Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Yor has grown quite used to the odd conversational topics of her coworkers these past few years. And whereas she used to do her best to avoid becoming part of those conversations, as she had little opinion and little to offer, she has found that it’s much easier to engage in them now. Consequently, the girls seem more open to her presence and, dare she say, kinder. 

She’s not completely sure why that is – though some part of her suspects it’s due to the influence of Loid and Anya. Yor can hardly bring herself to hate the change. It has made her time at City Hall more bearable.

Though, sometimes, she wishes she could avoid partaking in certain conversations. Like this one.

“I’ve only been dating him for a month and already it’s just so…blah. Like, is that what just happens? Does the sex always get so stale?” Millie continues, huffing her frustration. She turns to Yor with a pout. “What’s the secret, Yor? If anyone knows, it’s you. Being all happily married and whatnot, the perfect couple…”

“What?” Yor barely stops herself from stammering. “No, there’s no secret, I mean –  ”

“There has to be!” Millie interrupts. “Committing to the same, mediocre dick for the rest of your life sounds impossible.”

Sharon, cigarette tucked between her lips, wrinkles her nose. “So vulgar. But true.”

“Aren’t you also married, Sharon?” Yor asks in effort to divert the conversation to someone else.

Sharon only snorts. She flicks the butt of her cigarette. “Yeah. But we don’t have sex anymore. That stopped after I had the kid.”

“Oh…”

“Sounds about right,” Camilla says, turning back to Yor with a flip of her long blonde hair. “So, what’s your secret? How do you guys do it?”

“Do what, exactly?” Yor smiles.

“C’mon, Yor, don’t play coy,” says Millie, rolling her eyes. 

“You know,” Sharon blows out a thin stream of spiced smoke, “they say the quiet, shy ones are the most perverted.”

Yor feels herself flush to the roots of her hair, face hot as she goes to rebuke her. But Millie cuts in first.

“Oho? That’s it, isn’t it?” Millie grins. “You’re kinky. That makes so much sense.”

Camilla nods. “Well, obviously. All those rumors about her had to come from somewhere. But I bet your husband has his own freaky side too, doesn’t he?”

“Loid is a perfect gentleman!” Yor exclaims, cheeks burning. “He’s…he’s a good husband, loving father, and – ”

“Great in bed,” Sharon finishes.

Yor feels like she’s going to faint. “No!”

“No? He’s not?” Sharon’s dark head tilts in apparent confusion.

“So you’re the one who does all the work? That’s kind of unexpected,” Camilla murmurs, short blonde eyebrows pulling together.

“Yeah, I figured a psychiatrist would be a bit of a control freak. Guess maybe he likes letting someone else take charge for a little bit, huh, Yor?” Millie’s grin is downright unnerving, matching the glint in her green eyes. “I like that.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Yor backtracks.

She needs to figure out how to disengage this deteriorating conversation – and save her and Loid’s dignity – quickly! Her mind scrambles, trying to find something appropriate but not damning. Because she and Loid are supposed to be married and married couples are supposed to engage in sexual activities. And it’s not as though she has much sexual experience to begin with, so she can’t exactly lie… The girls will sniff it right out. 

“I… It’s just that we don’t get a lot of time to ourselves. Anya is our top priority,” is what her brain decides. 

And, technically, it’s not an untruth. Anya is their top priority.

There, Yor thinks with a relieved sigh. That should be enough to get them off her case. Crisis averted.

Sharon makes a sympathetic noise. “Having a kid in the house does make things difficult.”

“So what?” Camilla scoffs. “You guys can’t be quiet or something?”

Yor stifles her dismayed cry. 

The deflection was ineffective. Lie, she tells herself. Lie, lie, lie.

Swallowing her mortification, she mumbles, “It's extremely difficult…”

At that, Millie makes the strangest noise. Something between a growl and a snarl, an aggravated sound that reminds Yor all too much of an angry cat. “And that's exactly why you have to share with us. I need to try something new otherwise I'm just going to have to call it off with Klaus. I can't take it anymore!”

