This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
[an error occurred while processing this directive] people have read this story since April 2004
Steed follows a trail
Emma does the decorating
Act III
"So tell me Steed, did you enjoy my little chase?" Emma asked some time later. They had eaten her delicious dinner and left the dishes in the sink for later. Emma distributed the last of the wine between their glasses and Steed followed her to the hearth.
"It was an amusing adventure, but I have a feeling the best is yet to come," he said. "I have to admit there were a few moments when I was put in mind of other less happy chases."
She knelt on the wolf rug and opened the fire screen to add another log. Steed looked around at the various seating options and elected to drop to the floor on the rug behind her. He stretched out on his side, head on his hand, and watched her prod the smoldering embers back to life. She sat back and took a sip of wine, then set her glass on the hearth and stretched out on her back looking up at Steed.
"Like my non-existent uncle Jack's will?" she asked. "Or Sir Cavalier's invitation?"
Steed smiled and stroked her hair away from her face although it hadn't needed it. He just wanted to touch her, his dear, delicious Emma.
"Of course, because of them you knew I wouldn't fail to follow your trail," he said.
"I knew I could count on you, Steed," she agreed, her voice growing soft and husky. His own breath caught in his throat as the smoldering look in her eyes sent sparks of desire through him. The fire in the hearth wasn't the only flame she'd fanned. "I know you'll be going to your sister's for Christmas. I selfishly wanted you to myself for a bit."
"Emma," he sighed, suddenly wishing he could ask her to go with him, but knowing that it would be too much, too nearly a sign of commitment, no matter how well she knew that it was not intended that way.
The firelight flickered in her mysterious eyes, concealing whatever emotion she might be feeling. He was glad. He was too cowardly to look her love in the eye and try to deny it. Smiling seductively he let his hand move from the side of her face over her breasts to the bare skin where her blouse parted. It was much easier by far to make love to her than to speak of it.
Her fingers slipped around the back of his neck and she pulled his face to hers for a long, luxurious kiss. Kissing Steed was the best reward for her long day laying the trail and preparing the supper. His lips were tender, but his mouth was deceptively hard. She could kiss him for hours -- she often had -- drifting along on a current of passion seemingly unrelated to more intimate physical contact. Decidedly chaste compared to the other acts that their passion indulged in, and intensely sensual, his kisses perfectly represented their complicated relationship.
She'd seen in his eyes the guilt over not inviting her to his sister's. And yet the idea of actually going, of meeting his family and seeing him among them, was inconceivable. It had not crossed her mind through her long day of preparations to be angry at being excluded from that part of his life. She knew he was incapable of it. She had long ago accepted it and stowed the regrets and resentment away in her deepest places. She wanted Steed, and she had him. But on his terms. For now it was enough, and one of the first, best lessons Steed had taught her was to live within the moment.
His warm hand stroking her stomach felt delicious. She longed for him to move it up and touch her breasts, but he did not. He was demonstrating his mastery of patience, his understanding of building desire, and of her. He paused to take a long breath and smile into her eyes. She smiled back, one hand stroking his cheek, the other slipping down to caress his waist.
"Don't stop," she pleaded, knowing without moving her hand any nearer that his body was responding to hers. He lifted his head from his hand and snaked his arm around under her head, then pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her throat. She sighed contentedly, luxuriating in being trapped in his powerful embrace.
The log burned down beside them. Emma fantasized that they drew its flames into themselves with their urgent kisses. Gradually they gave in and touched the sensitive places they both knew so well. Wordlessly they rose and made separate circuits of the room to douse all but one of the oil lamps and blow out the candles. They met at the bedroom door, Emma holding the last lit lamp. She carried it into the bedroom and set it on the bedside table beside the vase of holly. She turned to watch Steed undress, her own hands moving slowly to the zipper at the back of her trousers. He was soon naked, having dressed simply and casually for his shopping expedition. He faced her, waiting. She wiggled out of her tight trousers and pants and the shearling slippers she'd changed into earlier. Then she unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off of her shoulders. She twisted her hands in back to unhook her bra and let it fall. As it hit the floor he was there, his big, solid body wrapping itself around hers, his solid groin smashed between them, his mouth seizing hers in a kiss that was the antithesis of those they'd been indulging in before.
