sundown | a football player and a countess kissing in a tree

[Jamie's smile grows lopsided when he feels more and more like she might actually like talking to him and she's not just annoyed at him. It's very encouraging, which makes his heart flutter.

He needs to be careful not to move too fast he thinks, she's a widow from what he's read and she's fine. So fine. Regal and dainty and fancy--- she won't like it if he comes onto her like a girl at the club.]

That was the plan, yeah-- [Jamie starts, but he cuts off when there's a zap and after the initial pull back, he reaches to touch her hand apologetically.]

Sorry. S'the velvet-- probably. Or sparks are flying. [He scrunches his nose again. Whoops.]

Friend sparks, I mean. [Unless?]

[ His hand is touch when he reaches for her, and her heart lurches in her chest, as much for the warmth and his boyish smile as the wayward comment, eyes widening. Well, that's ... that's something. Her cheeks tinge with color.

A little cough follows, head ducking to her shoulder, trying to think of something to say to that. What she should say. Crap. Oh God, she hasn't flirted in years. She's not used to this. Clearly. Her eyes flicker up to his, searching. She takes a pretty ample swallow of the champagne, then simply... goes for it. ]

There was a plan, then?

Well.. [Jamie starts, trails off and anxiously scratches his cheek before he decides to lay it out.]

I like the music, obviously. You're amazing at it-- and passionate-- and I felt that. [He gestures at his heart but his hand drops and he shrugs.]

This is mad, you're going to think I'm nuts. But when I saw you the first time-- and we made eye contact? I just.. felt like I wanted to see you again, y'know? But I didn't know how to reach you, 'cause you're not easy to find outside of here.

[ She’s not entirely accustomed to the frankness with which he speaks, at least not lately, not about something like this, and it’s a little unnerving ... but also refreshing. She prefers things to be straight forward, even if it is presently disarming and she looks like a deer caught in headlights.

She’s been out of the game a very long time. Even then, she’d hated dating. Positively loathed it. John had fallen into her lap, and they had married shortly after in a very small chapel wedding with only family.

Francesca wonders at this stranger, his open expression. Slowly, a smile comes to her face. ]

Well. [ She returns, swallowing. ] It does sound a little mad.

[ Her heart thumps in her chest.

She blurts out: ] Did you want to have coffee with me? I mean. If you drink coffee. At night. Or .. tea? [ Shut up shut up shut up ]

[It could be concerning that she agrees he's acting mad, but Jamie is a doctor of Body Science and he knows how to read a woman (who is very clearly smiling invitingly at him). Her mutual interest seems to fluster him a little.

He used to be a lot smoother, but maybe that's because he cared less about making a good impression and it was just a numbers game with girls. He's grown out of playing games and playing hard to get, so he's nodding vigorously at her invitation.]

I drink a lot of thinks-- yeah. Love to drink them with you. [God.]

D'you want coffee now? We can go get a coffee now-- or we could have a coffee at mine. [He holds up his hands at chest height as if in surrender or something.] Not trying to make a move like that-- I just have a really nice coffee maker.

[ Well, he’s in good company. Francesca has never been smooth. Ever. At least when it came to dating. Unless you count pure disinterest as smooth, she hasn’t been interested in dating before or after John.

She hasn’t been interested in anyone since.

His offer to join him at his home makes her eyes widen once more, surprised, to wonder if she should be insulted by his forwardness — but he quickly smooths it over. She titters. ]

Yes. Yeah. Coffee would be nice. Lovely, really. I would like to see your .. erm, coffeemaker. [ She’s blushing, good lord. Like some school girl and everything. Nonetheless, her eyes sparkle when she lifts them to his in embarrassment. ]

I mean, I could use it after the performance. Um. Is it nearby?

[Jamie is delighted when she agrees to come over, though he still feels mad. It also feels right to him and he pushes down the nervous energy and chooses to just enjoy where this takes them.

