A Sky Without Zeppelins (34/?)

[amberfocus]

                                                        original banner art by theotherwillow

                                                                   Chapter Thirty-Four

Paris is beautiful at night and so as they edge onto the outskirts of the city Jonathon wakes a sleeping Rose with a few gentle shakes. “Wake up, love,” he breathes softly into her ear and is rewarded with his groggy lover shifting in his arms and smiling against the skin of his neck.

“Again?” she murmurs sleepily. “Okay, but let me wake up a bit first.” The low rumble of his laughter brings her more fully into awareness.

“No, love. That can wait for the hotel if you want. I just wanted you to see Paris as we approach. The lights of the city at night are spectacular.”

“Oh,” she says sheepishly then gives out a tremendous yawn. She disentangles herself from his arms and moves towards her window and he can’t help but feel a small sense of loss as her warm body moves away from his. He loves holding her so much; almost as much as he loves making love to her. Both of which he wants to do every night for the rest of their lives.

He fights down on his neediness. He’s already said too much to her tonight, talking about marriage and children with her as if he has the right to assume already that that is where they are heading. Although…nervous as she was about his comments she didn’t get upset. One of the things he’s learned about Rose Tyler is that she likes having a plan for her future. Maybe this simply slides him more firmly into the plan she already has for her life.

All he can do is hope and not push her too far and too fast. It is much like how he felt when first meeting her, not wanting to frighten her but not being able to stop himself from pursuing her so aggressively. He’d flirted with far more intention and far more seriousness than he’d done with any woman previously. He had made it clear nearly from the moment they met that he intended to take her as a lover. Now he has made it clear he intends to one day take her as a wife and wants to father children upon her.  At least she hadn't rejected the idea out of hand.

It had never been like this with Elisabeth. They’d stumbled into a friendship and then she’d pushed for more one night and the resulting marriage had been because of…because of the baby. Adric had been a beautiful accident. One he wouldn’t, couldn’t, regret.

He’d loved Elisabeth, loved her more for being the mother of his child than anything else, but he hadn’t been in love with her. Not like this, not the way he loved Rose. He remembers reading the words he’d written in one of his journals, now lost in the lorry accident fire, remembers thinking there was something cold about him, something callous to not be in love with a woman he so clearly had loved. He had wondered of himself if he was incapable of feeling it.

Jonathon watches Rose as she watches the city and knows that he is not. She has one arm propped on the door handle, her face cradled by her hand as she stares raptly out at the beauty that is Paris. His heart swells and he has to glance away. He looks out his own window and marvels in the fact that he gets to share something like this with the woman he is madly in love with.

He enjoys the scenery for a bit but his hand is itching to touch her and his body just wants to be closer to her again so he slides back across the seat and slips his arm around her shoulders, pressing his thigh against hers. Rose makes a soft sound of contentment and turns to smile at him. He takes advantage of the moment to press a gentle kiss into her lips.

When he releases her mouth she turns her head back to the window, her hand resting against his thigh and stroking softly. A buzz from the intercom fills the back and Jonathon reaches up to the ceiling and presses the button to speak. “Yes?”

“We’ll be arriving at your destination in approximately five minutes, sir,” the driver tells him.

“Thank you.” His natural innate time sense tells him it’s about an hour after midnight, perhaps a bit more, and he glances at his watch. It is 1:30 in the morning. He smiles as he always does when he gets that close to the accurate hour. It’s a matter of pride with him even if it is rather silly. They have made good time and that also makes him happy.

“What time is it?” Rose asks noticing the flash of light at his wrist.

“Half one,” says Jonathon.

“It’s late,” says Rose. She yawns again. “I’m tired.”

“We can sleep in.”

“And hungry,” she says as her belly rumbles audibly. “Is anything open this late at night?”

“There are a couple of restaurants that stay open 24 hours. Not like the selection you’d find at home, though. There’s a bakery near our hotel that’s open until three and we can always grab some croissants or something.”

Rose frowns. “I don’t like to fall asleep on just carbohydrates. I wake up feeling hung over.”

“Well, maybe we can ask the concierge to send out for something more substantial. Better than wandering about at nearly two in the morning.”

“Oh, I dunno. Wandering about at two in the morning sounds a bit romantic, least if I weren’t so sleepy,” Rose comments. She’s forgotten the scenery and is snuggling back against him. He wraps her firmly in his arms wishing he could pull her all the way into his lap, but knowing if he does he’ll be so aroused he won’t be able to walk into the hotel.

They arrive a moment later and the limo driver carries their bags into the brightly lit lobby of the hotel. Jonathon checks them in and then has a word with the concierge before herding Rose into the lift and pressing the button marked P. “We’re in one of Illuminate’s penthouse suites. Mr. Lumin keeps three in this hotel constantly at his disposal.”