Her body surged with hot, driving desire and she moaned into him, one leg rising to wrap around him, opening herself to him. He laid her down across the bed and hovered over her on hands and knees for a moment like a hungry man trying to decide which course to begin with. Catering to her impatient nature at last, she reach between them to take hold of him and draw him to her. He obliged, but at his own pace, smiling triumphantly at her long, deep moan as he slowly filled her.
"So good," she groaned, her hips pressing up against him.
"Oh yes," he sighed back, already half lost in the trance that was the joyful result of complete trust. They moved together, stimulating with their hands and mouths and the fiery contact of their joined bodies. Faster and faster, nipping and grinding, gripping at shoulders and arms and asses until neither knew where they ended and the other began within their writhing, wet center. They erupted in blinding, carnal fulfillment, lost in physical ecstasy as their bodies shared the devotion that their minds refused to speak of.
"What was that?" Emma started awake, rising up on her hands to stare around the pitch-black bedroom. The sheet slid down exposing her naked breasts. Beside her Steed lay perfectly still but she knew he was awake. Even while she listened she chastised herself for not learning to do the same -- to lie perfectly still in case whatever made the sound was in the room with them.
The sound came again -- a series of muffled thumps on the roof. Steed sat up, one hand protectively on her shoulder, and looked up, then toward the bedroom door. There were more thumps, and then a strange draft of cool air, and then the door to the greatroom slammed shut. Emma sat up too, running both hands through her hair as Steed climbed out of bed and went around it, feeling in the dark for his clothes, which were on the dresser. Emma followed suit, dragging on her tight trousers and loose blouse. They arrived at the door together and Emma pulled back as Steed reached for the knob. Even in the dark, with only the faint reflection of starlight on snow coming in the windows, she could read his plan on his face. She took cover in the doorway of the other bedroom and he turned the knob and pulled. The door did not move. They exchanged a startled stare, and then realization.
"Stuck," she mouthed. He nodded and gripped the handle with both hands. He pulled with all of his considerable strength. The door did not budge, but to Steed's alarm the knob itself came away in his hands. He staggered back against the jamb of the bathroom door staring at the antique hardware, and then looking up at Emma. She looked as startled as he felt. But then her lips quirked in a little smile and she shrugged, turning her attention to the stubborn door. Time for plan B.
He grinned at her resilience, then crouched down to examine the hole where the knob had been. It had come clean through -- he could see the dark room beyond. And as he looked out through the two-inch opening with one eye he saw a shadow pass between him and the embers of the fire. He pulled back from the door and before he could stop her Emma had taken his place. After a moment she pulled back as well and looked at him.
"Someone's out there," she whispered so quietly it was barely louder than her normal breathing. He nodded and looked again. A shadow obscured the embers again, and then there was an odd scraping sound. Above them the thumping was repeated, seeming to come from several places on the roof. And then it stopped. The house grew so silent Emma was sure she heard the faint jingle of sleigh bells somewhere in the distance.
Steed peered through the hole in the door again.
"Gone I think," he whispered.
Emma stood up and ran her hands over the door. Steed moved away, watching her curiously. She turned around, flashing him a smile, and kicked with the bottom of her bare foot at the lower right corner of the door. It creaked and swung open a few inches.
Steed inclined his head in acknowledgement of her success, then stepped aside so that she could open the door the rest of the way. As she strolled into the greatroom he bent to put the heavy doorknob on the floor as a doorstop.
"Hey!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward the hearth. Steed followed.
Two boxes sat side by side on the hearth, small gift cards inscribed with EP and JS dangling from ribbons. Steed smiled at her final trick. He had to admit that she'd contrived a very diverting holiday adventure. She knelt down on the wolf pelt rug and picked up her present. He joined her, examining the card on his in the faint light of the fire. On the reverse side was inscribed "from Santa."