“I really can't,” Yor insists. She's scrambling again, for any excuse that doesn't sound too odd. “Loid and I want to keep that part of our lives, um, private.”

Millie tsks at her. “Greedy, that's what you are. Sitting on a goldmine of kinky, sexy knowledge and refusing to share it with your sex-starved friend.”

“Cruel,” Sharon agrees.

Yor deflates, feeling strangely put upon at the statement. It's not as though she wants to withhold such pertinent information from Millie – she just doesn't have any to share. Yor has only engaged in intercourse once, after all, and it was with a client. The only way to get to him without any of his private security was to seduce and kill him at his most vulnerable. That was a few years ago and, from what Yor recalls, it was far from a gratifying experience. Feeling his hot blood spray over her fingers felt more pleasurable than any part of his body inside hers.

She's sure the girls wouldn't want to hear something so gruesome. If she were allowed to tell them about her jobs and clientele in the first place.

“Well,” Camilla sniffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder again, “if Yor isn't going to share, then I guess I will.”

Millie snaps to attention, practically sparkling. “There's a reason you're my favorite, Camilla.”

“I know. So, have you ever tried deep throating?”

“Isn't that, like, impossible?” Millie gasps, round face paling with shock. “Fitting his entire dick in my mouth… I don't want to choke! Not that it's that big to begin with, but still…”

Yor inhales sharply at Millie’s crass words. Her face feels much too hot again but none of the other girls seem the slightest bit bothered. Sharon chuckles and takes another drag from her cigarette, filling the room with more spiced smoke that makes the inside of Yor’s nose itch.

“You won't if you use this trick,” Camilla assures with a wink. “Dominic absolutely loses his mind when I do it.”

The door to the break room slams open. 

“I don't pay you ladies to gossip,” Barnes gripes, making everyone, including Yor, jump.

She didn't even hear him coming, her ears too full of steam and brain too befuddled trying to imagine Camilla’s lewd suggestion.

Barnes looks especially sour, face pulled into a long frown. No doubt he could hear the tailend of their conversation. “The four of you better get back to work. Or I’ll start laying you off.”

“Yes, of course,” Yor says, spine stiff.

Camilla just sneers at him.

The rest of the work day passes painfully slow. It feels like three lifetimes before the clock strikes five and Yor punches out. She journeys home in a daze. Barely remembers catching the train, getting off at her stop, or meandering down the sidewalk to their house. She cannot seem to move past that conversation.

Of all the topics in the world, Millie chose that one. One in which Yor has little to no experience.

She supposes what troubles her most about the incident is that had the girls pushed, they may have discovered that Yor and Loid have never consummated their marriage. Which would no doubt throw the whole thing under scrutiny. They would start prying more, potentially discover other holes along the way. It would jeopardize everything. If it were only her own well-being at stake, Yor would not be so distressed.

But it would affect Loid and, even more importantly, Anya. The repercussions for them could be terrible.

Sighing, Yor trudges up the stairs to their home and unlocks the front door.

“Mama’s home!” Anya’s little voice shrieks, followed by a series of deep woofs. 

Anya comes speeding around the corner, Bond at her heels. Yor barely steps inside and closes the door behind her before tiny hands fist in her petticoat and sparkling green eyes stare up at her with an adoration that Yor sometimes feels she doesn’t quite deserve. Bond’s large head bumps into her legs, his shaggy tail thumping against the wall as if begging her to acknowledge his presence as well.

“Hi, Anya.” Yor smiles, smoothing her hands over her daughter’s fluffy pink hair. She bends lower to stroke Bond’s shaggy fur. “And hello to you too, Bond.”

“Ah, Yor?” Comes Loid’s voice from the kitchen. “Perfect timing! I just finished cooking dinner.”

“Papa made a cast-a-roll,” Anya announces.

Bond makes a soft chuffing noise.

“Casserole,” Loid corrects, raising his voice a little.