He doesn't live far but with London traffic, there's a bit of time to idly chat in the car. He is terribly proud of his shiny Aston Martin but he's sure it's not much of a flex to Francesca, not after looking her up. As fancy as his car is, he still has tchotchkes such as a little rubber ducky and a soccer ball hanging from his mirror.

They pull up to his home and he leads her in, nattering about how often footballers move cities. It tracks that his home is decorated and furnished as if it came that way, but there's elements of his personality throughout it.

He holds his hand out to her.]

Can I take your coat? Make yourself at home, I'll pop the heater on.

[He gestures at the couch, which is plush and covered in a fuzzy blanket and pillows.]

[ If she looks at all uncomfortable, it’s not necessarily because of the fancy car, though the rubber ducky puts her more at ease, and they end up talking much of the drive to his house. She makes an idle note to mentions she knows basically nothing about football.

The Bridgertons, being old (ancient) money, don’t take to flashing it often. Her own ride is an older Subaru SUV that had often made the drive between Scotland and England. She likes his flat, even if it’s sparsely decorated, eyes scanning around to take it all in as he flicks on lights. It’s smaller than anything she can remember being in since she was a child taking piano lessons with her teacher. Kind of cozy.

Francesca sheds her coat for him, stopping midway to the couch and looks back at him. She’s been wearing heels for the last several hours and her feet ache. Balancing a hand on a coffee table, she leans down to take them off. ] May I? [ He did say to make herself at home. ]

Edited 2025-03-23 22:53 (UTC)

[Jamie is new to this lifestyle, enough that a lot of it is novel and that he has happily used it to get girls before. Strangely, he's never really felt that self conscious about his upbringing. He's proud of it. He's a fighter. With Francesca, it's a little different. She's fine in every sense of the word and he finds himself utterly terrified that he'll fail to meet her standards or that they'll just have nothing in common to keep them together.

But there's chemistry, and he believes in chemistry. To the extent that he's charmed by just the question she asks and everything she does.]

If you're doing that, I'm taking this off.

[Jamie hooks his finger into his bowtie to pry it off. The velvet coat follows and he drapes it over a chair.]

How d'you have your coffee?

[He asks, padding toward the kitchen when he does. He leaves it to her to decide if she wants to join him or get comfy.]

[ With a laugh, she has no choice but to give him an appreciative once over as he strips off his coat, her heels coming off in the same heartbeat, sighing her pleasure. That’s better.

Her eyes linger on his ass before she pulls her gaze away. Of course he has a nice body; he’s an athlete. And she doesn’t think he would mind being checked out. ]

Black, please, [ she calls after him, and sits on the sofa, drawing a leg beneath her, making mental notes as her eyes drink in his living room.

She makes an effort of sitting there and waiting, she does. But in the next instant, she’s up on her feet, following him into the modern kitchen, barefoot. The truth is, he’s too pretty for her to let him out of her sight.

She’s quiet, though, has always been the quietest in an expansive family, so he may not realize she’s in the doorway, watching his back. Gently, she speaks, peering toward a photo on the wall. ] Is that your team?

[Jamie is quite certain he feels her eyes lingering on him and he allows himself to bask in it without showboating. Much.

It is a nice shirt, so he uncuffs and rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. One tattooed, one bare. Might as well let her see them, she will eventually.

He sets about taking out cups and fiddling with the machine. His vanilla latte is quite the opposite of her order but, like with all things this evening, he isn't going to pretend he's not a boy who likes a sweet treat.

Jamie jolts in surprise when he realises she's joined him, since he's unbuttoning his top buttons and thinks he looks suss. Still, he's quietly pleased when she joins him, arching a brow at her.]

You're like a little mouse, aren't you? [His eyes follow her as she peers around, briefly distracted by the coffee. He glances up again, smiling broadly and nodding.]

That's us, yeah. [With the coffees in his hands, he joins her to look at it. He leans in a little closer so he can tease her.]

You don't know a single one of 'em, do you?

Edited 2025-03-24 08:02 (UTC)

[ Francesca may look delicate, but she’s a Turkish coffee kind of girl. The stronger the better.