Rose nods and smiles and leans into him. They are alone in the lift save the bellman carrying their luggage on a little trolley so he doesn’t pull out his favorite move and back her into the wall and snog her senseless until the doors ping open upon their arrival. But he thinks about it. And the way Rose shifts against him he’s pretty sure she’s thinking about it, too.

The lift does not open directly into the penthouse like in some of the other fancy hotels in this city. Mr. Lumin likes his privacy more than that so instead they emerge into a short hallway and Jonathon swipes his keycard through the little scanner before placing his thumb on a small, square reader next to it. He loosens his hand from around Rose’s and puts her thumb print up against it, too, then slides the card through the scanner once again. “This gives us access to the room without the keycard,” he tells her.

The bellman trundles the trolley into the bedroom and upon his return Jonathon unobtrusively slips some money to the man. The door closes tightly behind him and Jonathon follows Rose around as she explores there new surroundings. The penthouse is large, spacious, and airy, set on the corner of the hotel so that two of the outside walls have windows. There are two bedrooms each with its own bathroom, a kitchen, a dining area, a large main room with several overstuffed chairs and a huge, black leather couch accented with pale blue and green pillows that match the chairs. The carpet under their feet is white, thick and luxurious.

Off one of the bedrooms, the larger one they’ve decided to use, there is a balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower. It blazes in all its glory and Rose is completely entranced. He leaves her there at the knock on their front door and finds that the concierge has sent them up several small containers of food. He calls out to Rose and she meets him in the little dining area as he unpacks the small bags.

There are several different cheeses, some thick, crusty bread and butter, some dried meats and a selection of fruits. There are small bottles of condiments as well. Rose fills a small plate from the kitchen with a sandwich made from the bread, butter, and smoked salmon and selects a bit of Muenster cheese on the side. Jonathon has chosen smoked ham and Swiss cheese with stone-ground mustard for his sandwich and a large banana.

A cold bottle of sparkling water is split neatly between them as they hungrily dig into the simple meal. The concierge had also sent up a bottle of champagne that is now chilling in the refrigerator but neither one of them had felt like drinking alcohol this late at night.

They tumble into bed a half hour later, stripping off their clothes and not even bothering to find sleep wear to tug on. They make love rather sloppily and Jonathon isn’t even sure Rose is awake there at the end until she mumbles, “I love you,” as he withdraws from her body. He’s not sure if she came, but if she didn’t she doesn’t seem to mind, simply snuggles into him and drops immediately into a dream state. He yawns, settles his cheek against her hair and follows her down into sleep.



Rose stumbles into the bathroom late the next morning ready to take full advantage of the sumptuously appointed bathtub. She has left Jonathon lying on the bed flat on his back and snoring. She didn’t think he did that, at least not at such high volume, although she does have to admit that she’s been tiring him out with all the sex of late.

She smiles as she remembers making love in the limousine and then again in the middle of the night before slumber overtook them, fumbling and barely aware but glowing and happy at reaching completion all the same. At least she thinks she reached completion. She might have just dreamed that part. She’s only a tiny bit horrified at the idea that she might have fallen asleep in the middle of making love, and that only because she’s not sure what effect it might have on Jonathon’s ego if it’s true.

She runs the water in the tub, adding in thick, clear bath bubbles that scent the room with the heady fragrances of honeysuckle and jasmine. Sweeping her hair up onto her head she clips it into place, ignoring the little stragglers that inevitably hang down whenever she arranges it like this. She steps into the tub and lowers herself into the steaming water, the heat acting immediately to soothe the dull ache in her inner thigh muscles. Despite their frequent lovemaking she often feels a strain there the next morning. She grins. It is not enough to make her want to limit their sexual activities. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to the joy she has in making love with Jonathon. She hopes not. She wants to feel it for the rest of their lives.

Rose lolls in the tub for a long while feeling only slightly guilty about not waking up Jonathon and getting their day in Paris started. It is rare for her to have these moments of utter relaxation. She is always rushing from school to work to home and more recently to Jonathon’s. At least when she moves in with Rebecca she’ll be closer to both work and Jonathon and school will be over. All that time lost in getting from one place to another will be reclaimed.

She daydreams for a while about what it might be like to move in with Jonathon instead of Rebecca. Her head knows it’s too soon for something like that, just as her head knows it’s too soon for the marriage and the children that they’d discussed very generally the previous day. Her heart gets lost in the fantasy, dreaming of every night and day being like these stolen weekends.

“You look so beautiful,” Jonathon says in a low, rumbling voice and Rose starts, her eyes flying open. “Sorry,” he says apologetically. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

She smiles languidly up at him. The bathtub is big enough for two, nearly a foot longer than the one in Jonathon’s flat and twice as wide. “Join me?” she asks, reaching out for him. He takes her hand.

