The day Leonard Cohen and I thought about trust.

The thing with trust is that it seems to.come.with a sense of ownership. Maybe because we all feel.very alone in.this space and when trust.occurs, then so has a touch. Even if it's just with the mind. You can have a physical impact on someone without having to touch their body. And when you do that, people simultaneously trust you and feel as though they have the same part in you that you now seem to have of them.

When The Devil You Know, Ch. 2

"Jennifer! Get away from me!"

It was the only warning she would ever really get. She should have listened.

When The Devil You Know

"Doesn't it bother you that you never really solve anything? A week goes by... years. People keep dying."

The Purest Things in Our Hands, 2 (complete)

Jennifer stretched and forced her eyelids off her eyes. She wasn't quite asleep and that was mostly because she was aware that she was not quite as warm as she had been before. The loss of warmth had one reason: Duke. He wasn't there. She sat up and looked around and then heard his step on the deck above. So he hadn't fled to God-knew-where out of confusion, fear, guilt or whatever unnecessary emotion he used to flagellate himself on a regular basis. Glancing around she decided that Duke's faded chambray shirt would be a lot easier to put on than trying to gather and don her own clothes. It also smelled good. That typical Duke smell of just everything wild and outdoors and in particular the sea and musk.

He narrowly missed seeing her pull the collar up and around her nose so she could breathe in the scent of him. Instead, she was smiling as soon as she saw him with her things. That box from the biological parents' house and her bag of immediate necessities and embarrassing intimates. She hoped two things: That he hadn't looked in there and used the information to inform his decision, thereby just grabbing the two easiest things to carry. And, that he had looked in the bag and knew she would be needing some of the contents and knew that they would both appreciate the rest. She had a mild lingerie fascination and she was reasonably certain Duke carried one as well given how he had smoothed his fingers in a delicate, repeated sweep over the lace scalloped edges of her panties and bra set until she was ready to rip them off of herself.

Every one of those ideas and possibilities only increased the flush she could feel returning to her cheeks and everywhere else and the smile that was growing on her face.

"Mind if I bring your stuff back?"

His voice was still that gentle rasp he'd used when he had held her close and told her she was beautiful while her urged her to...

"Thank you," she replied and couldn't repress a little bounce on the balls of her feet while she watched him extend a very long, very strong arm to set the box on the coffee table before sitting down and inviting her with both of those arms to sit on his lap. She had the vague sense of feeling like a bird settling onto a tree as she went to him. He was more that a foot taller than her and probably twice her size in general and she had the feeling of being weightless in his arms as his hands settled lightly - carefully -  at her back and on her leg. He was touching her like he needed permission to again despite the fact that he had set her to begging him to do so just a short while ago. She had noticed this particular something about him over the last few weeks, at least in terms of how he treated her. Duke was a pretty big guy. Only Dwight outsized him and she had seen Duke singlehandedly lift Dwight against a wall when all that awful Troubled blood had absorbed into him. She had watched people back down in front of Duke and Duke himself seemed perfectly aware of his size and strength. And he treated her not so much like something fragile (even though she had to admit if he wanted to hurt her, he could), but he treated her like something.... Treasured. And damned if that didn't make her feel like her smile reached not only ear to ear, but also head to toe.

"I'm an idiot," he murmured.

And, instead of arguing with him on the various yeses and noes involved in that statement, she decided to kiss him again. Which was obviously what he wanted to do anyway. There was more of an exchange of a kiss happening here, though. She could feel it in the way his hand stroked down her arm to pull her further in. It was in the way he almost let her take control of the kiss and in the way that it took him a moment to steady his breath when she ended it. She opened her eyes to watch him and didn't even try to not feel giddy at the sight of him. She would always think of this moment when she saw Duke at his purest and most honest version of himself. This moment where he trusted her enough with his heart that was bigger than he wanted to admit. Not to mention more pure and golden than what he would ever say with a straight face. He didn't see himself that way. The truest heroes with the purest hearts never did. And for now, all she could do was hope that he would believe in the way he made her smile. You couldn't tell Duke Crocker things like that. You had to just let him show himself to you, and quietly let him see how beautiful you found it to be.

