FicWad

Victoria was kissing Zorro thoroughly, focused on the sensations it was giving her and on providing these to him in return, when it occurred to her that it was probably the right time to set in motion the resolution she had made earlier after her strange talk with Don Alejandro's... girlfriend? Novia...?

Whatever. She really didn't want to think about Don Alejandro right now. She had set herself a target for tonight, and this target was just a few feet away from her: her bed. With the man who was currently in her arms.

She had taken the time of mature deliberation in the evening, has weighed things as composedly as an Escalante could – for whatever that meant – and she had decided that if this Señora Valdès could hold her head high, then she, Victoria Escalante, was courageous enough to do the same. And seeing how fond that woman was of her little girl and how adoringly she looked at her, she certainly didn't regret this turn her life had taken, and for nothing in the world would she go back in time and have it any other way...

Victoria was tired of constantly denying herself what almost all the other women had: a man in their bed, and a family. Children.

All the family she had had for a dozen years now came down to two nearly 'estranged' brothers who left to live their lives long ago and whom she barely ever saw, or just once every other year or so; even though the three of them kept in touch and regularly exchanged letters, mail wasn't the same as a presence.

And a presence she currently had in her arms, in flesh and blood. This made all the difference.

Or did it? Was he really, truly present with her? Right now and physically, yes he was. But even whenever he was there, a part of him was always on the alert, always devising an escape that could come at any moment, always searching and spotting a way out. Not to go away from her, of course she knew that, but away from danger, from soldiers. But still, even when he was there with her, he wasn't fully, totally and undividedly with her.

Undividedly... she inwardly laughed at herself. A laugh without any joy. Of course, how could he be undivided when he was hiding from her a very large part of who he was? Like his name, to begin with. His identity. And his face.

How could he be undivided when he had two identities? He once told her there were two men in him, and that the main one, the real one feared she didn't love him. The one she didn't know. She had retorted that it was rubbish – even if she didn't exactly phrase it like that, this had been the main idea. She said that both parts were making the same man, and that she loved the heart beating in his chest, the man's heart which was making him act as Zorro. But she could feel she hadn't convinced him. He still talked as though he were two men, and as though only Zorro courted her. At least that was the impression she had, recently.

Could it mean that he thought that only the Zorro part in him loved her? And that deep inside, the man in him wasn't sure he wanted to make his life with her? And perhaps the constant postponing in fulfilling his promise to her was in fact an unacknowledged relief, to him?

Well, she resolved, no backing off for him tonight, and no more waiting for her. Time to take action, Victoria Escalante! No more delay for her, and no respite for him, even though she knew he would leave afterwards: she wasn't naive to the point of believing that they would have a sweet, cuddly and lazy morning after in each other's arms, slowly and gently waking up at the first light of dawn...

She seductively ran her hands along his spine, down to the small of his back, slowly, oh-so slowly, and then back up to his shoulder blades, her palms flat against the meanders of his frame. All the while, she wasn't leaving his mouth in peace: she'd been gently caressing the roof of his palate with the tip of her tongue when her hands roamed downwards, and then on the way up she'd been gently and slowly nipping at his lower lip.

Oh yes, he was beginning to drift in, she felt him relax, she felt the muscles of his back become less and less tense, his alertness was starting to falter, he was melting: she was gaining ground over his constant grip on himself. He even moaned!

Now he was using his arms and hands on her back to press her flat against him... The whole of her against the whole of him... And he moaned again! She would have gladly patted herself on the back for this rare achievement, but she felt that whatever had troubled him earlier in the afternoon had apparently helped eating away at his usual resolve and self-control, so she kept modest – well, so to speak... And anyway, he wasn't in her bed yet!

Suddenly, at the former idea, a thought sprung to her mind: was she taking advantage? ...of a weakened man?

With horror, she drew back and gasped, her eyes wide. How could she do that to him?

It seemed to make him snap out of the very pleasant sensations he had unknowingly plunged into. He looked at her still a bit dazedly, but definitely aware of their surroundings and of the situation.

"Mi querida," he breathed, taking a small step back, "I'm... I'm sorry, I– I shouldn't have–"

What?! He was taking the blame on himself for that?! Argh, Victoria thought, that man was so frustrating! How dared he take her desire from her and upon himself?! Wasn't she allowed even that? Hadn't she the right to womanly desires in his mind? El cabr– oops, no, that was a bit too strong a word for him, she reflected.

