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You tumble out of the portal and land in a tangled heap. Knowing your luck, you half-expect to land in Lucio’s awful wing again, but when you open your eyes --
“Are you alright?”
Julian’s wig is missing, somehow lost in the scramble. His natural auburn is glowing in the buttery sunlight, burnished gold by the late hour. An enormous private balcony dominates the far side of the room, all white marble and glossy engravings. Inset is the largest bath you’ve ever seen, water clear and steaming, flowing from shallow upper tiers into the main pool. For a moment you worry you’ve interrupted someone, but the room is empty and looks to be otherwise unused.
“Julian,” you say, brushing off your clothes as he helps you up, “Did it ever strike you as strange that a castle with non-magical staff has so many magical passageways?”
“Er. No? I suppose I never considered it.”
Julian loosens his collar in the steaming air. The cream uniform is a good look on him, if not completely at odds with his personal taste.
“This bath is kept hot and clean with magic,” you say. You can feel the current of it in the walls and floor -- you’ve felt glimmers of this in other areas of the palace but never so strongly.
“It certainly isn’t the dungeon,” he says, spinning around fully to observe the decor and size of the room. “Where do you think we are?”
“Portia said there are still areas of the palace that remain unknown to even her and Nadia. Maybe we’ve just found one.”
Julian tinkers with the door for a moment, noting the physical latch in addition to the usual lock.
“We won’t be interrupted, it seems. Unless someone else uses that portal. Are you feeling dirty at all?” He leers at you, eyebrow arching. “I’m positively grimy.”
“You don’t want to keep looking?” You ask. Not that the idea isn’t appealing.
“The dungeon isn’t going anywhere. Pasha won’t be too concerned about finding us for a while. Whatever is down there,” he says, eye darkening, “will wait for us. I know it.”
“You’ve got that feeling, too.”
The feeling that something is lurking in the depths of this place, a greater evil than even Lucio’s presence. Where Lucio invades and disrupts, the dungeon simply exists, like a spider in the web. Waiting. Luring.
“Then it won’t hurt to enjoy ourselves before we spring that trap, eh?”
It’s one of the more logical things he’s ever said. And aside, you do feel disgusting - all the running and exploring has coated you in a tacky layer of sweat and dust. Standing here, you are suddenly aware of exactly how weary and filthy you feel. Any further arguments slip out of your mind - it’s the best idea you’ve heard in days.
Julian grins, seeing your resolve crack quietly. He looks positively gleeful.
You trail over to the opposite side of the room from the bath itself - here there are many shelves lined with bottles and vials in every color, some filled with liquid, and others with vibrant grains of what looks like salt. A translucent screen stands in the corner, and you can see a rack of gossamer-white robes beside it.
“Those salts are from Nevivon,” Julian says, coming to trail his fingers over a few small jars. “I would know them anywhere.” He selects a few vials and one of the salt jars before investigating the divider. You can see his outline and movements through it, and the general colors of his clothing and hair, but no details.
“Shall I let you change first?” he asks, shaking out one of the robes to test the size. You think about helping him struggle into that servant’s uniform, telling him you’d rather watch.
“Go right ahead,” you say, sharing a look with him before he takes a robe behind the screen. The shape of the jacket falls to the floor, followed by the frilly cravat and white linen shirt. The whole of his torso is now the same tone as his face, and lacks the hazy outline of billowing sleeves or the sharpness of padded shoulders. You can picture it for the most part, but you’ve never seen him completely topless.
Then you’re watching the motion of his hands at his waist, mouth going dry at the thought of him loosening his flies. He bends to draw his pants down, turning away from the screen to do so - you can’t help but snicker a bit at that. He must have forgotten to take his boots off first, based on the shuffling and cursing you hear before he straightens up.
A moment later, Julian emerges, clad in only the gauzy-thin fabric. It’s barely a robe - more like a long piece of cloth, gold-edged, and bound at his waist with a decorative green girdle. You can see almost everything through the top half - the shape of his chest, and the soft, sparse fur at the center of it. His pale nipples. The bottom half is frustratingly more opaque, but still offers a tantalizing flash of his knees through the slit as he walks to the water, and of course the elegant stretch of his ankles and arches, all strong yet delicately boned.
He looks over his shoulder at you from the water’s edge, smirking.
“Well? Go change.”
You roll your eyes as you select a robe, not even embarrassed to be caught staring. You’re sure Julian is watching you through the screen as well - the falling away of your colorful shirt, the difference of it from your skin tone beneath. He’s probably imagining your body as well, the shape of your breasts, and the lines of your legs. Hopefully you’ve managed to change more gracefully than he did - your shoes came off first thing, at least.
