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Seven (7) days and nights of pure heaven for me and Percy. Put me in a fancy coffin and bury me for I am deaded. We call it our honeyhome because we couldn’t afford a real honeymoon and instead decided to enjoy a week at home together. Also, it sounds better than nuptial staycation, which makes me think of some kind of disease quarantine.
I’ve recently been rescued from certain death (not even being dramatic) by my knight in plaited topknot and I swoon about the latter everytime it comes to mind. We went through with the wedding shortly after my rescue at my behest; left to Percy, we would’ve had to wait weeks. Actual hand to God weeks. For me to heal. I would’ve had a hell of a time twiddling my thumbs waiting for healing to happen when all I have ever wanted in my entire life is to simply marry that man. I would’ve gone through with the wedding were I nothing but a brain in a vat.
I’m pleased as punch that our wedding was able to happen but equally pleased that Percy was able to get time away from work without putting us in dire financial straits. Percy is the wage earner in our little playing house tableau, working as a fucking amazing orchestra second chair for the London Symphony. (See me beaming with pride!) I’m the trophy husband, frittering away my time at home thinking of naughty texts to send him at work as well as some light tidying and minor attempts at cooking. Even as children, we would sometimes enjoy playing house together, although that was far too feminine for my father’s liking who cracked me behind the ear when he caught me nurture-playing with one of Felicity’s neglected dolls. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m on my honeyhome with Percy and I’m thinking about my father. Back to Percy, please.
Percy is so goddamn sensible. Just has the divine gift of logic, save when it comes to his choice of life partner. Thank God for whatever malfunctioning part of his brain allowed that to happen. On the night of our wedding, he had sensibly tried to suggest that we save sex for, wait for it, me to heal again!
I had laughed so hard that I had tears in my eyes. Then I’d proceeded to jump his bones, showing just how able-bodied I still was. In hindsight, it was probably the adrenaline and probably a bad idea. No one tells you that getting CPR makes you feel like you’ve been rammed in the chest by a cannonball. And I already knew this but clenching your muscles in fear for hours at a time tends to make you extremely sore afterwards.
That’s why I’m lying in bed, listening to Percy snore, wanting to cuddle and snog him, and also needing a piss but am instead lying here trying to breathe in such a way that my body doesn’t ache. It’s familiar territory, although usually under much different circumstances.
If I ever did, I will never again doubt Percy’s strength. It’s almost as if he was doing compressions to save a life worth saving.
My patience is finally rewarded by Percy’s eyes batting open. Realisation rolls over his face and he turns to me. “I’m a husband,” he says, mirthful. “We’re married and I’m a husband.” And if that isn’t the most precious, heart-exploding thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.
“We are and you are,” I say back to him, leaning up to kiss his chin.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, lifting his head to look over me, even though I’m mostly covered up with a blanket.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Dashing, sexy, fond of you.”
Percy gives a little eye roll and I want to kiss him again. “And your injuries? How are those feeling?”
“You can only barely call them injuries, Darling,” I respond, going in to kiss his sweet lips. “I’m feeling quite capable of wrecking you again.”
He smirks, unconvinced. “Well I’m hardly going to talk you out of it.”
I smile, leaning down to mouth his neck. “Speaking of hardly…” My hand has drifted down to confirm my suspicion.
Percy sighs, closing his eyes as he feels my hand start to stroke him. “Monty…” he murmurs. I really want to make the sound of him moaning my name into my ringtone.
I need to get a better angle so I shove the blankets aside and push myself up and—I freeze. Well that rather hurts. It feels like a knife is stabbing me in the side. Of all the injuries I've acquired over my years, never have I ever been stabbed, touch wood. But I can use my imagination and infer that it would probably feel much like the pain I’m having now. I must make a noise of some sort because Percy has popped straight up like a piece of toast and his hands are fluttering around me looking for somewhere to land.
