefully, drawing one of those scarves with it as she lifted her arms to brace above his head.

He was acutely aware of her every move, even as she tried to distract him with her kisses, and he smirked beneath her lips in amusement, letting her play her little game and see just how far she was willing to go. "Uh huh," he answered in reply. "More like lust," he pointed out, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I spoke to you first, didn't I?" she pointed out with a low laugh, teasing his inner wrist, circling his limb with the silk, offering up the pretence of giving him the option of stopping her if he wanted to. She had a pretty good feeling that if she managed to get one wrist tied, Rhys would give in, just as he always did. "I didn't just drag you into the terminal restrooms and ride you for a quick thrill."

He snorted, eyes sliding momentarily to warily watch the scarf that was daringly circling his wrist. She was either teasing or tempting, he wasn't sure which as yet. "You invited me to keep you company. You didn't say anything about sex, and I thought you were a demon." He smirked up at her, amused.

"Well ..." She drawled out the word, her other hand moving to "brace" against the bed above his head, conveniently out of his line of sight for a moment. "To be fair, I wanted a lot more than just a conversation as soon as you looked into my eyes." Her own gaze shifted, trying to catch his. "You have very sexy eyes, dusha moya."

It was her words that caught him and held his attention, distracting him momentarily from whatever it was she was planning and plotting. He was still pretty sure he could outast her, no matter what she had up her sleeve - or in the box beneath her bed. "I thought I'd never see you again," he told her, meeting her gaze with the eyes she seemed to think were irresistible, smoldering with emotion, his eyes often saying more than words.

"You thought wrong." She touched a single chaste kiss to his chin ....and lunged for his left arm, proving to be startlingly adept when it came to getting the silk securely around his wrist. Getting the wrist to the bedpost long enough to be tied there" That depended entirely on him.

A hunter from the time he was twelve, and a soldier in heaven far longer, his reflexes were faster than hers, and he caught hold of her wrist with lightning speed, using his larger, heavier frame to turn the tables on her, flipping her onto her back and pinning her arms over her head as he straddled her waist. "Did you really think I was going to fall for that?"

She yelped, already laughing at her failed attempt even as he pinned her down beneath him, curls wayward and wild against the white sheets as she grinned up at him. "You've always given in before," she pointed out in a husky tone, deliberately undulating her body beneath his, the slow motion evoking sense memories of couplings they had shared not just today but for months.

Unlike her, he was comfortable enough in his own skin that he didn't bother to cover himself up. She had seen him at his best and his worst. She'd seen him torn open and bloody, and he had nothing to hide. He drew the curtain away from the window to look out on the view outside the cozy little house that he had seen in his dreams, just far enough that he could peer out without being seen by those in the street below. He watched as people went about their daily business, children at play, couples walking hand in hand.

This was what his lifelong struggle been all about, his entire existence, his entire reason for being - to save humanity from death and destruction, though they would never know it, never thank him, never care. He listened while she chatted amicably with Adam. It seemed they had become well acquainted in the short time they'd been together, but he felt no surge of jealousy. In fact, if anything, he wished he'd been there to share in their comradery, suddenly missing his friend and the brotherly bond they shared.

He had no idea how difficult things had become for them, how close to disaster they'd all come before the angels had stepped in to aid them. He had no idea that Natalya had gone to Hell and Adam had been on Death's door, no idea the struggle had been shared, and that all three of them had suffered a trial by fire and had somehow survived. He knew none of this because no one had yet told him.

"Yes ....No ....That is a level of detail you are not entitled to." God alone knew exactly what Adam was asking about, but Nat's responses were growing more and more amused as the conversation went on. It seemed he was concerned that she might be being held against her will by something wearing Rhys' face. She moved toward her lover, skimming her fingertips over his arm and side as she spoke to his friend.

"I can assure you I am not being screwed by a demon," she was saying, pausing to touch her lips to Rhys' shoulder before twisting to lean back against the sill beside him, switching the phone to the other ear. "I thought Americans were supposed to be more perverted than anyone else in the world?" Her eyes studied Rhys' face lovingly, but her hand ....that was on a journey down his chest again, teasing and stroking, daring him to cling to his sudden chill mood.