“You are a sore temptress, mademoiselle,” he says kissing the back of her hand. “But another time. Paris awaits.” She makes a little moue of disappointment and he laughs. “If all we were going to do was make love all weekend we could have stayed in London.”

“Never heard you complain about it before,” she says slightly hurt.

“Not complaining about it now, Rose. Every moment I’m not inside your body I want to be,” he tells her intensely. “You have no idea what even the thought of you clenched tight around me does to my body. But I want to show you Paris.”

Reassured she pops the plug and rises out of the warm water. “I’ll just need a quick shower before we grab a bite,” he tells her. His eyes follow her as she steps from the tub and rubs her body dry with a brisk scrub from the soft Egyptian cotton towel. He’s naked and running the shower by the time she’s finished and her eyes roam over his slender form.

“I want to touch you,” she says, “but if I do, we’ll never get out of here.” Her eyes trail down to his penis, half hard and pointing in her direction. “You gonna be okay with that?” She nods at his groin. “We can always do a quick shag before we go.”

Jonathon looks seriously tempted. “I was just gonna,” he nods at the shower, “you know. In there. But if you’re offering…” He turns off the water and sits down on the wide edge of the tub. He takes himself in hand and strokes gently until his erection is useable. “Come here,” he says.

She goes to stand before him, spreading her legs as his fingers seek out her warmth. She is relaxed from the bath and wet from seeing him naked. She’s almost embarrassed at how slick she’s become in just a few minutes, but nothing about her sexual response to him surprises her anymore. “There’re some condoms in the drawer,” he says indicating the counter. "I put some in there last night.” Rose goes to retrieve one and he slips it on.

He pats his lap and she arranges herself so she can slide down onto him, her legs going inside the tub while his are firmly on the bathroom floor. Rose has very little purchase against the wet fiberglass but she doesn’t need it as he grasps her hips and slowly raises and lowers her on his thick shaft. She loves him, loves this so much and she almost regrets Paris when it means they’ll have to stop doing this for hours. Her mouth finds his and she kisses him gently, tongues stroking in tandem with the gentle rise and fall of their rhythm.

She recognizes the telltale signs of orgasm in him, the fluttering closed of his eyes, the tensing of his pectoral muscles, the digging in of his fingers into the fleshy part of her hips and the soft, whimpering sounds that start to emerge from his throat. She breaks the kiss and he nuzzles against her breasts before sucking one nipple into his mouth and beginning to work it with his tongue. He swirls madly, then flicks against just the tip, then suckles so hard that it sends violent contractions straight to her sex. He’s brought her to orgasm with his mouth on her breast before and this time it’s even more powerful.

Rose spasms around him, her thighs and arms clenching as much as her inner muscles that trigger his own release, and continues to milk him of every last drop. She falls against him as she finishes, her forehead leaning against the place where neck joins shoulder. It takes her a moment to regain use of her legs and scramble awkwardly off of her lover. He rises and tosses the condom into the bin then turns the water back on.

“I’ll need another shower,” Rose says. “I smell like sex.”

He steps into the tub and holds out a hand to her, inviting her in. They keep it as simple as possible, using the shower for what is intended for, save a few caresses that are impossible for new lovers to avoid. They are finished much more quickly than a normal shared shower and both still feeling happily sated when they dry off and dress.

Rose plaits her hair into a long French braid down her back while Jonathon spends even more time on his own hair. Rose grins but doesn’t say a word. She loves the way it ends up and she has no intention of interfering with the process. Once their preparations to greet the day are finished they leave the penthouse and the hotel behind, and hand in hand walk down the streets of Paris seeking breakfast.



They walk for some time before Jonathon nudges Rose and gestures to an intimate looking café with an attached bakery. The menu posted on the door declares it to be serving brunch. “This okay?” he asks. Rose shrugs, her passable French telling her there are things on the menu she will eat, and Jonathon smiles and tugs her inside.

Rose ends up with very black coffee, a chocolate croissant, baked eggs and yoghurt. Jonathon eats the same only doubling the portions, adding in something that may or may not be sausage and adding a glass of orange juice and lots of cream and sugar in his coffee. Rose wonders where he puts it all, but she’s beginning to think he burns it all off during sex anyway.

When they finish breakfast Jonathon takes her hand and leads her along several streets until they find a shop that rents scooters. Rose is thrilled at the idea of seeing the city up close and personal and is more than happy to wrap herself around Jonathon. Jonathon grins at her in glee as she puts on the hot pink helmet then mounts the sturdy vehicle behind him.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Sacre Coeur,” he tells her. “It’s a basilica in Montmartre.” Rose settles into his back and he enjoys the warmth of her against him, the softness of her breasts as they press into his ribcage, the way her arms wrap about his waist and her spread thighs snug against his own. He can feel the heat from her sex against his arse and he hardens slightly at the thought of burying himself again in that heat later that night.