Julian is already lounging in the bath when you emerge, robe crumpled by the rim of the bath. He’s resting his arms over the edge, hair damp and pushed back, skin dewey with steam. He looks at you with his mismatched gaze, daring.
“Do you want me to look away?” He asks, touching his tongue to his upper lip. You loosen your robe as an answer. “My darling,” he purrs, running a wet hand over your ankle. It occurs to you a beat too late that he might have been talking about his eye, a visceral symbol of death to many. You let the robe drop, descending the shallow steps into the water. Julian lets out a hum at the sight of you, already running his hands along your waist and arms. He brings your bodies close as soon as you’ve reached the lowest step, chest to chest, his skin damp and sliding against yours.
“Completely stunning,” he breathes, rubbing his nose along your cheek. “Let me wash you?”
“Such a gentleman,” you tease, kneeling to wet your hair. At full height, the water reaches nearly to your chest and to Julian’s lowest ribs. When you stand back up, Julian has a small vial ready, which he pours over your hair carefully. It lathers wonderfully under his strong fingers, and he isn’t shy about massaging your scalp.
“Did you learn this in Nevivon?”
He laughs, smoothing some suds away from your forehead.
“Would you believe I grew my hair long when I was on that pirate ship? It seemed to be in fashion with that crowd. Had to learn a few things about making washes count. Pirates seize their pleasures when they can, and never let go.”
“That lesson might need more ingraining,” you joke, cracking an eye open to gauge his expression. Sheepish, but not destroyed.
“I’m glad you can laugh about it now,” he admits. He runs clear water over your head from a bath pitcher, mindful to keep the runoff out of your eyes. “Of course, it’s too late for you, my dear. I can’t possibly let you go now. Not when I can finally see the horizon again.”
You open both eyes now, surprised at his candidness.
“You always had a future, Julian. It’s just brighter now.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He looks at you, expression soft. The sunset has come into full spectrum now, and casts purpling and rosy shadows across his face. Romantic that he is, Julian chooses this moment to lean in and press his mouth to yours, tender at first. His hands are shaking as they trace your bare sides and back, until one comes up to steady your face. You put one hand over his waist, the same place which bled for your eel bite. He’s perfectly whole, and has been for days, but suddenly you need to feel for yourself. Your hand finds only the warm plane of muscle there, and the delightful flex of it as he shifts in the water. He’s licking more into your mouth now, kisses turning hungry.
“--never thought I’d have this with you,” he gasps against your lips. “Can I, ah, taste you?”
A bolt of arousal strikes you at that - you can feel the near immediate reaction between your legs, slippery now when you shift your thighs.
“All you’ll taste is bath salts,” you say, stupidly.
“Not for long,” he growls, arm tightening around you. “I promise you that.”
You’re running out of arguments again - the concept of Julian having a good idea must still be new to you, if you feel so obligated to contend with him over something you want regardless. He’s leading you to the bath’s edge, up until your hips bump the tile.
“Please?”
“Julian--”
“Of course it’s perfectly alright if not.” He’s sunk down a bit, looking up at you imploringly, pressing kisses to the tops of your breasts. “Believe me, there are many other things I would love to do with you.” That predatory grin comes back.
“I believe you,” you say, a little breathless at the idea. But watching his mouth on your skin now, picturing it between your legs -- “but if you’re sure you want to. I um. Yes.”
You feel an edge of teeth against your skin in response, and a soft huff of laughter. His arms come up underneath your thighs, and you’re lifted from the water and onto the marble edge. Julian’s hands cup each knee, gently encouraging you to spread them. That alone sends another rush along your spine, as well as his hungry gaze.
“Lovely. I’m speechless,” he breathes, beginning to trail kisses along the tender skin of your inner thighs. You laugh a little at the concept of him speechless - a living paradox. You stop laughing at the first faint stroke of his tongue against you. It feels almost ticklish, and certainly makes you want to squirm. When he laps more boldly, the line of your spine grows tense with pleasure. He takes a moment to really taste you, laying broad strokes unhesitatingly against your skin. You actually squirm this time - you can feel exactly where you want him to focus his efforts.
“Ssh,” he says, lifting your knees over his shoulders. It takes away some of your leverage, leaving you more helpless to his attention. “Let me savor you for a moment. Are you so excited already, my dear?”
“Yes,” you say, prompting a rare laugh from him. He catches your eyes with his, daring you to watch as he leans down and plants a soft kiss directly over your clit.