The Purest Things In Our Hands.

A surprising amount of Duke's life could be summed up as a series of checklists comprised of tasks, accomplishments, and acquisitions. Sometimes several were done within a day. Obviously some took longer. For now, the three check marks he was most grateful for centered around Jennifer's location. She was, in order of accomplishment but not in importance: On his boat, in his arms, and in his bed. Which, if he was going to be honest (and he wasn't going to be that honest any time real quick) was precisely what he had wanted from the first day he had brought her back to Haven. That he had almost given up on her - on them - was more of a testament to her value than to his record of being able to meet goals. After all, Jennifer Mason was not a trifling sort of woman. He had no such illusions of her being some sort of sacred virgin, but hell, when she said something you could depend on it. Her words and actions came from a unique merger of mind and heart. If you were lucky, skillful, and smart - but mostly lucky - you could win her heart. And hers was a heart worth winning.

He decided for now to just carry a box of random and curious crap along with her bag that seemed filled mostly with bathroom necessities and some seriously adorable lingerie he looked forward to removing. He was in the mood to entertain the notion that she wouldn't need her trunk full of clothing and he only briefly mused on just how the hell she had lugged the thing around on her own. The boxes of books would have to wait until later as well. What he really wanted to focus on was how to make sure this heart worth winning was solidly won.

Flowers and candy were not going to work. They would be appreciated and they were not going to work. Although, if she gave even the slightest hint of being into it, he would be only too happy to pluck the petals of a dozen roses, scatter them on the sheets and make love to her until petals were found in uncomfortable places. He was willing to bet he could show her a few tricks with chocolate syrup that would have her gasping and moaning his name at octaves she hadn't thought she could reach before. But, that was more of a recreational checklist. What Duke needed was a task list that would culminate in the rarest, most exquisite, and unquestionably purest of acquisitions he had ever got his hands on: Jennifer Mason.

He would start by taking her away from Haven just briefly. Giving them both some breathing room as well as time to get to know one another a little better. He would take her out to sea. Just the two of them in their own world for a day or two.

When he got back below deck, there was only a flash of agitation that she was not in his bed anymore. That she was in his shirt instead was satisfying enough. So was the image of clothing - still mostly hers - scattered on the floor of his room and the bed being a delightful damn mess. Her hair was adorably rumpled too. And the still tired smile and flushed cheeks - was she actually blushing? - were more sights he could get used to.

"Mind if I bring your stuff back?"

It was a question mostly of courtesy. Partly from contrition. He smiled slightly at her gentle, smiling, and sincere "Thank you." and sat down on the edge of the sofa, holding his arms in invitation and grateful when she settled onto his lap.

She felt good there. Really good. And being in her arms felt like home after spending too long unsheltered. Her petite frame made her a lightweight in his arms. The fact that her eyes and smile betrayed every gentle thought she had toward him and every lingering doubt she had about herself and the two of them made her the most solid thing he'd felt in a long time.

"I'm an idiot," he murmured, and was glad when she kissed him instead of agreeing or disagreeing with him or questioning what he meant by that. Whether he thought he could let her go or keep her, he was an idiot for thinking it was his choice. Because when he felt her fingers in his hair again, and then her hand caressing his neck he knew that he would follow her anywhere. Another movement of her hand and he could feel her pulling out of the kiss. He could see through his eyelashes that she was watching him. Her eyes were smiling. So was her mouth. He took a moment to breathe in the scent of her, and to steady his heart. Her forehead rested against his for a moment and he admitted to himself that he could pretend all he liked that Jennifer was his to keep but the truth was that he was hers, body and soul. He admitted it to her too, though he wasn't ready yet to know if she recognized it in his look or not. You didn't tell Jennifer Mason things like that. You showed her every day you were lucky enough to have her.

May I Have This Dance?

Birthday gift for springdelirium on tumblr. I'll try to get this finished within a couple of days. So, it will be short.

Finished piece is HERE