“Monty, what is it? Where does it hurt, sweetheart?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to pass. I indicate with my hand where it’s hurting. Percy gently guides me to lie back down, his hand at the top of my head to ensure I don’t brain myself on the headboard.
And this isn’t at all how I wanted our honeyhome to go. Granted, we are both here and in bed, but I’d imagined a lot more moaning from pleasure rather than pain.
Once he has me settled, Percy flits away from the bed and I whine for him to come back. He hurries back with a cup of water and paracetamol, which he wordlessly feeds me. With a concerned expression, he climbs back into bed and tugs me close to him as gently as one can. He kisses me on the top of the head and then nestles his chin against my shoulder (the one that’s not currently a horrid bruise). God I really am a mess. Perhaps Percy had a good idea in wanting to postpone the wedding. But there was just no talking the me of the past out of it. I could literally time travel back 24 hours, find myself and try to talk some sense into me (“It’s a bad idea, turn back you fool”) and I still wouldn’t have listened. God, I’m an idiot.
“Alright, love?” Percy asks after a time where I’ve been drifitng in both regret and bliss.
“I’m always alright,” I reply, flicking his hand which is wrapped around my waist.
Satisfied, he settles in and I do the same until I realise my error. “Percy, darling?”
“Mm?”
“I need a visit to the loo.”
A pause then a nod. He shifts out from under me, letting me temporarily slide back down on my back. Percy removes the covers from where my legs have tangled in them—tripping hazard; regrettably, I’ve managed to pitch myself out of this bed more than once over the past few years due to blankets or Percy’s legs—then eases me back up to sitting. He helps me out of bed, and I let him know I can manage the task from there. I pad across the room and close the bathroom door, stepping back out a minute later to return to bed where Percy is sitting. Upon seeing me, he gets to his feet.
“Did you want to get a shower as long as you’re up?” he offers. I groan but know that it’s needed.
This is the second shower Percy has helped me with in the three days following my rescue. The first was the night I came home from hospital. I remember it as a long, drawn out affair where I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from wincing or groaning every five seconds and Percy had a carefully neutral face on while he helped me undress. However, he lost that neutraility the moment he saw the big bruise wrapping around my hip and the front of my right thigh. The bruise had an innocuous cause—my captors had been leading me up a set of stairs and I’d stumbled forward, unable to stop myself with my hands bound, and rammed my hip into a concrete step—but the sight of it brought tears to Percy’s eyes nonetheless. He, too, had gone through a lot while I was missing and it was taking its toll in shifts. So with the shower spray heating up little clouds of steam in the small bathroom, I had pulled a fully clothed Percy to me as I stood there in my pants with trousers around my ankles and stroked the back of his neck. He had come back to himself soon enough with a little laugh, saying he was supposed to be taking care of me not vice versa. I’m sure I said something clever and cheeky because we ended up completely naked in the shower with Percy on his knees, which is an image I will never turn away.
Now we’re at the precipice of ‘helping Monty have a wash’ again, although this time I manage to get my own trouses and shirt off, just need a little help with socks and pants. Percy gets the smaller articles off me as I watch his head bob around my lower half. He stands up again, his eyes lingering on my chest where there are dark bruises from the compressions.
“My eyes are up here,” I try for humour.
Percy’s eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m sorry Monty,” he says. He’s already apologised several times for giving me CPR and it’s starting to make me feel icky.
I shake my head. “There isn’t any need for apologies.”
“Still…wish I’d found you sooner. Wish I’d been with you the whole night and that you’d been safe with me.”
“You found me exactly when I needed you the most.”
“When you were—”
“When I was dying, yes.”
“Christ, please don’t say that so flippantly,” Percy snaps then softens as soon as it leaves his mouth. “Shit, I mean…let’s just get in the shower, shall we?” I lose the thread of anything else he says as he is taking his shirt off and tossing it carefully into the laundry bin.
I step into the shower, trying to take the deepest breath I have since the kidnapping. It gets caught in my chest and I wind up coughing. Percy hops in beside me, rubbing my back as I try getting regulated again.