Well, she realised, he was regaining his wits quite fast! So perhaps no, she hadn't really been taking advantage, right? Not over such a level-headed man, no, this could hardly be the case, she reflected. So there was no wrongdoing in taking the only very small advantage she could have over him, was it? It was not like he was any ordinary man, he was el Zorro! And with such a formidable adversary, you had to make the most of any tiny breach you could find in his defence.

But on the other hand, she remembered him telling her that deep down, he was just a very ordinary man. Was it fair to seduce him to her bed? And to hope for a child without telling him so? But she already knew that, stubborn as he was, he would say no if she asked for it.

Was it morally decent to take advantage of him? Of the ordinary man in him?

But Victoria was tired of waiting, and she precisely wanted him to show her how ordinary a man he was. Right now she didn't want a hero, and she was tired of being the hero's virtuous fair lady. Right now she wanted to be an ordinary woman, in bed with her very ordinary man.

And anyway, decency was far overrated.

She noted that the only good thing in the step back he took away from her was that it got him closer to the bed. Make the most of a bad deal, Victoria, and turn it into an advantage! She took a step forth, slowly, idly, so as not to scare him away and not be too obvious.

"Don't talk rubbish," she gently murmured in her most innocent voice, "you did nothing wrong. Please hold me..."

And she didn't wait for him to comply, she buried herself against his chest, but kept her arms to herself, refraining from hugging him: she needed him not to feel imprisoned, needed him to feel free of his moves – for now. Needed him to feel in charge and free to back off if ever he wanted to.

Only until she made him nearly as crazy with want as she was.

His arms gently hugged her as she nestle her head in the crook of his neck. She sighed with contentment and felt him relax again. She waited a good twenty seconds before raising her eyes to look at him and asking him with the purest smile she could manage:

"Please, kiss me..."

He gazed adoringly at her through the two holes in the mask and slowly lowered his lips to hers for a chaste kiss.

No haste, Victoria repeated herself again and again, no haste!

Then after some time and a few pecks on his lips, she dared deepen the kiss slightly. And then less slightly. He was still responding. Good. Was still relaxed. Very good. Crossed his arms behind her back to put his hands on her shoulders. Very very good.

She broke the kiss and began pampering the side of his jaw and then of his neck with featherlike kisses.

Still no negative reaction from him. Quite the contrary: he even arched his head back to grant her better access and offer her more skin surface to treat, to celebrate. And to feast on.

He was now breathing a bit heavily and she could feel it against his throat. Great, he was on the right track again! She was sure he had his eyes closed, but she didn't dare take a look, since it would mean stopping the slow kissing of his throat that he seemed to be enjoying so much and tear her lips way from the skin of his neck. She didn't want to risk breaking the mood she had finally managed to restore.

She didn't dare encircle him with her arms either. Not yet. But since her hands were currently idle and unoccupied – and tingling with the need to do something and preferably something that would consist in touching him – she raised her left arm to slowly run the pads of her fingers over his breastbone. The tips of it glided over the silky material of his black shirt on the way up, and then even higher up, it came in direct contact with his skin. He breathed even deeper and she added some pressure of her tongue on his neck when on the way down, her fingers met again the barrier of his shirt. But instead of gliding over it like she did at first, she slid them lower between the folds of black fabric to keep contact with his skin. Then she resumed her slow stroking from the bottom up, and down again, and up again, wreaking havoc in Zorro's usually clear mind.

Oh my God ohmyGod myGodmyGodmyGod was his last remotely coherent thought.

z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z

¡Oh Dios mio! Alejandro thought again, seeing the look in Araceli's eyes.

"You're confused," he told her, taking a small step back so that their chests weren't touching anymore. "You're on edge. You really should go to bed," he said again.

"Oh but I have every intention of going to bed, Alejandro," she replied slowly and meaningfully, staring at him intently with her burning gaze.

¡Oh Dios, Dios!

He gulped; an involuntary reaction which was a mistake since just then, Araceli looked at his Adam's apple, fascinated by its move. Seeing her gaze, he felt something roll and turn and tickle in the pit of his stomach.

Oh, no... Get a grip on yourself, man!

He closed his eyes a split second to collect himself.

