Rose Of Versailles Fan Fiction ❯ The Night of Passionate Vows -- An Interlude ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer: I don't known Oscar or André; Riyoko Ikeda and TMS do. No disrespect was meant, nor was any money made.

 

 

It was cooler on the ground. When André rose onto his knees away from Oscar to shed his coat, he could feel the precise spot where the humidity gave way to fresher air that tingled on the thin layer of sweat glazing his skin.

 

Oscar reached toward his bared collarbone and he shook. Her palm and fingers were slender and finely boned, but callused. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed each individual patch of rough, hard skin, running through a mental catalogue of every sword, each pistol, all the reins and piano keys she'd ever touched. It was an overly sentimental gesture, but it made her chuckle, and she didn't pull away.

 

Using her free hand, she whipped off André's cap, laying it in the grass beside her, and brushed all the hair off his forehead and out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears. Self-conscious, he tried to angle the left side of his face away from her, but she spoke his name in a tone that was both imperious and entreating at the same time; he went completely still and swallowed hard. She guided their clasped hands from his lips to her own buttons.

 

His jaw tightened. Her nails dug slightly into the back of his hand. The shock and shame of the incident in her bedroom passed through each of them like a brief chill and left them momentarily at a stalemate. “Oscar,” André murmured, unable to make out her expression in the soft blur of her face, his brow furrowed with uncertainty.

 

She was kissing him again almost before she'd even made up her mind to it, still with his hand grasped to her chest. André sighed gratefully against her cheek, the tension leaving him. He left his lips slack and pliant, letting her take what she needed until she nipped, demanding a response. He laughed softly before giving it to her, effectively silencing them both for quite some time. Minutes later, as they broke away for air, Oscar's coat parted on either side of her. André brushed the pit of her throat with his fingertips. She gasped, hurriedly turning her head to cough lightly into her hand. The moon was bright enough to show her the flecks of blood in her palm and she trailed her hand whimsically through the grass, wiping them away. The heel of André's hand followed her arm down and he clasped her wrist. She breathed into his hair and tilted her head back to let his mouth rest at the side of her neck where her pulse beat out the quickening rhythm of her heart.

 

Over her head, the trees rustled in an anemic little breeze that carried with it the faint echoes of shouting and gunfire, but she was looking beyond them to the stars. Then André reached down between them and she closed her eyes with a smile.