Archive of Our Own

Loid has never been particularly fond of Camilla, but admittedly, she’s a decent hostess. When Yor had broken the news that they’d been invited to attend her New Year’s Eve party, he'd been rather reluctant– but of course, the mission required him to play the part of the dutiful husband. At the very least, it afforded the opportunity to present themselves with a bit more decorum than they had the last time they attended a party at Camilla's. So he obliged Yor with a smile, masking the strain behind it, and braced himself for a dull evening. But the party has been a surprisingly tasteful affair thus far, and thankfully, void of any blood or spilled food. Camilla’s apartment is lively, well decorated, and she's provided good liquor, he thinks with another sip of scotch; there isn't much he can complain about.

"If it isn't the Forgers!" Camilla sings as she rounds on them, serving tray in hand, heels clicking loudly even over the clamor of the party. Her practiced small talk flies rapidly. "Are we having a nice time? How were your travels? Oh Dr. Forger, aren’t you looking well! Why, thank you, I decorated myself!"

He takes the barrage of commentary in stride, as he is no stranger to practiced small talk himself. However, he falters slightly when Camilla lifts the steaming platter of croquettes she was carrying just under his nose. "Dr. Forger, you must try these," she says, eyelashes aflutter. "I just made them, they're fresh out of the oven."

The aroma from the offering before him entices, as a burnt breakfast from Yor this morning and a mission briefing during lunch has left his stomach wanting. But he feels Yor stiffen next to him, her lips pulled into a small frown. Camilla's flaunting of her domestic skills was getting to her, which was no doubt her intention.

"Perhaps you should try one instead, Yor," he suggests, brushing off both temptation and hunger with masterful ease. "I'm afraid my stomach has been a bit funny this evening."

Yor’s eyebrows raise with concern, but Camilla's attention shifts fully to Yor for the first time since they’ve arrived.

"Isn't that a lovely dress, Yor, don't you look stunning!” she exclaims, touching a hand to her chest as she looks Yor up and down. “A bit revealing for you though, no?" The playful wink that follows does little to mellow the cattiness which laces her observation.

Yor's gown, slinky and low cut in both front and back, left little to the imagination indeed. She swallows and glances downward, as if she hadn't even realized what she was wearing, then grips the shawl that was draped over her arms tight to her chest, concealing her cleavage from Camilla's judgemental gaze.

"Oh, well I– I thought you said I should show off my curves more,” she says weakly.

Camilla gives a small, pitying laugh. "Well yes, darling, but that was before I knew you had a husband!"

"As her husband," Loid interrupts with a warm smile that doesn't match how he truly feels about Camilla's remark, "I'd say she looks beautiful. Although, I admit," he adds with a chuckle. "I think she looks beautiful in anything she wears."

Yor turns her head towards him in surprise, and Camilla follows suit. "You do?" Yor asks after a beat.

Alarms go off in his head. Yor's reaction is not natural for a married couple.

"...of course, dear," he says pointedly.

A small crease forms between Camilla’s brow at the odd interaction, but fortunately, it doesn’t remain long. In moments her smile reappears, one becoming of the perfect hostess. "Well. You sure are a lucky one, Yor,” she says, with yet another wink. “I should be getting back to the party. Let me know if there's anything I can get you for your stomach, Dr. Forger," she says before she flounces away.

Yor exhales with relief as Camilla departs. Her shawl slips down her shoulders as she relinquishes the tight grip she had on it, then looks at him apologetically. "I'm so sorry I asked you to come to a party when you aren’t feeling well," she says. "If I'd known…"

"It's nothing," he says dismissively. Truthfully, he hasn't been quite right since before they left for the party, when Yor had emerged from her bedroom to reveal the silky, shimmering gown she had selected for this evening. Decked in shades of deep blue and midnight rather than her usual red or black, her hair looked kissed by stardust from the silver hairpiece that held her hair in an elegant bun, with loose strands framing her pretty face. She had shown off the dress with a spin, asking if she looked acceptable for the party. Anya had declared she was 'the most beautiful mama in the whole wide world' and Loid found he couldn't disagree. But he was lost for words in the moment, and could only observe very closely the way her dress hugged her curves, because of course, that was the sort of thing spies did. Observe.

His eyes dance over Yor's figure once more, in the subtle way he's perfected over the years; over the sleek column of her neck, her shoulders, over the generous swells of her breasts that are covered by little fabric, over the exposed line of her back down to the soft curve that follows it, when she asks him, "Is there something wrong with my dress?"

Maybe he shouldn't be observing her quite so much. His eyes rebound back to her face.

"I was just admiring the color," he says, lying as easily as water flows. "It suits you."