"Tell him thanks for not killing me," Rhys suggested, without looking toward her, though he was well aware that she'd come to stand beside him. It was a statement that only he and Adam would understand and might finally prove to the man that Rhys was who he said he was. His eyes drifted closed as she touched him, calming his heart and his mind with a simple caress.

Passing this message on, Natalya laughed at the suddenly convinced reaction, inching a little closer to Rhys as her hand trailed mischeviously lower, sensing his mood beginning to settle once again. "Don't you trust me, Adam' I'm hurt." Teasing Rhys and his friend at the same time in different ways was probably going to go down as one of Nat's favorite pasttimes. She rolled her eyes comically, grinning at Adam's response, and those trailling fingers skimmed past Rhys' belly button with purpose. "I was going to ship him to Russia and hand him over to the Mafia for dissection, isn't that what devious foreign women are supposed to do?" Wicked fingers found their goal, and her eyes flicked up to meet those of her lover with the siren-song gaze he was coming to know intimately.

Barely withholding the groan that was stuck in his throat, he turned to her finally, letting the curtain fall closed on the world outside the window as his thoughts turned back to the woman who didn't seem to want to give up on him. He reached for the phone without asking, eyes smoldering again with desire and maybe something more - a longing for understanding and acceptance and unconditional love. "We're going back to bed now. I'll call you later," he told his friend, and despite Adam's protests on the other end, he hung up, tossing the phone onto a chair to give Natalya his undivided attention.

The last thing Adam was likely to hear before the low tone that signified his conversation was at an end was the sound of Nat's laughter as she lifted her arms to loop about Rhys' neck, the thin silk of her robe nowhere near cover enough to hide how easy it was for him to rouse her with a touch. "I love you," she chuckled to him tenderly, rising onto her bare toes, just tall enough at a stretch to touch her lips to his.

His arms circled her waist as he turned to face her, leaning down from his height to meet her lips in a brief but tender kiss. "I love you," he echoed, frowning a little, still feeling the sting of his own stupidity. "I'm sorry, Nat. I trust you. I want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you. I want it so badly."

Unwinding one arm from his neck, she shushed him softly, laying her fingertips against his lips to still the apologies and explanations. "You have it," she reminded him softly. "For all my life to come, and I hope the afterlife that follows, I will be yours. I will give up my orders to be with you if they choose to deny me permission. I would give up so much more to be with you, Rhys. But please ....you need to believe it." Her hand dropped to his chest. "I am not going anywhere without you."

He looked down at her, quieting at her soft insistence, pulling her into his embrace to hold her close against his chest, heart beating steadily. "I do believe you, Nat. I don't know what made me say that. I'm sorry." It had been the past that was to blame, not the present, and he knew that, but didn't want to explain it. All he wanted to do was forget it. "I love you so much. I just can't bear the thought of ever losing you."

She didn't want to linger on words she had already chosen to forget, knowing that despite her inexperience, she was the more confident of them both when it came to matters of the heart. No lover had ever broken her, and she knew deep down that Rhys never would. "Perhaps you should tie me down before I have another chance to slip away then," she murmured in a softly teasing tone, running one finger down into the dimple of his buttock playfully.

He arched a single brow, a little surprised at her sudden submissiveness, pulling away just enough to peer questioningly down at her. He'd thought she wanted things the other way around. "Giving in?" he asked, as he pushed her robe away from one shoulder, eyes traveling downward to enjoy the view, a slight smirk as he caught hold of the hand that was caressing his backside.

The thin silk that covered her was no match for a determined hand pushing it away, slithering over her skin as it parted to reveal the body he knew almost better than she did by now. Caught by one hand, Nat smirked back to him, brown eyes glimmering with teasing amusement. "Perhaps," she conceded lightly.

"Somehow I don't see you as the giving in type," he told her, tugging her up against him, renewed arousal all too apparent. Catching her lips in a heated kiss, he pulled the sash of her robe loose and drew it back from her shoulders, peeling away the thin covering that was the only thing standing between them.

