Murder onf the Grand Canal

Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.

people have read this story since April 2004

Murder on the Grand Canal

Steed treads emotional waters

Emma learns to row

Chapter 1

"Good ride, Miss?"

"Yes, thank you," Emma Peel dismounted and handed her horse over to the stable groom.

"You just beat the weather, I think," he added as he turned the animal toward the barn.

"Only just," she agreed, trotting toward the front of the stable complex. She got inside just as great warm droplets started to fall. To occupy herself while the shower ran its course she sat down and removed her high riding boots, replacing them with light shoes. Then she stood near the heavy iron stove that radiated warmth into the damp stable and watched the springtime shower through a small window.

Sixteen days. Barely more than two weeks. And by the end of the first one she had missed Steed so much she had been unable to concentrate on any of the things she needed or wanted to do. The talk she was to present in a few days lay unfinished on her desk. The painting she had started before he left lay untouched on its easel. She was at once frustrated with herself for indulging her emotions, and deeply gratified that she could feel them, for there had been a time when she had believed she never would again.

But Steed had captured her heart just as firmly and efficiently as he captured the targets of his investigations. Since they had become lovers he rarely went away on a case without her. When he did, as he had two weeks and two days ago, she found herself uncharacteristically at loose ends. Strong, independent Emma pined for her man. It was embarrassing.

So, when the ache for him had grown physical as well as emotional, she had fled here, to one of his favorite haunts to ride one of his favorite horses. She was as close to him as she could be short of lingering in his apartment, which she had flatly refused to allow herself to do. The ride had somewhat assuaged the physical need, but it had left her feeling lonely, aching to see his genial smile as they cantered side-by-side or his flashing grin as his horse leapt over an obstacle on the trail.

The stove's warmth and the drumming of the rain on the window lulled her into a dreamy state. She was alone -- other riders had fled to their cars, and the grooms were all seeing to the damp horses in the barn. She allowed herself to imagine Steed's warm presence and smiled at how comfortable they were together. Two peas in a pod, equally self-indulgent, equally giving to one another, equally proud and independent and unwilling to admit their own needs.

She turned at a light touch on her arm, expecting a groom. She fell headlong into serene grey eyes, crinkled corners telegraphing a happy smile before it even reached the expressive mouth below.

"Emma."

She did not question how he knew she was there, it was as pointless as pondering how he was forever surprising her with messages requesting her assistance. She faced him, slipped her hands up his chest and around his neck and molded herself to him, pressing her lips to his without a thought for privacy or propriety. She needed physical proof that he was not just a part of her dream.

He returned the kiss, his mouth opening to hers and tasting of tobacco and brandy and something sharper -- garlic, or perhaps a good cheese. Where had he been? It was pointless to ask, for he could not tell her. And it didn't matter, at least not now. He broke the kiss off and took her hand, leading her across the room to a ladder and following her up. She didn't question his direction. The most important thing they shared was trust. He led her past stacked bales of straw toward a distant window. They were over the barn; sounds from below echoed in the warm, dry space. Horses stamped and snorted as they were curried, the grooms spoke to the horses and one another as they worked. All of these sounds were dampened by the susurrus of the rain on the roof above.

Steed stopped her near the window where clean, loose straw lay in heaps, and renewed their kiss with insistence. She felt consumed by him, by the miracle of his presence here when she needed him so much. It was just like him, the grand, timely arrival, but she didn't spare a thought for how or why he did it. She knew the latter and could ask him later about the former. She simply enjoyed it, tangling the fingers of one hand in his hair while allowing the other to range over his body. She was checking for injuries and they both knew it, and he would reveal the new ones in his own time, if there were any.

Meanwhile his hands explored her as if getting reacquainted. He stroked her jaw as they kissed, one hand sliding back into her hair as the other ranged downward, delicately skirting her breast to slip around her waist, then over her hip and around to cup her buttocks. He pressed her closer and she felt the solid mass of his inflamed genitals. Her body betrayed her need with a shudder and she drew her lips along his jaw to trace his ear with her tongue.

"Emma," he repeated, all entreaty and gratitude and throaty, animal lust. He drew his hand back up her ribs and to the front, no delicate caress on the side of her breast this time but a solid stroke over her taut nipple. She gasped into his ear and he pressed his own mouth to her throat, thumb teasing at her breast, tongue caressing the most sensitive spot below her ear.

"Make me whole, John," she sighed, concentrating on his touch, but unable to ignore the fire smoldering in her loins. The ride had dulled it, but his presence had reignited it and his touches were building it to a conflagration that would not be ignored.