She answers with a blush, and mumbles something unintelligible about Camilla. She takes a long sip of champagne, and after the glass leaves her lips, she stares at it intently, as if she could shatter it to pieces with her gaze. Her expression slips into something foreign, something alarming; almost murderous. But it’s gone so quickly he feels he may have imagined it, and suddenly Yor looks riddled with anxiety once more.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," he says gently. "It's just a party with your coworkers. I'm having a nice time, actually." Intrusion from the hostess aside.

"Do you think they see me as worthy of being your wife?" she asks him abruptly.

Loid blinks. "What?"

Yor looks as if she's on the brink of tears. "I convinced myself this dress would help me look the part, but I can't seem to get anything right. People must look at you and think, 'he could have any woman he wants, what's he doing with someone like her?'" she gushes.

He raises his eyebrows. She thought that of him?

Considering Yor was unaware that he had to be able to get any woman he wanted– world peace so often depended upon it– he finds himself rather flattered. But he's more concerned that Yor felt she appeared unworthy beside him, especially tonight, when she looked nothing less than royalty in a dress that had been unsettling his usually unflappable self, and sending these strange feelings that had been plaguing him for months now into overdrive.

"I'm not so sure about that," he replies simply. "You underestimate yourself, Yor."

She looks up at him, her eyes demanding sincerity. "So you think as a couple, we're convincing?"

It's a little daring (and not simply because of the nature of her dress), but he places a reassuring hand on the small of her back. Though her breath hitches at his touch, it appears to comfort her.

"I do."

But towards the end of the evening, as schmoozing couples begin to pair off under the discretion of dimmed lights as the clock ticks closer to midnight, he remembers something that might make them not such a convincing pair after all.

"Yor," he says quietly. He leans close to her ear and murmurs, "we're expected to kiss at midnight."

Yor whips her face towards him so quickly that their heads nearly knock together. "We are?" she whispers, panicked. "Why– why is that?"

"It's tradition," he replies calmly. "Someone may notice if we don't." His hand ghosts over hers, seeking to reassure her once again. But as he gently strokes the top of her hand with his thumb, her panic seems to increase tenfold.

Yor tilts back her head and tosses back the remainder of her champagne. She frees her hand from his and rushes away. He almost loses her as she slips into the sea of bodies, but he knows exactly where she's headed. Not a drop of his own drink spills as he races to follow her path towards the bar, where he sees her grab a fresh bottle of champagne. The muscles of her arm flex as she goes to rip out the cork, but he gets his hand around the neck of the bottle before she can succeed. It feels oddly reminiscent of the time he stopped a nuclear missile seconds before launch.

"That's never helped anything," he says sternly. She jumps in surprise at his sudden appearance, looking a bit like Anya does when he catches her trying to sneak in another episode of 'Spy Wars' instead of studying. To his relief, she relinquishes the bottle, but her bottom lip is quivering.

"We don't have to," he says, his tone softening as he sets the bottle back where it came from, along with his own glass. "We can find an excuse to leave. We can tell Camilla the sitter called, and Anya isn't feeling well."

"Oh," she breathes. "Of course." Then she surprises him. Her ruby colored eyes peer up at him intently as she says, "But it would be far less suspicious… if we kissed."

The unexpected suggestion causes Loid to stiffen. "Are you sure?"

He's kissed countless women, and some men. Why has his heart started racing?

Yor nods emphatically, as if she's convincing herself as much as him. "Well– yes! What if Yuri asks Dominic about our behavior tonight? You know how temperamental Yuri can be.”

“Hm," he says. 'Temperamental' isn't exactly the word he'd use. But perhaps she had a point. "You know, this is only a less suspicious option if you don't take a swing at me afterwards."

He’d meant it lightheartedly, but Yor still blushes, and her lips form a tight thin line. "I'm sorry," she spills. "I just get nervous because I… I've never…" She casts her eyes downward, red hues retreating behind long dark lashes.

He quiets her unnecessary confession by lifting a hand to her face and tilting her chin up to look at him. Their faces have rarely, if ever, been this close, and he can't help but notice how rosy her lips are, and how extremely pretty the shape of them are up close. "Don't worry," he says. Reassuring her would be critical to success. "Just follow my lead."

He guides her to a secluded corner of the apartment so they'll attract as little attention as possible when the moment comes. Agonizing minutes pass and they barely speak, except when he reminds her of the plan. A quick touch of the lips, a smile, and then join in toasting with the other guests. That's all they needed to do.

Finally, the high-pitched reverberations of Camilla’s fingernail clinking against the side of her champagne glass fill the room. "Quiet, everyone!" she exclaims. "The countdown is about to begin!" She turns up the volume dial on her little television.