If anything, the sudden unexpectedness of his gentle tender side urged her even higher, startled into exposing something more of herself into the bargain. For all that she played at being tough, at being the temptress and succubus, she was very fragile at heart; fragile enough to thrill to any touch he gave her, as though she were certain she did not deserve it and never would. She stumbled on the soft carpet beneath their feet as he guided her about, the tug of her hair in his hand eliciting another sharp gasp that fell into a softer whimpering plea once again. "Please," she whispered into his mouth. "I need ....Rhys, I need you, please ..."

He gasped for breath as their lips parted and she pleaded with him once again and he could wait no longer, his body aching painfully for release. His touch turned gentle as his fingers traced her face, his gaze softening into loving adoration, needing her to know how much she meant to him before he claimed her at last. "I love you, Natalya. I'm always going to love you." And that said, he kissed her one last time as if to seal his promise with a kiss. He looked at her one last time, eyes dark with desire, before turning her around and pushing her down onto the bed, his body covering her from behind, his breath warm at her neck.

He kissed her before she could answer him, before she could return his pledge with her own as she had done so many times before, from the heart and soul. The lustful desire he had so purposely stoked in her had been damped just a little by his softer side, by the adoration in his gaze and sweetness in his touch, but flared anew when he took hold of her once again, pressing her down onto the wildly rumpled sheets. Her breath caught in her throat as she lay there, her cheek pressed into the bed, unable to see him though she was aware of him with every nerve in her body, aching for the moment he was dragging out interminably. Her hands, still bound and now caught between them, flexed, touching gentle fingers against his abdomen, caressing where she could reach.

Now that he had her completely at his mercy, he wasted no time, banishing the reluctance from his mind, the fear that he might hurt her, sensing she wanted this and maybe even needed this, needed to know that he was her destiny, that he could be conqueror as well as conquered. He needed her to understand the depth of his passion and his need. He spread her legs with one hand before impaling himself, burying himself deep inside her warmth, crying out with unfettered pleasure as his body shuddered against hers. His hands slid between her and the rumpled sheets, fingers cupping her breasts possessively.

The cry that ripped from her throat was pure, unadulterated bliss, an exclamation of grateful delight at the fulfilment of her pleading wishes, a declaration of how thoroughly he had claimed her thus far. Braced on her knees, her face leaning into the bed as it jostled beneath them with their shuddering joining, she finally began to fight the binding on her hands, caught up in helpless desire, utterly at his mercy, wanting to join him, to be responsible for his pleasure and her own and yet knowing that he would not allow it. Not until she was irrevocably his. The cup of his hands about the firm thrust of her breasts was just one more tease to urge her higher as her body clenched and trembled, already hovering on the knife edge that would tip her into abandoned ecstasy with just that single thrust.

Now that he was buried deep inside her, he held nothing back, hips rocking back and forth against her as his focus turned from titillation to fulfillment. His breath caught in his throat, raw and ragged, as he gave in to his own hungry need. "Oh, God..." he whispered, his breath warm against her neck, riding the ebb and flow of pleasure that was already cresting and breaking with feverish intensity.

As that fever broke in a shocking crash of cold blissful abandon through her ravaged body, Nat felt herself sob, the sound more an expression of her pleasure, her delight in him, than any hint of displeasure with the way he treated her in those passion-soaked moments. She couldn't speak, gripped in a release more powerful than any she had ever felt before, in itself jealously possessive as her body gripped his, her teeth biting down hard on her own lip as she squeezed her eyes shut, struggling for breath with every merciless pulsation of unfettered delight that wracked her vulnerable form.

When his climax came it was deep and powerful, exploding with such intensity that he cried out, calling her name in a broken sob of raw emotion, reaching between them at last to free her from the silk that bound her wrists, needing her to be his gentle Nat once more in the vulnerable wake of breaking emotions that rocked him to the core of his being. He realized with irony that in his desire to mark her, she had marked him, and he knew he'd never be the same. There would never be anyone else but her.