He swerves to avoid a pedestrian who has run out into the middle of the street and brings his attention sharply and fully back to his driving. It is a pleasant, mildly warm day and the air feels good as it rushes through the fabric of his clothing, caressing his skin through the material. Rose rests her head against his shoulder, her eyes on the buildings rushing past.

He finds parking a few streets away and they finish their journey through the winding roads on foot. “Are you religious?” Rose asks him as they approach the church.

“Not particularly,” he says.

“Why a church then?”

“I don’t know. I like old buildings and basilicas like this one…there’s something about the architecture. I like domes. I like the formality of the structures, the opulence of the interiors. In a way it feels like…coming home.” He frowns. “Now that’s an odd thought considering where I grew up.” He shakes himself. “There’s just something about them and when you’re inside them, you can practically smell the way history happened, like a snatch of time frozen still and waiting to be explored.” His voice has fallen into a rhythmic cadence and Rose is watching him with interested eyes. He feels almost as it he’s falling into some kind of trance.

When the fully unobstructed view of the basilica comes into sight she gasps. It sits high on the hill and is a gorgeous construction of domes and spires and arches. “It’s beautiful,” she says. Her step quickens and she’s tugging lightly on his hand, urging him onward, his near hypnotic state falling by the wayside in her obvious enthusiasm.



“As basilicas go this one isn’t really that old,” he murmurs to her as they approach the wide steps leading up to the church proper. “It was built during the late 19th and early 20th centuries and the architecture is rather unique even amongst similar buildings of its sort.”

There are three arches on the portico and to either side are statues, saints on horseback. “That one is Saint Joan of Arc,” he says pointing to the female, “and that is King Saint Louis IX.” Rose studies the bronze statue of Joan intently then glances up at the bell tower as the Savoyarde bell rings out. “It weighs nineteen tons,” Jonathon says nodding in its direction, “one of the heaviest bells ever cast.”



He tugs on her hand and they head towards the entrance. Rose is stunned by the beauty laid out before her. She has never been a particularly religious person but she is awed here, finding it less difficult to believe in God amidst the trappings of his believers. As they walk into the sanctuary her eyes are drawn to the images dripping in gold and lapis lazuli of Christ with his arms spread and a golden heart amongst his pure white robes, with various others kneeling about him.



He draws her to stairs and they climb up to a walkway with a thick stone balustrade. From here it is easy to see the stain glassed windows in finer detail, depicting images Rose assumes are from the Bible. “Those shadows,” Rose says as she points to either side of the windows in the archway, “they look like angel wings.”



Jonathon glances up and shivers. He doesn’t say that to him the shadows fall in such a way as to bring to mind a vulture or a bird of prey, something lurking, waiting to devour. Time suddenly feels wrong to him, as if the flow of it is off somehow and something small twists in his guts. He shakes it off as the sun shifts behind the glass and the shadow alters into harmlessness as light blazes through and makes patterns on the stone below. “You all right?” Rose asks her hand squeezing his at his shivers.

He trips over the words that come to the edge of his tongue and doesn’t say them. It isn’t the first time the phrase, “I’m always all right,” has come to his mind when he isn’t. “I don’t know,” he says instead. “For a moment there, it felt like something walked over my grave.”

“Why don’t we go outside?” Rose asks. “Get some fresh air.” She leads him gently down another set of stairs and through an arching hallway to a courtyard and then down the steps to a spectacular view overlooking the city. The warmth from the sun rushes into him and warms him and he wraps himself around Rose’s back, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Her hands rest over his at her waist and she leans into him.



“Feeling better?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. And he is.

“What happened?” she asks gently.

“I don’t know. Where you saw angel’s wings I think maybe I saw something else. Something wrong. Something that shouldn’t have been there. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.” He sighs. “Sorry, don’t mean to…to ruin our day.”

Rose twists around in his arms. “You could never ruin my day,” she tells him. She reaches up and grasps his face. “Any day we share together is a good day,” she says earnestly.

He dips his head down and kisses her softly, his tongue making quick, even strokes into her mouth. He sucks lightly on her lower lip before releasing it. He hugs her tightly to him. “I love you so much,” he says.

She snuggles her head against his chest. “And I, you,” she replies.

With a tender smile he breaks from her a few minutes later and his usual happy grin is back in place, his momentary discombobulation in the basilica forgotten. He wraps her hand in his and says, “Come on. I’ve something else to show you.” She allows herself to be tugged along; content to follow where he leads.

Ch. 35:  http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/205289.html