He smiled at Emma and was surprised the see the baffled expression on her face. She's acting. Play along.
"Shall we open them?" he asked.
"It's a day early," she replied, turning the small box in its bright red paper over in her hands.
"But they were delivered to us here. Aren't you the least bit curious? In my family we're allowed to open one present a day early."
Emma turned her most adoring smile on him, then slipped the ribbon off of the box in her hands. I've no idea how he arranged it, she thought. But it's typical Steed. He probably even knew that the door would stick while his delivery boy was here.
While she unwrapped her gift Steed retrieved one of the oil lamps and lit it with a fireplace match. He set it on the hearth and watched as Emma opened the unwrapped box.
She drew aside sheets of white tissue to reveal dark green leather. Smiling with childish excitement, she turned the box over so that the single small book came out in her hand.
"Shakespeare's Sonnets," she read from the spine of the slipcovered volume. She slid the book out of its box and opened it. "A 1930 edition," she added, reading the publisher's information. Then she turned to the page in the middle of the book where the bound in marker ribbon lay.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
She paused and looked expectantly
at Steed -- after all, he must have placed the marker on this page. He didn't
fail her. Peering into the glowing embers he recited the next lines:
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
How, he wondered, did she manage to pick one of the few sonnets that sticks in my head from prep-school?
She read the rest in a voice warmed by her smile:
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
"Bravo!" he said, reaching up to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. She leaned into his caress and he turned his hand over to cup her face, then drew her close for a kiss.
"Open yours," she urged him when they parted. He picked up the package wrapped in green. The wrapping came off to reveal a white box marked with Waterman on the top. He opened it and removed a hinged wooden box, which he opened to reveal a sleek gold pen.
"Beautiful," she breathed as he lifted the writing instrument from it's cushion. It was heavy -- it must be solid gold.
"Yes," he agreed, removing the cap to reveal the delicate golden nib of a fountain pen.
"No poison gas?" she asked with a sly smile. He chuckled, understanding her reference to the pen he'd given hear a year ago. What a weak gift that was! He thought unhappily. And how lovely of her to counter it this way.
"You could write a Christmas greeting in the front of my book," she suggested, opening it to the title page.
"That would devalue it, my dear," he pointed out. She shook her head, holding it out to him.
"I never intend to sell it, John," she said. "Write something to remind me of this moment."
Steed took the book and stared for a moment at the yellowed page. He could not claim to be presenting the book to her, but he did want to acknowledge this remarkable holiday in a very personal way. Suddenly inspired, he put pen to page and wrote:
My darling Emma, thank you for a
most joyous Christmas -- JS.
He handed the book back to her and a smile as joyous as his words suffused her face as she read his inscription. She closed the book and slid it into its box while he replaced the cap on his pen.
"Let's go back to bed," she suggested, rising and holding out her hand.
"That should hold it, Mrs. Peel," Steed said, patting the final knot on the rope securing her Christmas tree in the back of the Bentley. It hung out over the boot at an acute angle, so Emma had tied a scrap of red cloth that she kept in her car for just this purpose to the tip.
"Thank you Steed. I knew the old girl would come through," she replied. "Shall I lead you out, or did you study the map thoroughly yesterday?"
"I'm completely familiar with the roads," Steed replied, opening the door and getting in behind the wheel. Emma trotted back to her own car and got in. Maneuvering it out onto the road she paused next to the Bentley when Steed motioned with his hand for her to wait.
"By the way Mrs. Peel, it was devilishly clever of you to hire the toy store Santa to warn me, even though I didn't grasp his meaning at the time," Steed said. Then he disengaged the handbrake and hit the accelerator, pleased with himself for having caught her out.
Behind him Emma frowned in puzzlement as she watched the big old car with the tree sticking up pull away. "What toy store Santa?" she wondered.
fin