“Alright?” he asks.
“Never better.” I turn toward him, my hands going to his hips.
Percy smiles at me, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth. The warmth from the water feels so deliciously soothing on my muscles and bruised bits. I close my eyes to enjoy the ease of being here, being looked after by the love of my life, my husband.
I gasp, eyes flying open.
Percy starts, looking over me worried, stepping back as if afraid he’s hurt me. “Monty, love, are you okay?”
I nod emphatically. “I get what you were saying earlier. I’m a husband. We’re married. We’re husbands.” It’s finally hit me: we did it. We get to be each other’s person forever, officially, legitimately. This may be the most exciting feeling in my whole life. If I weren’t a walking bruise standing in a slippery shower, I might actually jump for joy.
Percy blinks then laughs a little. “Yes, that’s right. You are and we are.” And he kisses me.
“I love you,” I say, staring up into his eyes, completely smitten.
“Meh, you’re alright,” he teases.
--
After three days of honeyhoming, the unpleasant achiness of my injuries has faded and apparently I’ve been approved to shower and shave and generally be without Percy’s supervision. He's never far away, however, normally right with me or just a room over and only for moments at a time. If I can milk this whole kidnapping thing in a way that gets me lots of Percy time, I’m not above doing so.
I want to kiss and hold Percy all the time. I have for years. But now, Percy seems unable to control himself around me for the first time. If he’s not kissing me in some way, shape or form, he’s cuddling me against his chest or curling together our fingers or lifting up my legs to lay across his lap. By the way, swoon, swoon, melt, someone revive me. Who’d have guessed Percy’s kink was the institution of marriage?
Speaking of kinks, in three days’ time, we’ve definitely experimented with variety. It’s not as if Percy and I haven’t ever indulged in slightly less than ordinary sexual activities. But it’s been few and far between, as our main focus has always been getting our hands and mouths all over each other as much and as quickly as possible. For our honeyhome, however, we decided to enjoy some extra spice. We did a little role-playing but that ended when Percy said he missed me in the middle of me pretending to be a naughty pirate. Which was adorable but a shame because I thought my acting was quite phenomenal. We tried one more roleplay but I couldn’t stop laughing when he tried to play the role of a French maid and kept talking in a silly accent and trying to “dust” me. We were going to try tying each other up but Percy insisted that it was too reminiscent of my kidnapping and he didn’t want to see me restrained again. As a compromise, I did get to tie him up, although he became so impatient to touch me that he had to be released early. Lastly, we tested out food sex (whipped cream and berries and chocolate sauce and the like) and that was actually a lot of fun. I mean, who wouldn’t want to lick sweet cream off Percy’s nipples? However, it was also very messy and cleaning our blanket is rather expensive. That particular activity we could replicate if we wanted to, just on a more easily cleaned surface next time.
It is because of all this merriment that we have agreed on a temporary ceasefire, if you will, because Percy’s started chafing and I’ve started feeling very dehydrated. And to be quite frank, Percy has abso-fucking-lutely worn me out each and every time we go at it. Despite that, I’m finding it very difficult not to continue instigating.
My legs are across Percy’s lap and Netflix is on in the background. On an impulse, I get his attention and he looks up from the magazine he’s flipping through. Holding my mouth open, I suggestively poke my tongue into my cheek repeatedly and am rewarded with the most adorable blush on Percys cheeks. Lord. Percy’s Cheeks: one of so many unfinished sonnets that are drafted in my mind. So it is with great panache/ that I kiss Percy on the cheek/ though it doth lead me to crash/ for it is by him that I’m made weak. Haters of fine poetry need not apply.
“Quit that, you horny pest,” Percy says, smothering me with a sofa pillow. I bat him away, determined to seduce him, when there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door.
I’m about to go see about it when Percy frees himself from my legs to go do it himself. I can’t tell if he’s doing it because he still thinks me injured or because he simply wanted to escape me for a second.
He opens the door and I can see him smiling. “Well this is a surprise,” he comments.