10…
9…
8…
7…

"L–Loid?"

6…

"You can do this, Yor."

5…
4…

He leans close. Her eyelids flutter closed and she gently parts her lips. 

3…
2…
1…

"EEEE! "

A piercing squeal carries across the room like a siren, drowning out the cheers of "Happy New Year!" Loid tears his eyes away from Yor and scans the area, his hand flying inside his jacket where his gun is concealed.

He immediately realizes there is no threat. Rather, Dominic is on one knee and Camilla is bouncing up and down with delight, brandishing the new diamond that had just been placed on her finger. "Yes!" she repeats. "A thousand times 'yes'!"

A proposal. Loid relaxes his stance and releases the grip he had on his gun, yet there's a strange sinking feeling in his chest. There would be no need to go through with the plan after all. All the attention was on Camilla.

He turns to Yor, banishing the intrusive feeling with a careless smile. "Well!" he says breezily. "I guess we don't–"

The rest of his sentence ends in a muffled stammer as Yor lunges towards him and slams her lips against his.

He stumbles, his back falling against the hardwood wall behind him, but her soft lips remain locked on his. 

Yor?! His mind races wildly as he considers his precarious position; pinned against the wall, gun out of reach, vulnerable against an enemy attack. How did she catch me so off guard? You're losing your edge, Twilight. You shouldn't be… there's no need to…

But as Yor falls off her tiptoes and tugs at his collar, pulling him deeper into the kiss, non-existent enemies are vanquished as is the rest of his train of thought.

With one hand finding her flushed cheek, and the other sliding around small of her back, drawing her in closer, he gives in… and kisses her back fully. Tilting her head just so, he coaxes her lips apart with his. Sweetness floods his palette from the champagne she'd been drinking. He kisses her like a man starved, only restrained by the reminder that this is Yor’s first– a reminder that resurfaces every time their teeth knock together unpleasantly as Yor struggles through the unfamiliar motions. So he takes the lead. Their kiss becomes a dance; he is the instructor, she is the student, and soon her motions fall into place under his expert guidance. As she mimics the movements of his tender kiss, he vaguely realizes he’s lost track of how much time is passing, but he's surprisingly unconcerned. He slips his tongue inside her mouth…

"AHEM!"

The sharpness of the voice coming from the same direction as before bursts the bubble of isolation they have found themselves inside. He and Yor release each other as if the other were made of burning hot coals to find a very red-faced, very irritable Camilla glaring daggers at them.

"Yor, would you mind keeping your hands off your man for a second!?” she fumes, hands angrily set upon her hips. “This is my moment!"

Every set of eyes in the room is on them, making him feel oddly like a specimen being examined in a lab. This is the opposite of what was supposed to happen. Spies don’t attract attention to themselves.

Yor, who's rosy cheeks had turned ghostly white, manages a nervous laugh. "Sorry, Camilla!" she says with an awkward wave. "I guess we got a little carried away!"

Loid clears his throat and adjusts his disheveled tie and collar back into place. "Apologies," he says formally. "Congratulations to both you and Dominic. You make a lovely couple."

"Hmph," replies Camilla, but her sourness doesn't last long. In moments her smile is back, celebrating with her party guests.

"Perhaps we should go," he suggests quietly.

They collect their coats and leave discreetly, something she excels at as much as he does. Loid closes the door to Camilla's apartment, leaving the din of the party behind it.

"Well," he says with a dry mutter. "I suppose that was rather convincing."

Yor buries her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Loid!" she cries. "I don't know what came over me! I've never k-kissed anyone and I was nervous and I think I- I just needed to know what it felt like!"

He's taken aback. That was the reason she kissed him? To simply know what being kissed felt like?

He shakes his head. "It's my fault," he says modestly. "I never should have put that much pressure on you. We should've just found an excuse to leave."

This seems to do little to comfort her, and she continues to cover her face in misery, which is perhaps the reason for what he says next.

"For what it's worth… I really liked kissing you, Miss Yor."

She slowly lifts her face out of her hands, blinking in surprise. The words she says next make the funny feeling in his stomach return.

"I liked kissing you too, Loid."

—

When they return home, Loid thanks and pays the elderly neighbor who'd been babysitting Anya, who seems relieved to report that Anya had fallen fast asleep.

He hangs up his hat and jacket, pops a few buttons at the top of his shirt, and pushes his sleeves up past his forearms. He runs a hand over his head, mussing his styled hair and he rolls his shoulders, stretching, when he notices Yor is carefully watching his every movement.