Yor hums, petting the top of Anya’s head again. She sheds her coat and her purse, hanging them in the crook of her elbow, as she allows Anya to drag her further into the house and all the way to the kitchen. The scent of garlic, tomatoes, and seasoned meat fill her nostrils and her stomach grumbles. The smells are divine, but then again, so is almost everything that Loid cooks.

He’s busy, his back to her as he bends over and removes the ceramic casserole dish from the oven. He must have gotten off a little earlier today as he’s already clad in his black lounge pants and white shirt, stretching over the broad planes of his back. Loid sets the casserole on the stove and removes his mittens, setting them on the counter before turning around. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling, “how was work?”

And all at once, Yor is bombarded with Camilla’s, Millie’s, and Sharon’s crude musings.

“You’re kinky. That makes so much sense.”

“I bet your husband has his own freaky side too, doesn’t he?”

“I figured a psychiatrist would be a bit of a control freak.”

Yor barely keeps herself from squeaking. Heat flares up her neck, across her cheeks, and over her whole face. She knows she must be flushing about as red as the tomatoes in their fruit basket.

“It was fine,” she says, lowering her eyes.

She can’t look at Loid without thinking about those things… And for some reason, even though he’s wearing his normal clothes and his hair is the same as always, her brain suddenly can’t stop supplying her with lewd images of him.

Undoing the buttons of his dress shirt…

Fingering the buckle of his belt…

Looking at her with hooded eyes…

Pushing his tongue in her mouth…

No! Yor scrunches her eyes shut, willing the cursed images away. She needs to get away from him, for her own mental wellness.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. “I’m very tired today so I think I’m just going to go to bed. Please have dinner without me.”

“Huh?” Loid sounds confused. “Oh, well, all right…”

Anya is quiet, an unusual occurrence, as she peers up at Yor with squinted eyes. Yor stiffens and turns her head to the side. She can’t bring herself to look at Anya either – not with such impure thoughts in her head!

“Goodnight!” Yor says, and all but sprints to her bedroom.

She leans against the door after it’s shut, heart pounding in her throat. Her ears strain to listen for any sounds from the kitchen. 

It’s silent for a little bit, but then: “Don’t worry, Papa. You’re not a freak,” says Anya.

“What? Where on earth did that come from?” Loid mumbles back. “Thanks, I guess…”

Yor sighs, head hanging. Her stomach growls as she peels herself from the door and prepares herself for bed. Maybe, she thinks once she is in her gown and under her bedsheets, she can sneak into the kitchen after Loid and Anya are asleep and try some of the casserole…

Her stomach whines pitifully, distraught at the idea of going to bed empty. But Yor ignores it and settles down, willing her mind and her body to calm. When she wakes, she will have forgotten all about those lewd things and be back to normal.

Yor inhales deeply. 

“What lewd things?” comes a familiar voice.

Yor’s eyes snap open and she bolts up in bed. Her heart hammers in her chest and her palms itch for the cool length of her golden stilettos to eliminate the threat that somehow slipped past her senses and invaded their home. But when she sees the figure at the foot of her bed, glowing softly from the dim light of her bedside lamp, she pauses.

Loid watches her, pulling on the knot of his tie. “Have you been thinking about me?” he murmurs and places a knee on her bed.

The mattress dips with his weight and Yor gulps. Her heart feels like it's going to burst through her ribs for a whole new reason. 

“No,” she lies.

Loid tilts his head. “You're a terrible liar, Yor.”

“What?”

“Those things your coworkers said,” he continues, now fully kneeling on her mattress. A sultry smile plays across his lips and Yor’s stomach flips. “You've been thinking about it. I saw the way you looked at me when you came home.”

“No, I,” Yor swallows, “it wasn't on purpose. I don't know why I started imagining it.”

“Are you sure about that?” He inches closer, within her reach. 

For some reason, she doesn't move away. Nor does she tell him to leave. A foreign warmth settles in her lower belly, compelling her to answer him honestly.

“No,” she whispers. 

Loid’s smile deepens. 