In comes Felicity, averting her eyes to the ceiling. “Are you both decent?”
Well fuck me sideways! (Which Percy has done before, leaving me a wet and dazed mess on the bed). I sit up straighter and wave at my sister. “Hello there, Feli. What brings you here?”
She’s carrying a box and indicates it when she says, “I’ve brought your cake topper for you to freeze until your first anniversary.” Ah, that’s right. We had left Feli and Percy’s friend Alex to clean up after the reception. Percy had wanted to get me home as soon as possible and into bed, which had fit my agenda perfectly.
“Thank you so much,” Percy says, taking it and putting it into our already cramped freezer. He returns shortly after and sits back down beside me, picking up my legs again to lay across his lap. I wriggle closer so that I can fling my arms around his neck.
“Won’t you stay and visit a while?” I ask Felicity. I smirk slightly, an impulse to tease her and her eye-averting ways bubbling up.
Felicity sets her keys on our small kitchen table and her bag on one of the seats and comes to join us, sitting in the furthest chair from the sofa, carefully like she’s afraid it might collapse underneath her. She grimaces at us.
“Do you really have to sit in his lap?” she asks, looking pointedly at me. “I do get that you’re married.”
I look her straight in the eye, and say, proudly, “I’m having his baby.”
“Good God.” An expected Felicity eye roll.
“Ooooh,” Percy hums, sounding like he’s ready to plough me right here and now. “You know I’d put a baby in you if I could.” I stick out my tongue in delight.
“What are you two smoking? Or is there a gas leak in here?”
“We’re in love,” Percy says in defence.
“Yeah, don’t be jealous, Feli,” I add.
“I’m opening these windows,” she threatens.
“You can if you like, but it’s cold out and that will just encourage us to go jump into bed to make our own warmth,” I inform her.
She stands up, sighing. “Thank you, Felicity, for coming all this way to bring our cake,” she grumbles. “Glad you could come so we could enjoy making this so uncomfortable.” She grabs up her keys from the table and slams the door behind her. I feel slightly bad but in fairness to Percy and me, it was very funny.
“Just the two of us now, dear,” says Percy. Percy is actually aces at pet names. He’s already done several but the ones on repeat so far are dear, sweetheart, babe (biting my knuckles over that one) and love. He also called me ‘princess’ once but I’m pretty sure that was an insult and not a pet name.
I start to stroke Percy’s hair but something must catch or irritate the skin because he pulls back a little to tap the side of his head with the heel of his hand so he can itch it without messing up his plaits. God, that’s the stupidest turn-on of my life.
He looks back over at me, smiling, but then it drops. “Are you crying?” he asks, confused.
“No.”
“Is it about my hair?”
“…yes.”
Percy smiles again, pulling me even closer. “You’re such an idiot,” he whispers to me, pressing a kiss to my temple. He’s so soft, I think I may die.
I lean up, my hand cupping his chin so we can have a proper kiss, even if it doesn’t end in a proper shag this time. Remember the ceasefire. I deepen the kiss and Percy pulls me over into his lap, straddling his legs.
Percy moans against my shoulder as I start gently nipping and pulling his ear with my teeth. I’m just about to bite him on the neck when he shifts and says, "Bugger."
“Well I’d like to, Darling, but we’re on a bit of a truce right now to preserve our nether regions,” I say, going back to lick the shell of his ear.
“No, Monty, God that’s amazing…no. Seriously. Felicity’s bag—”
I turn and look over my shoulder and see that in her haste to get away from our matrimonial delight, Felicity has left behind her bag in one of our two kitchen chairs. I sigh in frustration but quickly pull my phone from my pocket to try calling her. She sends it to voicemail.
Carefully, I extract myself from Percy’s lap—very nearly kneeing him in an aforementioned nether region and he flinches violently back; he’s astute to be wary of my clumsiness—and march over to see if there’s anything essential in Felicity’s bag that she can’t come back for later. After a little digging, I sigh again. It’s her wallet. Felicity lives a good few miles away but there’s a bus that runs practically right in front of her flat.