Her eyes are soft and alluring as she observes him, and he pinpoints the feeling he could not place earlier, the feeling he's been wrestling with for months. Desire. It's longing. It's lust.

It’s making him want to take her in his arms, lie her on the couch, hitch up her dress over her thighs, and have her right there in their living room.

What was wrong with him? What had she done to him to make him think this way? Was Yor sent to him by an enemy organization to seduce him? Was all her innocence simply an act to lower his guard?

No, Twilight. You're being ridiculous. That was paranoid, even for him. 

Still… these feelings she's stirred inside of him are new. Or at least, he'd kept them dormant for many, many years.

Sex has never been anything more than a transaction to him. It had been that way ever since his Handler took his virginity as part of his training when he first started working for WISE just over ten years ago.

"Seduction is an important part of the job," she'd told him plainly. "So we need to make sure you know what you're doing."

Like the rest of his training, she'd made sure he took no pleasure in it. Desire was not a luxury afforded to a spy.

However.

If he did indulge these feelings, wouldn’t it only benefit the mission, strengthening their cover as husband and wife? Or would it simply make things more complicated when the mission came to a close?

And more importantly, did Yor feel the same way?

As if to answer his question, Yor draws herself closer to him. She lifts her hand toward his face, and he stiffens, thinking– hoping– she might kiss him again, but she reaches for his collar instead.

"You have a bit of lint… there," she says, gently brushing the fabric of his collar.

He’s certain he didn't have any lint on his collar.

What comes next should come as easily as breathing to him, but his silver tongue has turned to lead in his mouth.

“Well,” she says, the color rising in her cheeks as if she's had too much wine. “I guess I'll turn in."

He finds his voice. "I'll walk you to your room," he replies a bit lamely.

When she reaches her bedroom door, she turns to him. "Good night, Loid," she says softly. "I had a lovely evening."

They are standing very close. She delicately places her hand on the doorknob, looking almost reluctant to turn it, and before she can, Loid places his hand over hers.

Feeling drunk on his own desire, he asks the question.

"Yor...would you like to spend the night with me?"

Yor shoots a look up at him, eyes wide, her lips forming a small 'o'. "You don't have to," he assures quickly, lest she think he was asking her to fulfill some sort of obligation as his wife. "Only if…"

"Yes!" she agrees shakily, but there's no denying the eagerness in her voice.

Not even his most dangerous missions have caused his heart to pound this heavily as he takes Yor into his bedroom. As the doorknob clicks behind them encasing them in darkness, he considers how best to proceed, but she answers that for him. 

"Loid?" she asks softly as she takes a step closer to him. She doesn't appear to notice the way her breasts brush wantonly against his chest. “Could you show me what you were about to… right before…?”

Loid slides his hands up along her waist, then leans towards her, resting his forehead against hers. “There are a lot of things I’d like to show you,” he says huskily, unable to help himself. Yor emits some sort of noise; breathy, nervous. “But we can start there.”

He nestles one of his hands in her hair, holding her in place as he kisses her slowly but hungrily, venturing into her mouth with broad sweeps of his tongue, as he'd wanted to right before their earlier interruption. Yor kisses him back with equal hunger. Perhaps emboldened by the bit of champagne she had earlier, her hands begin to wander; over his chest, through his hair, and– to his slight surprise– over his backside. When she pauses for a breath, he tilts her head back and places several kisses along the slender column of her neck.

“Is this all right?” he murmurs against her skin in between kisses. 

“Ah– mm,” is all she manages as she seems to melt in his arms. He buries a satisfied smile in her neck, noting that while Yor is nothing like any of his previous targets, she seems to share a similar weakness. 

Her hands continue to roam and she finds the buttons of his shirt and undoes the remainder of them one by one, pushing it off his shoulders onto the floor, leaving him in the white undershirt he was wearing underneath it. He slides his hand up her leg, right up to the curve of her ass, taking the silky material of her dress with it, but he stops. He's well aware she isn't wearing much underneath her backless dress. It would be better for her to undress on her own terms, if she was so inclined.

With a gasp, her hands thrust forward, breaking his kiss and sending him stumbling backwards in the direction of his bed. It sends him further than he expects; he'd almost forgotten how strong she is. He falls onto the bed and she tumbles on top of him shortly after, loose strands of hair tickling his face. Her thighs brush against his as she crawls over his body, and he feels something stir in his lower abdomen with want.

She moves to kiss him again, but suddenly, she freezes, her eyes going wide. It seems to hit her, the reality of what they’re about to do.

She rolls off him to the outside of the bed facing the wall, her arms tight to her chest, trembling slightly.

