Title: A Dream, Nothing More? (Ever The Gentleman)

Notes: Written as part of a self-indulgent dream phase. You know, when you have a dream, you write it down in story format.

WAS crew: no, the boy with the green eyes is NOT the boy you know. Physically, he's based on a British actor, so don't get too excited. lol

After many a night of being wined and dined, she finally gives in.

“Good night,” she says softly, preparing her key to unlock her flat door as usual.

“Good night, miss,” he says, ever the gentleman. As she turns to the door, she catches his bow out of the corner of her eye. How can a man make a simple suit look so dashing that he looks like every woman’s dream of Mr. Darcy? She rests her head against the cool door, letting her breath out in a rush.

He gets to her. He’s like a fine liqueur, smooth, cool, & strong; he gets into her bloodstream & the tingly, heady feeling is there long after he takes his leave of her (& yes, he does actually use language such as that; he’s like a Romantic poet, left behind long after the movement ends). & always, always, the next morning after she sees him, she’s left with a headache & a dry throat; the one from trying to unravel his mysteries, the other from talking long into the night to her best friend, discussing every moment in hi-definition detail.

“Are you alright, miss?” His soft accent sounds from behind her & she feels a light hand touch her shoulder. She shudders & a second hand joins the first, one on each shoulder. He finally calls her by name, asking worriedly if she’s okay, & she shivers, more violently this time & sighs loudly.

“No, I’m not.” She finally turns to face him, only to find his face close to hers, his honey-tinted green eyes staring at her with a mixture of concern & hunger. The former touches her; the latter touches her in places a lady ought not to be touched. His hands are still on her shoulders, fingers curving down & lightly touching her back with the tips. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes to keep from fainting into his arms like a romance novel heroine & says the words she thought she’d never say. “But perhaps you could help me feel better.” She opens her eyes, barely allowing herself a breath, & is very glad she’s not wearing a corset, for she’d be sure to faint then. The look in his eyes is magical, a hint of naughty surrounded by surprised pleasure.

“Are you asking me to come inside, miss?” The words are said lightly, but his voice is deep, husky, not at all the soft, sweet lilt she’s used to. His deep green eyes twinkle & he grins, somehow both feral & sincere.

“I believe I am, sir,” she says, pushing the door open behind her. He sweeps his arm out in a bow, ushering her forward. “Ever the gentleman,” she murmurs and she thinks she hears him giggle, a short, odd sound.