I turn to Percy. “I suppose I’ll be off to return this then,” I tell him, going to sort out clothes to bundle up in. I can’t believe I’m going to have to leave our flat during our honeyhome, although a part of me is itching for a little change in scenery.
Percy follows me to our hall closet. “I’ll go,” he offers, reaching over me to grab his own coat. I turn around so that we’re chest to chest. Well, his chest to my shoulders anyway. I catch his hand before he can start putting on his coat.
“I’ll be back in no time, Perce. Besides, I sort of started it.”
He frowns, looking at me with an expression of worry. “Monty, you’ve just gotten back from hospital…”
“Ah-ah,” I interrupt, wagging a finger at him scoldingly. “I’ve been back for four days and thanks to my nurse, I’m feeling much better. Anyway, I won’t have you out in the cold.”
Percy rolls his eyes. “I was going to argue with you some more but then you go and call me your ‘nurse’,” he says, teasing.
“Back in a tick,” I promise.
--
I get home after a long trek through icy sludge. Felicity was frustratingly not overwhelmed with gratitude when I brought her bag to her. However, she did give me a lift in her car almost all the way back home on her way to her hospital rotation. As I pass through the last few streets, I swear the temperature has dropped by ten degrees. If I were any wetter and colder, my hair would have icicles in it. Thank the lord for Percy and his knitted hats.
I let myself into our flat and he greets me at the door with a towel, warm from the dryer. I feel like I’m the luckiest man on earth. After jostling me dry, he leads me by the hand to the bath, which he’s filled with steamy water and fancy ingredients, little tea lights set around it.
“Thought you could use a warm bath after you were out in the cold, babe,” he says.
“You do know how to spoil a girl.”
Percy smiles fondly. “I’ll be on the sofa ready for cuddling when you’re done,” he says, leaving me. Although I’d rather he join me in the hot bath than leave me to my own devices with these over-the-top flowery smells. I peel off my soggy outer layers and lay them across the shower curtain rod to dry. My actual clothes managed to stay dry enough that I can simply place them in the laundry basket. I sink into the bath with a sigh, planning to enjoy it for ten minutes before getting back to Percy with haste.
I end up spending a bit more time in this Monty-trap that’s disguised as a bath. It feels amazing in here and if I wasn’t certain the bath was too small (we’ve tried every configuration of our limbs and torsos), I would call for Percy to come back and join me.
I’m getting pruny. I sigh and get to my feet, leaving the lovely, lovely warmth. I grab a towel and wrap it around me as I look for my clothes. Percy has thoughtfully laid out some pyjamas for me as well as pants, which is slightly odd because I never wear pants to bed. Maybe he’s hoping to see me in a thong.
The thongs are a treat for Percy at home but I’m so sorry to everyone in public that happens to see my VPL. Or you’re welcome? Either way, I’ve started calling this the Winter of Thongs. The only problem is now Percy can’t sleep at night for wanting to feel up my arse. We’ve both agreed that is a sacrifice we’re willing to make.
After dressing, I put my hair up in a towel turban as I do the rest of my bedtime routine, which is mostly just skincare and body lotion. I’m obsessed with Percy petting me and I want to remain pettably soft well into my seventies.
I put the towel on the shower rod to dry out with my outer clothes and go to find Percy. He’s not in the sitting room, so I go to search for him in the bedroom.
Hold up: get the Defibrillator on standby. I’ve just walked in on Percy with his pants halfway up and he’s inspecting something on his thigh in the mirror. One would think that I, as Percy’s husband, and I, as the person who has had my mouth on every centimetre of that buttery dark skin, would not have heart palpitations over seeing half of said husband’s arse. But then I never did conform to conventional reactions to things. It’s one thing that I enjoy about being this melodramatic because there are bound to be more moments like this mundane one that get my heart pumping and sending blood away from my head. The other day, for example, I walked in on him setting the table with a tiny set of salt and pepper. Oh, be still be heart.