"Yor...?" he asks in alarm. He half sits up, tilting his body towards hers. He reaches out to place a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

The room is so silent as he awaits her answer, he can almost hear his own heart beat. Finally, she nods, still facing outwards.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know," he says gently. "I'd be happy enough just to sleep beside you."

Yor is still for a moment, but he's relieved when she slowly turns over to face him.

"I can find you something comfortable to wear," he suggests.

She's quiet as she looks at him, and he wishes he could read everything that's going through her mind. Slowly, she lifts her hand to his face, tracing his jawline with her thumb. "But I want to," she whispers.

His heart skips a beat.

"I didn't think I would ever be with a man," she says with a small smile. "But if I am going to be with someone… I would like it to be you, Loid-san."

He's grateful it's dark. "If you're sure."

Then her smile fades slightly. "I'm terrified I'm going to disappoint you."

"Yor," he says. He leans towards her and places a kiss on her forehead. "You never could. I told you before. You underestimate yourself."

He wasn't sure why, but sometimes it seemed that no matter how many times he told her how pretty she was, how strong she was, what a wonderful mother she was, it never seemed to stick. "You know I mean it, don't you? Does it help at all, when I tell you these things?"

"Oh, yes,” she breathes. “It means everything to me. But I suppose, at certain times, I just need to be reminded."

"Well. Then I'll always remind you."

Her smile returns, and then he finds her in his arms once more, kissing and holding and caressing, and it's enough for him, it's completely enough, until she says softly,

"Should I undress?"

He's not sure the darkness is enough to hide the color in his face anymore. "Oh– if you'd like."

She rises from the bed. He can see her better now, bathed in streaks of moonlight peeking through the blinds of his bedroom window. She undoes the clasp holding up her hair, her dark glossy locks spilling over her shoulders. She works at the tie holding the straps of her dress together. Once it's undone, the silky dress slides off her figure to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her underwear and stockings, each trimmed with rose patterned lace. Her arms drape over her body modestly, covering her most private areas, her face seemingly unsure if he will like what he sees.

He's quite certain the expression on his face will give her the confirmation she's looking for. He inhales sharply upon seeing Yor this way for the first time. The size of her breasts is no match for her forearm, which does little to conceal their fullness, nor her small waist that flares into shapely hips, or her long and slender legs. He thinks she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, and there was a considerable magnitude to that statement. He wants to tell her as much, but he supposes– he should probably be respectful to the memory of his fake late wife, for the sake of his cover. It kills him to lie to her. The lie makes him question if he should be doing this at all. She deserves so much better, so much more. But he notices several subtle, mysterious scars scattering her lovely figure, lingering reminders of the hardships she faced in her past. There's much he cannot give her, but her body has known little else than pain, and if there's one thing he can do, he can offer her pleasure. 

He pulls his t-shirt over his head so he can match her state of undress. He briefly worries his physique might not look like one would expect of a widowed doctor, but as Yor’s eyes rove over his body, lips parted with interest, suspicion appears to be the last thing on her mind. Her gaze lingers on his abdomen, then downwards with curiosity as he slips off his pants. His underwear, he notices, despite being black, does little to hide his arousal– an arousal that, for once, had been brought forth completely involuntarily.

"Now, come here, darling," he invites when he's forgone all his clothing but his briefs. He takes her gently by the arm and pulls her onto the bed beside him, and her body is his to explore. He kisses her deeply, and his hands roam over her silky skin to memorize curves and contours that his eyes had traced so frequently. His fingers dance over one of her breasts; gently at first, but soon he cups the full weight of it in his hand, squeezing the soft flesh. She is receptive to his touch, and gives his body a similar treatment, raking her nails gently across his bare chest. She makes several attempts to venture lower, but she freezes near his waist every time, as if prevented by an invisible barrier. He doesn't mind. As much as he longs for her touch, her pleasure is paramount. He flicks a thumb over her nipple, and her thighs press together with an ache he knows he can relieve.

His fingers trail down her body. "I'm going to touch you now," he murmurs in her ear. "Is that all right?"

Yor's eyes are shut tight, but she gives a shaky breath, then nods.

His hand dips below her waistband and he slips his fingers inside her. He knows how to bring a woman to orgasm quickly; he's been trained to do so– but there's no race against the clock tonight, no secrets that need to be extracted by morning. He can savor this. However, he finds Yor is already so wet for him that timing may not be in his control. 

"You're soaked, Yor," he whispers. She whimpers with embarrassment in response, but he simply laughs under his breath. "Just relax for me," he breathes as he continues his work.

