Christmas in Charmed Castle

Something from above tugged at the corner of his lips as he cupped the mug in his hands without drinking it. "Of course you did."

"Did it go bad?" She wrinkled her nose.

"It's ten in the morning." She probably hadn't thought about that, but Nathaniel found himself not wanting to care if she had thought about it. Because he had.

"Oh." She looked at him apologetically before letting out a sneeze.

For a short moment, they didn't talk; he was watching her as she swirled around, taking in the environment.

"It's a little sad this time of the year," She said. "It'll be wonderful in the summer."

"You'd think so." He moved behind her to nudge her in the direction of the chapel; she'd been sneezing since she got into his car.

"I know so." She looked up at him, and he wanted to kiss her then, but instead, he said, "Even with all the ghosts."

"They will be on vacation. It's tiring to haunt throughout the seasons."

His soft laughter was carried away by the icy breeze as they slowly headed towards the chapel in another stretch of silence.

"Nathaniel?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you working on Christmas?"

For a moment, he considered not answering her—he had certainly deflected the question before—while her eyes, lined with thick lashes, blinked at him, waiting patiently for his answer.

Finally he said, "I don't have anywhere to go."

And then she removed his glove from her hand, picked up his bare one and held it in hers, small, soft but full of warmth.

Nathaniel wanted to stay in her hand, holding on to her, but he was afraid of the moment when she let go, the moment when warmth was replaced by a void, so he removed himself from her hand.

She looked at him with exasperation.

And then her phone rang; Seraphine probably didn't get her persistence from nowhere. She didn't look at her screen before hanging up the call.

"Just tell her you don't need a man in your life."

"What if I want one now?"

"Seraphine." He was not sure if it was a warning or a pleading.

"I thought you liked me," she said with more uncertainty.

"You can't tell that much from one night," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "I've had one-night stands before, and last night was not one of those."

His hands fisted as the idea of her having one-night stands gnawed at him. "And how did you figure that?"

"Because I never actually liked you."

Nathaniel's eyes widened at the words. He turned around and headed into the chapel, leaving Seraphine chasing behind him.

"Wait. It came out wrong." He heard her say before the chapel door clicked shut.

*****

Seraphine never regretted her words so much as right now, as she ran after the tall figure disappearing behind the wooden doors.

She thought he was warming up to her after he gave her his gloves and took the glühwein; she had to move some furniture around in the kitchen to be able to climb on a chair to reach the top of the cupboard to retrieve the bottle, knocking over a few trinkets in the meantime.

Pushing open the door, she found Nathaniel sitting on the bench at the front row, the mug next to him. It was a small chapel, modest compared to the rest of the castle, with a vaulted ceiling, a few rows of benches and an altar at the end; the gray winter sun came in from the aisles.

"We used to move around a lot." His voice and her footsteps echoed in the space. "Sometimes we stayed in one country for a few months, and then we had to move to the next."

Seraphine sat down next to him. His voice was calm and low. "I'd join a school, make some friends, but before the summer came, we were gone.

"I remember I was crying and begging my parents to stay in Berlin, because I liked a girl in Math, and I was going to tutor her."

She chuckled and he looked to her with his clear blue eyes. "Cut me some slack. It's difficult to get a girlfriend when you're a ten-year-old boy whose only interests are castles and knights."

"You don't seem to have a problem now," she said softly.

"Well," he said simply. "Anyway. As a kid, you learn quickly that it's easier to just stay disconnected than to pour your heart at someone only to have to abandon them in a few months and repeat the process over and over again."

"You're not a kid anymore. It's all in the past," she said.

"No, but when your relationships keep failing, you know you're the problem. So why even try?"

"Because you know it can only get better from there."

"It doesn't mean I'm not afraid."

She picked up his hand and brought it to her cheek. "But I'm here."

Stroking the side of her cheek, he lifted an eyebrow. "You're not the bravest soul, you know."

"I'm not," she tilted her head and said with a smile. "And you're not a hungry wall."

"What?"

She realized she had to explain that she thought the walls had eaten him last night and therefore she was scared, but it would a classic case of bathos if she did, so she said, waving a hand, "Oh. It doesn't matter."

He laughed, nevertheless, eyes softening, dimples flashing, and Seraphine, captivated by the sight, leaned forward and kissed him.

For the first few seconds, Nathaniel didn't kiss her back; as her heart sank, she felt his arms around her, sliding underneath her jacket and sweater and smoothing over her skin, and then his lips were teasing hers, his tongue tasting them.

"Give me a chance," she said against his lips, tasting the cinnamon and spices. "Let me prove to you that it can only get better from here."

Nathaniel pulled her onto his lap, and she straddled him, cradling his thighs between hers as his tongue chased and danced with hers.

"I never liked kissing anyone"—he panted in between the drugging kisses—"as much as I like kissing you."

"And I never liked you," she responded too quickly.