He lowered her to the straw, kneeling above her to unzip her riding breeches and run his hands up and down her inner thighs until she drew her knees up and spread her legs wide. Then he hovered above her to press kisses all over her face again, prolonging their game until she reached between them and opened his fly, stroking the solid presence of his erection through his briefs. She freed him, shoving his trousers down over his hips and drawing his hot genitals out over the waistband of his underwear. He smiled above her, thrusting into her hands so that she stroked him hard. Then he lowered his head to nuzzle her breasts through her blouse. He made no move to unbutton it. They both had one simple goal just now and it required only minimal foreplay. Later, in one of their beds, there would be time for everything else. For now, he reared back up and took hold of her trousers and underpants, pulling them down and off, taking her shoes off with them. She shifted on the straw, opening herself to him and he accepted her invitation, entering her in a single, slow thrust.

"Oh God," she could not contain a moan as his solid shaft filled the empty, aching spaces within her. She felt herself come around him and from his pleased smile knew that he felt it too. He kissed her again, a languorous, sucking, breathless affair, their tongues everywhere. As they kissed, they moved together. Rocking slowly, another thrust at each crest, and divine, hot friction in between as his penis caressed her clitoris.

Their pace increased more quickly than either of them wished. But as so often was the case when they had not been together for a while they could not restrain their mutual need. It grew between them, hot and slick and demanding, and they assuaged it with thrusts and contractions and urgent, nipping kisses. Emma came again in a long, powerful wave of shivering pleasure that Steed rode buried deep within her. As she shuddered to fulfillment he followed her with a series of hard, deep thrusts that were ultimately punctuated by a flashing, throbbing orgasm.

Supporting himself on his elbows, he lowered his head to her collar, panting, murmuring her name, and finally pressing his lips to her neck where her own pulse throbbed. His erection softened within her and she shifted her hips seeking a more comfortable position in the straw. He kissed her again, less urgently, and lifted himself.

"Your place, or mine?" he whispered, a sly smile crinkling his eyes. They were not done. Far from it.

She considered for a moment, then replied, "mine."

He got to his feet and offered her his hand, then waited while she sorted out her trousers and shoes and dressed. They picked straw off of one another, then wordlessly climbed down the ladder. Emma retrieved her boots and Steed held the door while she made a dash to her car.

He followed her in the big Bentley, a leering green giant pursuing her sleek little Lotus Elan through the streets of London.

"You missed me," Steed said, playfully rubbing noses with her. She smiled slyly at him and then turned her face away to gaze across her bedroom.

"Have you been away?" she asked, assuming an air of boredom. The crushing desire sated, she could enjoy their usual games now.

"The paint on your palette is dried out. The papers on your desk have a coating of dust. You have been distracted. And the only thing that can distract you, Emma Peel, is me. Or, in this case, the lack of me."

"I've had a few distractions lately," she said airily. "But I suppose I did notice that you hadn't called."

"Uh huh," he nuzzled her neck, smiling at having received even so slight an admission. As for him, he had missed Emma every day that he'd been away. But he could not afford to indulge that sort of distraction while undercover. Only late at night, just before falling asleep, had he allowed himself to imagine her naked in his arms or engaged in one of her habitual activities like solving a crossword or developing photographs.

"And you?" she asked, as he'd expected. "Have you missed me?"

"In the odd moment, I suppose," he murmured into her ear.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her whole body to his. "Show me how much," she said, hands ranging up and down his back, lips close to his. He caught them in a kiss and proceeded to do as she asked.

Emma snuggled against his side, her head on his solid chest, one arm stretched possessively across his abdomen. He ran his hand over her arm and across her shoulder, lightly kneading the sinuous muscles there.

"I'm hungry," he said. She lifted her head, placing her chin on his chest to look at his face. He glanced at her bedside clock. "My last meal was more than twenty hours ago."

"And what did you have?" she asked quickly.

He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. "Chicken," he said curtly, closing his mouth with a smug smile. She grinned back, not surprised that he wouldn't give her a clue as to his whereabouts for the last two weeks. Nor was he surprised that she'd try to trick him into revealing it.

"It was a dull case in a duller place. Not your sort of thing at all," he said, then he changed the subject: "How about some Italian?"

Now she looked pleased. "Northern Italian?" she asked speculatively.

"Perhaps some seafood," he nodded on the pillows, closing his eyes to imagine his dinner.

"And a bottle of good Chianti?"

"Or a crisp little Veneto. And some risotto."

"With fungi."

"Of course."

"Come with me to Venice."

"For dinner?"

She grinned and bowed her head to kiss his chest. "The day after tomorrow. Those dusty papers on my desk are the talk I'm to deliver."

"What's the conference?"

"A physics symposium."

One of her hobbies, he suppressed a smile. Instead he shuddered in mock horror and she giggled at him, scooting up his body to press her lips to his.

"How much symposing do you intend to do?" he asked, although he had already decided to go.

"There are two talks I want to attend, in addition to mine. And some social events. Please come. I promise not to be entirely scientific."

He stroked her back "I love it when you beg," he murmured against her lips, running his fingers into her hair.

"Please come," she repeated, covering his face with kisses until he laughed and slipped his hands between their faces to stop her. He caressed her temples, smiling into her eyes.

"I'd love to," he said.

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