Her slick builds on his fingers as he strokes her in a gentle rhythm. But Yor’s reaction is intense, writhing against the sheets and begins to make soft noises that sound vaguely like his name as he circles her swollen clit with his thumb. He pumps into her with his skilled fingers, and she grinds herself against his hand, her moans get louder and louder and finally–

"OH!" she cries out.

Loid's other hand flies over her mouth. "Anya," he whispers urgently. Her eyes widen in alarm, and they wait, frozen, hoping not to hear their daughter stir from inside her room.

They hear nothing, and Loid decides it's safe to continue. "You'll have to be quiet," he tells her, lowering his palm.

"I can do that," she whispers back.

Loid exhales headily and withdraws his fingers. Yor watches with a mixture of intrigue and mortification as he slowly brings them to his lips, his tongue darting out from between them to taste her. She whimpers helplessly as Loid draws close to her ear. “I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he says softly. “But I’d like to taste more of you. Would you like that?”

She answers him by sliding her hands around his neck, and pulling him in for a kiss that she places along his jawline. “Okay,” she gasps faintly as Loid buries his face into her neck, feasting on her sweetly scented skin. He continues to bathe her body in kisses as he works downward, taking time to give special attention to her breasts, teasing and sucking, then finishing with two kisses on her lower hip bones. Then he lifts her legs on either side of him and rolls off her stockings, one by one, and places a kiss on each freshly revealed ankle.

Lastly, he removes her underwear, taking in her fully naked form at last. Her chest rises and falls heavily as he positions his head in between her thighs, and he shoots one last look at her from between them. She bites her lip and gives a nod of permission.

He smiles against her opening and kisses it, then sticks his tongue in between her dripping folds. She gives a furious jolt of pleasure, but she doesn't make any noise. Smooth and powerful thighs compress around his head as he buries himself in her and begins lapping at her center. His work is steady and precise, flicking his tongue at her most sensitive areas, and he feels the sheets shift under him as he realizes she's taking fistfuls of it in her hands. He relishes her taste as his tongue ventures deeper, as if it's been tasked to memorize every part of her. Her jolts become more and more erratic, but his rhythm remains constant; tireless, as he glides over her most pleasurable spot. He can feel her, how her muscles expand and contract as she resists the urge to cry out, her hands moving to his head, tugging gently at his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He holds her hips steady as she’s hit with the wave of her orgasm.

Yor releases his hair to muffle herself with her forearm as she finishes. He extracts himself with a final kiss, then untangles himself from between her legs and lies alongside her. She looks at him, breathless and flushed, arms falling limp at her sides.

"Loid…" seems to be all she can say.

He takes her hand and places a kiss on her delicate fingers. 

"I've never felt one like that before," she confesses shyly.

His eyes pop open. "You mean that wasn't your first…?"

A blush creeps across his face as thoughts of Yor pleasuring herself swirl through his mind. Yor always came off so innocent, so naive, but perhaps, not completely. His mind drifts selfishly, hopefully, wondering if he'd ever crossed her mind as she did so. 

“I've tried it… a few times,” she admits.

He averts his eyes to the ceiling as he dares to ask. “Here?” he says, almost hoarsely.

"O– only here." Yor presses both hands to her cheeks, looking ashamed. “Oh Loid, please don’t be angry with me. Doing such things in your home, I can’t imagine what you must think of me…”

“Hey,” he says, taking back her hand and kissing it again. “Of course I’m not angry.” Then he whispers a secret he thought he'd take to his grave. Though he knows there’s no shame in it, he always thought of it as something beneath a spy of his caliber; an indulgence for weaker willed men. He supposed Yor had now rendered him one of them. “I might've done it myself a few times. Times I’ve dreamt of you.” 

“Really?” she asks with quiet disbelief.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Yor. I've wanted it for longer than I've realized.”

“I… me too.” 

He smiles playfully, fingers still entwined with hers. “I’d always wondered why you took such long showers. Especially after those late nights you spend working at city hall.”

He braces himself for her reaction, expecting her to recoil with embarrassment under his teasing, but she just stares a moment, before her lips spread into a sweet smile. "Oh, yes, exactly."

Something about her voice strikes him as odd, but he doesn't dwell on it long. He’s far more fixated on the image of Yor in the shower, surrounded by steam as the hot water runs over her pink, dampened flesh, strumming her folds with his name on her lips.

The idea is driving him mad with lust, which is why he's so grateful to hear Yor whisper,

"So then, what's next?"

"Oh– um," he says eloquently. "Well. For your first time, you’ll be most comfortable… on top," he says.

"On top?" she repeats softly as she allows him to guide her over his body. She straddles him, his briefs growing tighter around him as she does so. He involuntarily bucks his hips, his bulge pressing to the heat between her thighs, showing her exactly the effect she’s having on him. 