Yes, that was better. He opened his eyes again.

"Araceli," he told her, "now is not the time–"

"I know, I know, Alejandro," she replied, taking another step to him to snuggle against him, "but I honestly don't care about the time..." she added in a weary voice, laying her head on his shoulder.

It really was frayed nerves talking, he reckoned. She needed to calm down in order to see things straight. And to realise that a good and gentle – and friendly! – hug was all she needed.

He wrapped his arms around her in order to have her relax against him and release some of the tension of the day. She was slightly shaking, but then the trembling stopped and he heard her sigh contentedly. Yes, he thought, a good hug and then, off to bed with her! Erm... well... her bed. Without him!

He absent-mindedly rubbed his hands over her back to soothe her and she relaxed even more. Good, he thought.

Not so good, he realised when he felt her snake one of her arms behind his head and run her hand through his hair. Thank God, her other hand was still trapped between them. Except that since it was not far from his chest, she could certainly feel the now quickening pace of his traitorous heart.

He moved a bit to the side to un-trap her hand and thus prevent her from realising how he was unwittingly reacting against his better judgement.

She was clearly shaken from the trying day they had and it would be wrong for him to take advantage of her in her troubled state. And anyway, he decided, he didn't want to take advantage. He didn't want her. Period.

After all, he wasn't the one who had knocked at the other's door! He hadn't asked for anything. He still didn't ask for anything. Except for her to go back to bed.

And anyway, he was too old now for a woman like her, a woman who was already too much of a woman for just any man, let alone a man his age... She probably would be in for a disappointment.

And if she was to be disappointed and frustrated, he'd rather have it the way which would allow him to keep his head high, and not at the expense of his own male pride...

But she didn't seem aware of his inner fight and doubts.

"You're a nervous wreck, my dear," he gently told her, like a parent patiently explaining something to his child. "You need to sleep it off. You shall feel better in the morning."

Yes, he thought, there were other ways to release the tension than the one she presently had in mind.

"I don't want to sleep, Alejandro. I can't sleep. I've tried to, but sleep evades me."

And just like earlier, she laid her freed hand flat over his breastbone.

"Please, Alejandro..." she simply repeated, looking at him intently.

He swallowed hard. Could she just stop using his forename every other sentence? Could she at least stop gazing at him with those big dark eyes of hers?

"You're not thinking straight, Araceli," he told her once more, unable to find anything more convincing.

"...'don't care about 'straight', right now," she murmured."...'don't even care about thinking..."

She nestled her head in the crook of his neck, kissing the skin just at the junction of his earlobe and the side of his throat.

He screwed his eyes shut, frowning, remembering with all his might that he didn't want her. Absolutely not. And the butterfly-like kisses she was dropping and delivering all along his jaw didn't change anything to this. At all.

"...'need you, Alejandro," she breathed in a pleading voice.

¡Madre de Dios!

But no, he absolutely didn't feel the hot wind of her heavy breathing on the dampened skin she had just kissed. Nor did the gentle nuzzling she was doing on his throat arouse anything in him. And the heat he was feeling on his forehead and cheeks was certainly due to the hot weather of the season.

"...'need it," she repeated in a whispering heavy breath. "Please..." she added in a near moan.

¡Oh DiosmioDiosmioDiosmio! ¡Ayúdame!

And if he hadn't grabbed her wrists to take her dangerous hands away from him, it was only out of chivalry, of course. Right?

But he wasn't sure he regretted this mistake, since now her right hand was roaming over his back, and it felt good...

No! not good, he reminded himself, it was not good at all. Quite the contrary. Get a grip, for God's sake!

Yet this hand dared not tug at his shirt to slip under it. ¡Gracias a Dios! he thanked looking high above, recognising here a small answer to his earlier prayer.

But her left hand was gently stroking along his sternum up to his neck and then from his throat down to his chest, and she had even undone the first button of his shirt to have better access to more of his skin.

¡DiosDiosDiosDios! Give me strength!

All his life, Alejandro de la Vega had prided himself on being a strong man. But when Araceli ran the knuckles of her bent fingers along his breastbone oh-so lightly in featherlike strokes, when she then caressed his chest with the pads of her fingers on the way up and lightly grazed his skin with her nails on the way down, Alejandro knew that he was in fact a very, very, very weak man.