As she sits with her back propped against her pillows, she abruptly realizes how much larger he is than her. He’s tall enough to tower over her prone form while he is kneeling, and broad enough to cage her against the pillows. Yor noticed when they first met, but now it is obvious. The jacket of his suit is suddenly gone, leaving him in only his usual button-up and a loosened tie. His blonde hair is shaggy in the way it usually is when he runs his fingers through it after work.

“You’re curious,” he says in a soft voice, reaching down to trace her bottom lip with his thumb, “aren’t you? About what it feels like?” 

Her breath catches in her throat. His touch sends a shiver down her spine and all she wants to do is push her face into his hand. She wants more.

Yor swallows, staring up into eyes the color of secluded island waters. “Yes…”

“I can show you,” he promises, stroking her lip again. “If you’ll let me.”

Before she can answer, Loid’s head ducks to bury his nose in the curve of her shoulder. Yor hiccups and her lower body melts at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. He inhales intensely and Yor releases a shaky breath, hands trembling at her sides.

Words cannot describe how fiercely she wants his touch. His taste. All of the sudden, Yor feels like she might wither away to nothing if she never gets it. 

An ache inside her swells and turns her voice weak.

“Please,” she whispers.

Loid pulls away from her neck and brings them face-to-face again, their noses brushing. “You’re finally being honest,” he murmurs against her lips before crushing their mouths together.

Yor gasps into the kiss, hands fisting in his dress shirt. Something soft and slippery invades her mouth. His tongue, some faint part of her realizes. He licks her own tongue, sucks and nibbles at her bottom lip, and Yor feels every muscle in her body start to glow.

She’s only ever kissed two men, and never like this. Like she’s starving for it.

Loid’s scent floods her nose – clean linens, soap, and the musk of his everyday cologne. His taste fills her mouth. She feels as though she’s drowning in him and her head starts to spin, overwhelmed with sensation.

His lips retreat, granting her air. Yor takes in greedy gulps and her mind begins to clear. Large hands cup either side of her face and she gazes into Loid’s eyes, burning with an emotion she cannot place. His lips are pink and curve into a smile that makes her toes curl and stomach dip. 

“You taste good,” he says. “I wonder what the rest of you tastes like…”

Those hands slide down her face, neck, and shoulders. They pass over the swells of her breasts, making her breath catch, before going lower past the curve of her waist. 

Loid pulls her knees apart and settles between them. He pushes up the hem of her nightgown, up her hips and all the way up her ribs to uncover her breasts. He bunches it there, laying her body bare for his perusal.

Teal eyes rake over her form. 

She's never been fully naked for anyone – not even the client she seduced those years ago. But where there should have been embarrassment or discomfort, there is none. Yor feels bizarrely content as those eyes trace her every line and drink in the sight of her pale skin, flushed with want.

Loid’s hand settles on the dip of her stomach. The other travels to his shirt and Yor’s eyes lock on his slender fingers as they pop each little button. One at a time. Down the line of his chest. Inch by inch of his smooth skin is revealed and something hot blossoms in her gut.

She wrestles with the strangest desire to lick the valley of his chest between the lapels of his shirt.

As if reading her mind, Loid ducks and runs his tongue along the inseam of her leg in a long stripe. His dress shirt is discarded, baring every inch of skin and muscle to her gaze. His form is slender and fit, much like she always imagined. It's somewhat comforting to know that the white cotton shirts he prefers to wear around the house have not deceived her. She wants to touch him, trace the contours and ridges of his muscles and explore the dips between his ribs and chest. But her body feels strangely heavy, like a weight is keeping her pinned to the mattress and pillows.

All she can do is lay there.

“So pretty,” Loid says into the bend of her knee. His eyes are steadfast as they hold hers. “You're so pretty, Yor…”

Heat bursts across her face. “Loid, I – ”

“Watch me.” He cuts her off, dragging his lips down her thigh. “Watch me while I taste you and make you feel good.”

Her stomach somersaults.