The pride is noticeable in his voice. She glances at him, taking the proffered mug — there’s something about Richmond on the body of it. She doesn’t take a sip yet, steam rising to heat her face. This close, his cologne perfumes over her. She takes a deeper breath, enjoying both that and the smell of fresh brew.

When he teases her, she gasps, feigning offense. ] I will have you know I do, actually. I know him. [ Defending herself, she points at the tallest person in the photograph. In the sea of smiling men, he’s the only one who isn’t smiling. ] His name is — Zara? Or something?

[It's a bit surreal to be standing this close to Francesca after admiring her from afar for so long. Now she seems far more real than an ethereal, piano playing fairy princess and that's somehow even better.

He's standing so close to her he could touch her and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with the desire to. Her hair smells nice this close and he wants to press his face against it. Her skin looks soft and he wants to trace his fingers up her arms. Her lips are a nice, full pout and they look like they need to be kissed.

He refrains, taking a triumphant sip of his coffee when she gasps. He nearly chokes on it when she points out the absolute worst person. That absolute fucking miserable prick who is towering over Jamie. Jamie sets his jaw and presses his lips together in a pout she will get used to seeing, but it's not her fault so he tries not to be a cock.]

Yeah. Zara. Got too old to be any good and he retired. Nice bloke. [Flatly, but politely.]

Shall we go sit down then?

[ Francesca looks triumphant herself about being able to recognize at least one player. Up until she, with a smile cut short, catches the soured look on his face.

She takes a sip just then, filing away her curiosity about that reaction, because she misses that silly smile he wore just a minute ago for her, even if the pouted mouth looks very kissable right now. Maybe especially so. She wants to try to get to know him.

He’s drop dead gorgeous, really, frustratingly so, but she isn’t the type to jump into bed with someone. She hasn’t had sex in years, in fact. The thought makes her heart twinge, to even be considering it. To be wanting it so badly.

With that in mind, she puts some space between them when they sit, looking over her cup at him. ]

I don’t know anything about football, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, I know that is a British crime. Try not to call the police.

[Jamie can't help but notice the distance she puts between them, only because he's over-analysing everything. She's a proper lady, though, maybe it's not appropriate to sit thigh to thigh with a strange man.

Still, he craves closeness with her as soon as he doesn't have it. It feels like it would be perfectly natural to drape an arm around her shoulders, but he doesn't.

He smirks over his cup at her, then shrugs.]

I didn't know anything about piano playing until I saw you. I didn't even want to go, my friend brought me the first time.

[Might as well be honest.]

Maybe if you saw someone brilliant and beautiful playing footy you'd be more interested.

[Now for a well-timed sip.]

[ It does feel unnatural to sit so far from him, a niggling feeling of loss, especially when they spent upwards of an hour in traffic together. She just needs to try to reel back the desire to sit in his lap.

Or on his face.

She hums back at the observation-slash-suggestion, just stifling a laugh. He’s naturally funny. Instead, she dryly smarts back. ]

Your friend has good taste.

[ Roy Kent, man of sophistication. ]

Now that I think about it, it’s possible. Would you happen to know anyone who would fit the bill? [ Her eyes are big and innocent and very interested to hear his suggestions. ]

Edited 2025-03-24 09:14 (UTC)

The way I see it, we've got two options. I get you tickets to a match, you've got minimum 22 players to pick from. Myself included.

[He touches his chest to emphasise this. Jamie gesticulates in such an animated fashion that his coffee wavers around precariously.]

Or, you let me take you to a game together so you've got someone to tell you what's going on.

[Jamie leans in, a cheeky look on his face.]

Then you'll have 23 to pick from, myself included.

Edited 2025-03-24 09:44 (UTC)

[ He leans in all conspiratorial and Francesca would later say she was powerless but to do the same, enchanted, compelled to be closer to him. She can’t keep her eyes off him.