For a moment, she didn't realise she was free, despite the fall of her hands to the bed beside her. Then, in a swift motion, ignoring the ache in her wrists, she pushed herself up to kneel with him amongst the crumpled bedsheets, reaching back with one hand to curl her palm to his cheeks. Despite her breathlessness, the hoarse sound of her voice in the aftermatch of something so bone-shatteringly deep, she turned her face to his, touching her lips to his jaw with a tender whisper. "Dusha moya ....I love you, so much."

There were tears on his face for the third time that day, cleansing tears, not of sorrow, but of deep and desperate love and tenderness. "I love you, too," he whispered back, not trusting his voice to betray his emotions. He reached for her hands to see if he'd hurt her, worried suddenly that he might have gone too far. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, turning her wrists and searching for any injury.

She couldn't help it - a soft laugh huffed through her lips at his sudden concern, watching him inspect her wrists with a smile. "No," she promised him, feeling herself tremble with aching weariness against him, blinking against the urge to collapse into the sheets and sleep for a week. "You did not hurt me, my love." Her fingers tuched the salt-wetness on his cheeks. "Are you hurt?"

Still holding onto one hand, his fingers linked with hers as she touched his cheek, and he smiled through his tears, shaking his head slowly. "No, you..." He paused, as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling. He sensed that something almost divine had passed between them, something profound that defied mortal explanation, and he knew they were going to be okay. "You heal me," he admitted finally, at a loss for any other way to explain himself.

"I did not know you were broken," she murmured in answer, but she wasn't arguing with him. If anything, she accepted the responsibility for making him whole without a second thought, twisting about to curl her arms around him, lifting her lips to his in a gentle confirmation that she would never cease offering him the healing he found in her. "You complete me." Drawing away, she let herself fall back against the pillows with a weary sigh of contentment, stretching luxuriously. One hand rose, beckoning him to lie with her as she smiled owlishly up at him.

He had been broken once - horribly broken, a heart that had been shattered and torn in asunder - but that was before he'd met her, before a chance encounter on an airplane had changed his entire life. "Heaven must have given you to me," he told her softly as he settled himself down beside her with a soft sigh, feeling the kind of weariness settle on him that came from deep and content satisfaction.

Unable to stifle a badly-timed yawn, she rolled over to mould her body against his, her cheek finding a pillow on his shoulder. She didn't even have the energy to draw the covers over them, nor to object to the afternoon sunlight still streaming in through the window. "All my life," she said, her voice just as soft as his, "I wished for someone to love me. I made promise after promise in church, in prayers, that I would lead a good life, that I wouldn't expect anything else. Just so long as someone showed me what real love might be. I thought for the longest time that my prayers were ignored, that I wasn't worthy of anything like that. And then I met you." Her arm, draped warm over his chest, tightened in a fervent embrace for a brief moment. "I am more honored than I can possibly say that you chose me, Rhys. I promise, one day I will deserve you."

He reached for the sheets, pulling them up over them both as she settled herself against his shoulder, one arm sliding around her to pull her close as his lips brushed a protective, fond kiss against her brow. His brows furrowed as he looked down at her, laying there against him, seeming so soft and vulnerable and in need of loving and protecting, puzzled that she thought so little of herself or her worth. "You already deserve me, Nat," he told her quietly, his lips brushing her forehead as he spoke. He wondered if he should tell her just how he broken he was before he met her, or if he should keep that to himself and let her rest. He opted for the latter, smiling a little when he realized he'd won. "Go to sleep, angel. I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled, the expression more in her eyes than visible in the curve of her lips, happy to be coddled and protected as she stifled a second yawn, brushing her lips to his skin. "I know," she whispered, the words just a tender shaping of her breath as her eyes drifted closed, the sweet curl of her body to his relaxing in the easy grasp of well-earned slumber. It hadn't even occurred to her that she had lost their wager, though no doubt she would remember that when she roused once again. For now, all that mattered was the sealing of the promises made they had shared over the past hours, and the knowledge that even if she didn't deserve him, Rhys Bristol was hers.

((Energetic, aren't they' Coming soon ....Avalon! But first, humungus thankidoodles to Rhys' player!))