“Oh,” you gasp, “that--”
He does it again, wetly, applying a little suction which makes your eyes roll back. The sound of it is completely obscene - your embarrassment goes through some sort of transmutation between your brain and mouth, and comes out as a moan instead. Julian starts making wetter sounds in response, unashamedly enjoying himself. His hands are everywhere - reaching up to play with your nipples, pressing down between your hip bones, tickling inside your knees. You lose track of the minutes as he works, lost in the storm. At some point, he’s slipped a finger in, eased by the mixture of your wetness and his saliva. You only notice when inserts the second, rubbing firmly with both at the swollen, spongy spot just inside you.
“You’ve done this before,” you groan, only meaning to indicate your surprise at his knowledge. Few of your past male partners have so intuitively found the roots of your pleasure, and even fewer knew how to best navigate them.
“Doctors do study anatomy,” he mumbles, finally a little abashed.
“Don’t stop, though,” you say, carding a hand through his hair. His lips are delectably slick when he grins up at you this time. You know you could come like this, within a few more minutes - but you aren’t certain if that’s what you really want. Inside, you feel a deeper source of need that begins to overtake the sparking, electric feeling of his tongue. More of his fingers might help, but also--
“Julian, I want you,” you say.
“Mmm, you have me, darling,” he replies, sucking a teasing round of kisses over your clit.
“Ah, no, I mean, oh--” You forget for a moment what you were trying to explain. “Your, uh, your cock. Please.”
He looks up at you, wide-eyed.
“What about my cock?”
You’re distracted for another moment by how that word sounds in his sinful mouth.
“I want it.”
Julian pulls fully away from you, to your alarm. He doesn’t step back, but instead looks you fully in the eyes, hands resting on your legs. You sit up to look back properly.
“You,” he starts, breathes, and tries again. “I’m afraid I might be… misunderstanding you.”
He looks so vulnerable, like a word might break him. Like he’s the one about to be penetrated.
“I want your cock inside me,” you say. “Where your fingers were before.”
“My dear--”
“I want you to fuck me.”
He groans low at that, hands gripping your legs. His mouth is still slick with you, and his hair has half-dried completely wild.
“I want to fuck you,” he growls, pulling himself closer to you. “I do. But I want to make sure it’s what you want.”
“I just said I wanted it,” you say, confused.
“Do you want it, or do you want me?” he asks, caressing the side of your jaw. “I’m not yet proven innocent, you know. And even if I am innocent of the murder, I may be guilty of another crime.”
“I’m missing memories too,” you say. What a time to bring this up. “We can’t assume innocence for either of us. I could be worse than you. Don’t you want me anyway?”
“Your heart is good,” he replies, “and that’s all the proof I need.”
“Then you trust my judgement?”
Now you’ve backed him into a corner - his face contorts with surprise. You watch the anxious line of his mouth as he thinks, until a breathless laugh escapes him.
“I just-- I can’t believe you’d want me. Tell me exactly what you want me to do. I’d die if I frightened you.”
“You won’t,” you say, wrapping your arms around him. He nuzzles into your neck, already relaxing. “But here’s what I want: I want you to put your cock in me. Then I want to come on your cock. Then I want you to come.”
“Where?” he breathes, beginning to tremble under your hands. You have a charm for that, easy as the one for cleaning your teeth or tying a tricky apron string at your back.
“I want you to come in me, Julian. I want to feel you.”
You feel him then, brushing against your ankle in the water, hotter than the skin of his torso against you. He opens his mouth --
“If you ask me if I’m sure one more time, I’ll sit on you instead.”
“As enjoyable as that sounds, I believe our current arrangement is more convenient.”
You scoot yourself back from the edge to make room for him. Watching him push out of the water - the strength of his shoulders, the long reveal of his torso - you want him so badly. At last he’s crawling over you, pressing the long, lean length of his body against you fully, a hot counterpoint to the cool marble at your back.
“Let me know if you get uncomfortable,” he says, pressing surprisingly chaste kisses over your brow, “I’ll happily ravish you somewhere more plush.”
At this point you hardly care - especially with his promising hardness pressed to your thigh. You reach down to feel it as you wish - the whole silky-hot length of him, slightly slick at the tip. Julian shivers above you, working to hold still while you explore. His cock leaps regardless, throbbing in your hand.
“Think I’ll suffice?” he laughs, trying to hide the edging uncertainty in those words.
“You’re perfect,” you say, making sure you meet his eyes. You both know you aren’t talking about his dick. Julian is actually speechless now, face aflame in the dim. “Come here.”