Her nose crinkles all cutely in reply. ] Well, I think I already know who I would choose. [ At this point, she gives him a look that could be called coquette. Are they flirting? She hopes she’s doing it right. ] But maybe I should keep my options open?

[Every time Jamie worries that he's overstepping or laying it on too thick, it seems like she matches his energy. Like they're already synchronising.

He leans in just that little bit more, his eyes bright from laughing and scanning over her lips to her eyes. He licks his own lips, shifting again. All these tiny movements happen in microseconds but his thoughts and his heart are racing.

She's a widow that he cornered and lured back home to get her alone. He can see she's interested, her body language is receptive and he's aching to close the distance, but he stills himself.]

Can I kiss you?

[As is thematic for the evening, he feels mad. He's so close he can smell the coffee on her lips and he desperately wants to taste it.]

[ She feels it, too. The heat, the buildup, the tension. It’s been a long time for her, years upon years, but her body and her heart recognize the signs, the feelings stirred within her, responding to his closeness, his scent.

Still, Francesca holds her breath when he asks, her chest constricting, fingers clasped tightly around the cooling mug of caffeine. She licks her own lips, then melts, wondering at the way he asks permission, how thoughtful it is.

Timidly, soberly, she nods, a half second before she sidles closer to bridge the distance, desperate for it. ]

[When Francesca nods, Jamie makes a noise between a huff and a giggle that he will find extremely embarrassing but probably sounds sweet. He sets his own mug of coffee aside, resting a hand lightly on her thigh as he closes in.

He slides his other hand over her cheek, cupping her face and kissing her softly, tasting her lips and easing into it. His eyes flick shut, but the hand on her thigh moves to rest over one of hers to help her support the mug.

Testing the bounds a little more, he flicks his tongue over her bottom lip as if to tease her into parting her mouth more for him. Ever vocal, he makes a soft, pleased sound and his thumb traces against her cheekbone.]

[ She thinks she might be rusty, it’s been so long since her last kiss, but she folds into the first press of his lips to hers, plump and soft against her own, grateful that he’s going gentle and slow.

He tastes like coffee, like vanilla bean and cinnamon. Nudging closer to him, seeking more, she makes her own sound, unmistakably of pleasure, of wanting, as her lips open for his tongue to dip into. The mug is unsteady in her hands, jostled by her, her fingers twitching to touch him in kind. ]

[Jamie slides his fingers under hers to procure the mug from her hands, he moves to set it aside but doesn't stop kissing her. He drops his hand from her face so he can clasp her hands while he deepens the kiss, humming softly as his tongue slides past her lips and into the warmth of her mouth.

He feels like he's tipsy but he hasn't had anything to drink, like he's just melting into her. It feels impossible to stop kissing her, but eventually he needs to breathe. His lips are still touching hers when he pulls back, peering at her from this funny angle.]

You're so beautiful.

[ Every noise, every movement, she dedicates to memory, carried away by his lips and his warm tongue inside her mouth. She’s breathing hard when it ends, and with idle surprise, realizes she’s wet already, the doing of the skill of his mouth and his proximity.

After a long pause, her hands squeezing his, she opens her eyes. And thinks. For a moment, maybe two, before she presses him back into the back cushions, with intention, so that she can seat herself in his lap, dress sliding up her thighs. From this vantage point, she slides his arms above his head, looking down at him with blatant desire. ]

Funny, I was going to say the same about you.

[She's wet, he's a little firm. It's part of why he breaks the kiss to breathe. He smiles admiringly at her when she opens her eyes, his gaze searching and not expecting her next moves.

He's pliant and easy enough to shift backward, though his brows shoot up and his eyes widen. It's not often a girl takes the lead and he certainly wasn't expecting it to happen tonight-- but he's thrilled.]

Woah-- [The surprise escapes him, but he shifts under her and brings his legs up to seat her better in his lap. If he wasn't visibly hard before, he's getting there now. His fingers twitch above his head and he pushes his chest up gently to try and lean up eagerly, searching for another kiss.]

If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to have your way with me.

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