Yor shudders at the friction. Her basic instincts take over… she starts rocking her hips against his arousal. It takes all of his brainpower to keep his composure as he grips on to her thighs.

"Am I doing this right?"

"That's the idea," he gasps. Nothing has ever compared to this, and he was not prepared for how good this would feel– not that he's at any risk of losing control, but he's absolutely aching to be inside her. Yor, on the other hand, who's eyelids have fallen shut, seems to be close to another release, just grinding on him over his briefs. "Yor, should we…"

She immediately halts her movements. She settles before him expectantly so he can slip off the final barrier. He tosses them aside and then Yor's eyes go wider than he's ever seen them.

"Oh my…" she whispers. She covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. "Loid, I don’t think… I just can't. It won't fit."

He almost tells her that he has yet to have a woman complain, but she probably wouldn't find that very comforting. "I won't hurt you,” he promises. After all, he was far more likely to get hurt from their encounter than she was. However, she'd shown considerable restraint thus far, which was fortunate because Anya would be sure to notice if he woke up with bruises or tufts of hair missing. It surprised him, how readily he’d begun to trust her, considering their arrangement. As he takes her hand and allows him to guide her back onto his hips, he wonders if she feels the same. 

He lines himself up with her entrance. “Ready?” he asks. She nods. "Relax your muscles," he instructs. "And slowly… slowly…"

She sinks onto him and he throws his head back in searing bliss. She slaps her hand over her own mouth to keep herself from crying out.

"Now just…" he starts, but she doesn't need further instruction. She places her hands on his chest and begins to ride him.

Her pace is agonizingly slow at first, taking more and more of his length each time, making little noises of pleasure that make him fight to resist the urge to snap his hips into her harder and bury himself inside her completely. 

Eventually she becomes comfortable with his size, and picks up the rhythm. The sight of her repeatedly sinking onto his length, so hot and tight around him, breasts heaving in time with her movements, is a sight more addicting than any of the drugs he’s been trained to resist. 

He reaches out for a squeeze of her breast before he drops his hands to her hips, and begins assisting her thrusts, biting back a groan as he starts gently bouncing her on his cock.

“Sit back a bit,” he says through bated breaths, shifting her back for a more stimulating angle. 

“Loid…” Yor whispers. “It feels so… it’s too…” Yor takes fistfuls of her hair in her hands as her eyes roll back in her head with ecstasy. 

It's in this moment, between their heavy breaths and sounds of skin against skin, he realizes everything that was missing from his previous, passionless liaisons. It was not an exchange or going through a specified list of motions, but a mutual pleasure, an exploration, something that could be grown and nurtured like a garden as they learned and became more comfortable with one another. All of his prior trysts were merely means to an end, but this… this might only be the beginning.

Yor rocks against him faster and faster, forgoing the need for his assistance and setting a pace of her own, until one hard bounce causes him to slip right out of her completely. Her hands fly over her mouth in embarrassment, but he isn't bothered at all.

He grins and takes the opportunity to flip her onto her back, and positions himself on top of her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"You're doing wonderfully," he says, and he kisses her forehead. "May I continue?"

"Yes, please," she breathes.

He settles in between her legs and enters her once more. Slowly and deliberately he fucks her, his chest brushing against hers with each stroke. "How is that?" he says into her ear.

She whimpers in response. She lifts her legs and crosses her ankles behind his hips so he can take her deeper. "You can go faster," she says between breaths. "I can take it." He doesn't need to be told twice. Their mouths meet for a single, bruising kiss, leaving her lips pink and wet and swollen, before he begins thrusting into her faster and harder, angling himself to make sure he's stimulating her with every push that drives her deeper into the mattress. She drags her nails along his back, leaving long scrapes in their wake, but it's too pleasurable to feel any pain.

She's on the brink once more. He thrusts inside her for the final time and he allows himself to come, spending himself inside her at the same moment she reaches her orgasm.

He collapses alongside her, resting on his forearms, and they take a moment to catch their breath. He'd done everything he could to make her first time as pleasurable as it could be; that is, considering the restraint needed, and from the look on her face, he'd succeeded. But her face falls as she notices his back.

"I scratched you," she whispers, her hands gingerly tracing over the fresh grooves in his skin.

"That's all right."

"I can get you something for that."

She rises from the bed and walks over to his discarded button down. She bends down to scoop it from the floor, revealing a sensual view of her curves that he’d only caught glimpses of during their intimacy, causing something to stir inside him once again. She looks over her shoulder towards him, wordlessly asking for permission. He nods, and she slips it on over her naked body before leaving the room. She's gone for a few minutes, and when she returns she has an ointment in her hands.