He goes, leaning down to kiss you more - softly at first, but quickly devolving. He kisses like he’s trying to devour you, messily, invading with that clever tongue. You spread your legs around him, feeling the teasing brush of his hardness along your inner thighs, so near to where you want him. He grasps your hips with intent, lowering himself to rub the length of his cock over your wetness. Your orgasm approaches again, with the fat, leaking head of his dick skidding over your clit. Julian is growling into your mouth at the feel of you. Canting your hips to try to take him in only makes him slip away, teasingly.
“Naughty thing,” he scolds, giving you a nibble for your trouble. “Be patient for me.”
“Julian,” you groan, nearly at your limit for teasing. When you try to reach for him again, he catches your hands in one of his and simply compresses them between his chest and your own. He runs his cock along your lips slowly, watching your face, unwilling to miss a single expression.
“Let me,” he whispers, finding the angle to best attend to your pleasure. Your hands find the flex of his arms and chest as he works over you, hardly able to resist touching him. Between the feeling of him between your legs and the shape of his body under your touch --
“I’ll come like this, please--”
“Ah, we can’t have that, can we? You made a very specific request of me, I recall.”
On his next upstroke, he instead finds the little catch of your entrance with the head of his cock. You can’t help but writhe, just a little, at the sensation of him there, so light. You’re throbbing inside, slick enough to drip and nearly hysterical with want. Julian lines himself up carefully, and, grasping your chin with one hand, watches your face as he pushes in. You meet his gaze until your vision whites out, eyes fluttering closed at the thick push of him. Your hands are clutching mindlessly at his shoulders, legs trembling as you tilt your hips for more.
“My darling,” he gasps, amazed by both the heat of you and your honest arousal. You’re beyond words, able only to moan and stutter fragments of his name. Julian seems to have caught a second wind on his speech abilities - he isn’t hesitant to begin fucking you in earnest, holding you close and raving into your ear as you mewl and gasp helplessly.
“--come away with me, after all this. When it’s all through, let’s run, you and I--”
He mutters about the life he imagined for you, and you can see everything behind your eyelids, dreamlike: the warm candlelight, brandy and wine, pleasurable company in the sparkling evenings. More love-making like this, in a ship’s hull, in a desert tent, in a wood-panelled office where ink is spilled and paper crumpled by careless hands.
“--can’t believe you chose to be mine, I was always yours, my love--”
He makes room to slip a hand between your bodies in order to touch you, which also forces the angle of him inside you to a more pleasurable one. It’s mere moments of this, your body shaking, breath trembling, before the tide of your orgasm rolls over.
“Yes, my darling, that’s it--oh--”
And before you’ve even caught your breath from crying out, Julian grips you close, bodies sticking and hot, and growls out his orgasm by your ear. Each sudden throb of his cock sends a fresh thrill along your spine - you can feel him coming. It seems so quiet suddenly, with only your combined panting to listen to. You’re reflecting on his words -- you want the same things he does. His back is sweaty and cooling quickly in the air, still heaving with heavy breath.
“Did you mean it?” Your voice is so small, so hoarse. Julian pulls away to look at you.
“Of course. I meant every word. I probably shouldn’t have said so much,” he admits, brow furrowing.
“I needed to hear it, I think,” you say, brushing a sweat-soaked lock of his hair aside. “And I feel the same.”
“Do you?” he replies, sounding more curious than skeptical.
“I do. I’ll come away with you if you like. But I think you’d rather stay, if you can. I want you to stay.”
He swallows, eyes looking damp.
“I want to stay,” he says, voice fraying. “I want to stay with you. Wake to you, make love to you. Someday without your little magic trick, even.”
That surprises you -- it’s nearly an outright declaration of commitment. You think about what it might be like, to accept him so deeply, with no barriers, consequences be damned --
“Don’t tempt me,” you say.
“Then let’s get cleaned up before I run my mouth and get us into even more trouble.”
You help each other wash, somehow timid despite the great intimacy you’ve shared. It’s the strange, silent negotiation of physical entitlement to one another that has so recently and significantly been altered. Julian can’t stop giving you small kisses throughout the process of drying and dressing, as though that simple action will carry what you’ve shared through to the other side, where clothes and social norms and keeping secrets must take precedence.
“Do you want to go back for the night or look around a bit more?” You ask, loathe to return to your unpleasant tasks. It's fully dark now, the only light remaining from wall sconces.
“I suppose we could go back to the library first --the library! ”
Julian clutches at his hair, whirling suddenly on foot.
“I remember how to get there. It’s the library! Quickly!”
You’re not sure you want to go, but proving Julian’s innocence has to come before anything else. It’s the only way to guarantee that glowing future you shared. Julian grasps your hand, a warm secret burning between you, and you exit back into the hall.