He pulled away to look at her, and she ran her hand through his hair. "But you changed my mind." She dropped her lips back to his, caging his lower lip between her teeth, relishing in his soft groans. "You're not the ice king."

She must have said something right, because his wandering hands unhooked the clasp of her bra, and she let out a gasp. "And you can't fix global warming." His hand glided to the front to cup her breast, rewarding her, teasing at what was about to come.

Writhing in his grasp, she said, "But I've learned to like you." And this time, Nathaniel simply smiled, lifted her as if she weighed nothing and carried her and sat her down on the altar. She moaned when he ground his straining length between her thighs.

And then her phone rang. His mouth teased at her earlobe while his hands searched for her jacket pocket, and then he was on the phone with her mother.

She heard her name through the flat device.

Wide-eyed, Seraphine met his teasing gaze, feeling his free hand roaming on her body and stopping at her nipple, brushing at the tip. With heavy breaths, she chewed on her lower lip to keep quiet.

Holding her gaze, he lifted an eyebrow at her before talking into the phone, "She's busy right now." He dragged his mouth along the column of her neck. "But we will drop by, say"—he looked to her—"on the twenty-seventh?" She nodded. "Yes, it'll be a pleasure to meet you, too."

Tossing her phone on the altar, he kissed her again and again until she was moaning with need, not caring where they were, running her hands up and down his body, getting frustrated by the layers of fabric between them. "Clothes, off."

She had already set her own hands to work, removing her jacket, pulling her tops—all three layers of them—over her head in one single motion. And when shivers coursed through her it was not because of the cold, but because she was burning under his darkened eyes, pale blue turning into sapphire. He stopped unbuttoning his jeans and came to her, setting his lips to her nipple.

His breaths teased the straining tip, warm and cold and hot and wet. "I didn't get to see them last night."

"I thought you didn't need to see." She kicked off her boots and released the button of her jeans. Seraphine arched her back into his mouth, warmth pooling at her core, sighing as he drew circles with his tongue.

"There was not a lot that I needed to do"—he came up to kiss her when a new wave of flush washed over her cheeks—"don't ever get embarrassed."

Pushing herself up from the altar, Seraphine rolled her jeans and thong down her legs when she saw the hard length that stood proud in between his legs, and she licked her lips. It was not embarrassment that gripped her; it was regret and then excitement and then desire that shot through her when she realized what she'd missed last night. She reached for him, aching to take him in her.

But Nathaniel draped his jacket over her before capturing her lips, warm arms lifting her back up to sit on the altar. She was not cold; she was burning with heat.

"You've been sneezing too much," he said, dragging his lips down her neck before enclosing them around her nipple, flicking his tongue, rendering her protest a throaty gasp.

And then he parted her thighs, slipping a finger into her core. Curling and tapping. Drawing waves of pleasure from her until she was rocking herself into him, taking her own pleasure as he took his. He stroked his length with a teasing, lazy rhythm, setting her ablaze with desire. "Condom," she managed to say in between each thrust and tease.

"In the wallet. My pocket," he said against her neck, and Seraphine set her hands to work, retrieving and ripping open the foil package.

"Nathaniel?" She held the condom on its rim between her thumb and forefinger to him, and when he reached for it, she flicked her wrist, moving it just out of his grasp, and then Seraphine smiled when she met his eyes. "Be mine?"

"Always."

Seraphine warmed to the smile that flashed on his face, and she intended to see that smile every day from now on. Now that he was hers.

And then he was in her, sliding in where she felt the need and the want, filling her with the hard length. He took what she offered, soft and warm, making love to her, letting her love him. Smoothing her hands down his corded muscles, she wrapped her legs around his thighs, digging her heels in the flesh, loving the feeling of him in her.

Her moans became louder as he thrust harder into her, opening her further, building the pressure, until the chapel was echoing with nothing but her pleasure and his groans, until she dug her nails in his back, flexed her hips and tightened her inner muscles around him.

And she was tipped into euphoria, shuddering, spasming around him, toes curling and laughing. Her orgasm sent him over the edge; with a low growl, he was right there with her, trembling in her arms, enveloped in his jacket.

Seraphine lay back onto the altar, bones turning into putty, dissolved in laughter, when Nathaniel trailed soft, wet kisses down her body. Flailing and squirming, she hit a bump on the altar, and the wall behind him swerved opened, stone grinding on stone, revealing a staircase beyond.

They looked at each other.

"Do you still think it's the butler?" he asked with an arched brow.

She took his hand and smiled at him. "Let's find out."

The end.

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Nathaniel is loosely based on a real-life story featured in NPR's Hidden Brain podcast. And the story wouldn't be possible without the wonderful train services in the Netherlands.

To my readers, please leave a comment or PM if you have any feedback. :) I'd love to hear from you!

And once again, special thanks to Chas for providing the correction, the push and the suggestions that the story needed.