She sits beside him on the edge of the bed and begins gently rubbing the ointment onto his back. The scratches hadn't bothered him, but once he felt whatever she'd put on him he felt immediate relief. It must be a particularly strong grade of– whatever it was– and he briefly wonders again about her scars, but they're soon forgotten as Yor begins humming a sweet and familiar melody softly as her hands massage his back. She must be holding back considerably because the amount of pressure feels perfect, and not only are his scratches soothed, but all the tension in his muscles that had built up over the past week's missions melts away under the ministrations of her fingers. He had been skeptical, but it made sense to him now that Yor had worked as a masseuse.

Yor caps the ointment and places it on the bedside table. “I wonder if we’ll be invited to Camilla’s wedding,” she muses softly.

Loid turns over on his back and laughs. “We haven’t behaved ourselves very well at her parties, have we?” 

Yor smile bashfully at this, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “At least maybe she'll be nicer to me now that she's engaged.”

“I hope so.”

“You're so handsome when you laugh, you know,” Yor says fondly, her gaze meeting his. “Well, you're handsome always, but especially…” She trails off with a blush, and looks down at her lap. “It’s nice to see you laugh.”

With a humble smile, he takes Yor’s hand and pulls her towards him, tucking his arm around her as she lies down beside him. Words seem to fail both of them as they quietly look into each other's eyes, but there's comfort in the silence. Eventually, she drapes her arm over his chest and she soon drifts off to sleep.

Yor was strange. She often said and did things that made little sense to him, hopefully things he'd one day understand, but she was sweet and lovely and nurturing. She had a tenderness about her that he'd never seen in any woman before, aside from what he remembered about his mother. He loved that about her… love?

In his line of work, that particular word was more dangerous than poison. Love was forbidden; love meant death.

Yet Twilight has never felt more alive.

Was he… in love?

Before he can contemplate the thought further, he falls asleep.

—

The next morning, he’s awakened by streaks of morning sunlight beating across his face. He rubs a hand over his face before looking over at his bedside clock, which reads 7:34 AM. He hasn't slept this late in years. Yor is still peacefully dozing beside him in his button down shirt. He can't recall a time he was ever so content to find himself waking up beside a woman, nor one who ever looked so cute wearing his clothing.

But then, his heart begins to race. Had sleeping with Yor compromised Operation Strix? Even having her in his bedroom at all in its current state posed major concerns. Fortunately, she was not the nosy type, so he can probably trust her at least for the morning. He exhales, and does something he’s never done before– he relaxes. He’d deal with the consequences later. For just a little while longer, he doesn't want to be Twilight. He just wants to be Loid.

He’d like to stay in bed with her, but Anya would be awake soon, so he showers and gets dressed, and heads out into the kitchen to start breakfast. Shortly after, he hears the pitter-patter of small footsteps coming from the hallway.

Anya dashes into the kitchen and wraps her arms around his leg. "Morning, Papa."

He reaches down and gently ruffles her hair. "Morning, Anya. Any requests for breakfast?"

She looks up at him with her wide green eyes, still clinging to his leg. "Pancakes!"

"With blueberries or bananas?"

"Peanuts!"

"...all right. Give Bond some breakfast too."

"'Kay." Anya scurries off and he goes to the high cabinet where they now keep the peanuts. He grabs them off the shelf, and when he turns back around, he bumps into something.

It's Yor. He hadn't heard her come into the kitchen at all. "Sorry Loid!" she exclaims. Her hands, which are covered by the sleeves of her red sweater, fly over her mouth.

"Yor! Oh, that's all right."

"I… I wanted to see if you needed any help."

The lightning fast response calculator built into his brain is failing him this morning, in no small part due to the memories of the previous night swirling through his mind. A faint blush creeps onto his face.

He senses Anya watching them from her place at the kitchen table, her eyes darting back and forth between them. "Mama and Papa are flirting," she says finally.

Both their heads whip in their daughter's direction, with matching flushes and furrowed brows. "No, we are not!" they say in concert.

Anya narrows her eyes suspiciously.

He realizes they were both speaking from reflex, but what Anya had said was true, as it was every other time she'd said it. What reason was there to deny it? Their feelings for each other were out there now. The world hadn't ended; here they were, in their kitchen, having the same type of morning every other loving family in the country was having. The mission needed to continue, but this was enough for him, for now.

"Well, actually…" he says, his expression softening. He tilts Yor's head up to him and gives her a quick kiss on her lips. Anya's face abruptly goes from suspicion to shock, and the blush deepens across Yor's cheeks.

He resumes cooking, and wishes this pretend life of theirs was real.