I’m spotted staring and I freeze like a wildlife photographer caught by a bear. Percy smirks at me, tapping his thigh. “Did you leave teeth marks on me?”
“It’s not my fault you look like a snack,” I reply, sauntering up to him and putting my arms around him, staring at how good we look in the mirror.
He wraps his arms around me backwards clasping behind my back. Fucking tree, he is. I can barely see over his shoulder. “You smell so nice. What do you have in mind for this evening, love?” he says softly, watching me in the reflection.
“Just you fucking my brains out,” I answer casually.
He chuckles. “I can’t,” he insists. “We agreed to take the night off.”
“Right, and in about three hours, it’ll technically be morning.”
Percy smiles at me. “You’re a bloody animal.”
“Well this is the first I’m hearing of it.” I slide my hand down from his chest to edge across his thigh. He shudders pleasantly. We’ve agreed on no sex for tonight but that doesn’t mean I can’t wind him up. “Why don’t you sit down on the bed and let me take care of you?”
“Fuck, Monty,” he gasps as I run a finger up and down his hip. He turns around to face me and gives me a kiss that nearly makes me lose my balance. Thankfully my big strong tree of a husband is there for me to clasp onto like we’re the cover of a romance novel. Percy takes me by the upper arms and walks backwards until he’s sitting down on the bed.
“Perfect, just where I want you,” I say approvingly. “Now, would you like tea and a biscuit before bed?”
Percy’s face goes through the five stages of grief over the loss of a blow job quite quickly. He smirks and flips me off. I want to bite that finger. Or lick it. Or shove it up my—best not say it aloud or it mightn’t come true.
“Be right back, Darling.”
--
I return with a tea tray, feeling proud that perhaps it doesn’t taste like poison this time. I also have biscuits in case the tea is shit. I’m fiercely startled by Percy opening the bathroom door and I jump so impressively that one tea cup falls over and the other falls off the tray entirely. I’ve been jumpier than I normally am since being kidnapped. It’s kind of like a game show: am I flinching because I was held hostage or because of the years of being scared by my father? Shit if I know!
Percy comes straight over to me, his hands up in an I mean you no harm gesture, which is just adding to my embarrassment. “I’m fine, everything’s fine,” I assure him automatically, stooping down to retrieve the errant teacup.
He stoops down with me. “I know you’re fine,” he responds, taking me by the wrist. He probably thinks he’s slick, taking my pulse without me realising it. More fodder for my humiliation reel.
I look up to meet his eyes. “When is all this mothering me going to end?”
Percy has a thinking face for a moment. “I dunno. Never?” he says with a question on the second syllable. He thinks for another beat then says, “Yes, never.”
I frown at him, still balancing on the balls of my feet on the ground. “What do you mean—never?”
He stands, taking the tray from me and balancing it against his hip so he can help me up. “I’m always going to take care of you, Monty,” he replies. “And if you see that as me mothering you, so be it. But it’s not going to change me caring about you and looking after you. You’re my husband—yes, we’re husbands, we’ve done it, I am and you are. And that makes you mine. I make it a habit to take very good care of all that’s mine.”
I can’t even take a biscuit from the tray to stuff something in my gaping mouth because I’m too frozen, chest expanding with warmth and stomach flipping. My eyes jump to his battered violin case beside the bed. The case itself is a right disaster—mostly because he’s used it to attack people that have come after us—but the violin inside is polished, regularly rubbed down with rosin, and tuned immaculately before each time it’s played. I’ve always treated myself like the case; Percy’s treated me like the violin. Oh, look: I’ve just made myself blush.
Percy is staring at me. “Are…you going to saying anything anytime soon?” he asks, his lip quirking toward a smile.
“You know me, Darling,” I answer, only a little flurry in my voice to give away my emotion. “Why don’t we go to bed and you can find a fun way to get me to speak up?”