She gets no other warning before his mouth is between her thighs, directly over her aching pussy. The wet of his tongue spears through her lips, a shock to her system, and she arches her back. A surprised gasp rips from her chest as Loid covers her with his mouth.

He stares at her, up the length of her writhing body, while he mouth moves. Sucking, kissing, licking… He loves her pussy like he would her mouth. And while Yor has never experienced this sort of pleasure, her body welcomes it greedily and demands more. 

It's so strange how he's lapping at her cunt but she feels the pleasure throughout her whole body. The tips of her fingers and toes tingle with it, her limbs turning to jelly, and her core heating from the inside out. The pleasure is everywhere and nowhere all at once, and Yor feels half crazed by the time Loid pauses to kiss his way up her neatly-trimmed mound. 

“I was right,” he says against her skin. His mouth and chin glisten in the dim lighting. “You taste divine.”

“Loid,” she gasps, clutching at him. “Please…”

She doesn't even know what she's begging for. All she knows is she wants. She wants his touch, this newfound pleasure. She wants everything.

For the first time in her life, Yor wants for purely selfish reasons.

“Patience,” Loid chides in a low chuckle. 

His hands roam over her hips and smooth their way up her stomach. His touch is tender, revenant, that of a true lover. When he cups both her breasts in his hands, Yor can't help herself. The moan tears from her.

“Sensitive. And so soft.” His fingers pluck at her nipples, an alien and startling sensation. “I've always wondered how these would feel… So big, they nearly spill out of that little black dress you like to wear. I try not to stare but it's extremely difficult. I'm sure you've noticed.”

Yor chokes back another moan when he rubs his thumbs over the stiffening nubs. “N-no,” she protests, “I've never noticed you looking…”

Loid tsks at her, pinching a little harder. “I thought we were being honest… You always notice the way men stare at you. And part of you likes it. But you like it the most when you notice me looking, right, Yor?”

How could he possibly know that?

Yor is suddenly drowning in the mortification  of having her deepest secret thrust to light. But before it suffocates her, Loid takes one of her nipples into his mouth and all she knows is the hot, wet sensation of his tongue laving her skin. Her shame is replaced by pleasure boiling in her lower belly. It heats her skin from the inside out.

“Please,” she begs again, desperate. “Please, Loid, I want you.”

He hums into her breast, the vibration traveling straight through her. Releasing her nipple with a pop, he sits back with a pleased grin. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Yor gasps. “Yes, please!”

“As you wish…”

Large, calloused hands find her own and pin them to the mattress on either side of her head. Loid stares down at her with glowing eyes and slick, flushed lips. His gaze never leaves her even as something foreign pushes against her center, breaching the lips of her cunt. Yor whimpers, squeezing his hands, preparing herself for the inevitable pain…

But it never tears through her. There is only a sudden feeling of fullness. 

A low groan rumbles out of Loid’s throat as he looks down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. His blonde hair tickles his damp forehead and were her hands not held down, Yor would be running them through it. He doesn’t say anything as he starts moving, rocking into her body and stretching her open.

All Yor can do is try to catch her breath. But it isn’t much use when she swears she can feel him all the way in her diaphragm. It isn’t an uncomfortable or painful feeling, but it is strange. Entwined with the strangeness is a pleasure so deep her toes curl and the odd pressure continues building in her abdomen.

“You feel so good, Yor,” Loid pants in her face.

"Loid…”

It’s all she can do to claw at his hands, relishing the feel of his cock pumping into her. So steady, so measured, like a well-oiled machine. She can’t remember what it looks like, or that she even saw it, but it feels long and thick. Just how she recalls having heard others describe it. 

Every time Loid thrusts, he grunts. Every roll of his hips into hers touches a special spot inside her that makes her see stars, and all the blood rushes to the center of her body. Hot, swollen, and increasing in intensity…

A tingling starts in the nub of her clit, sending a jolt to her belly.

Yor tenses, back arching and mouth gaping, as her body chases after something unknown. “Loid,” she cries. “Something…something is –  ”

“Let it happen,” he pants. “I want you to feel it.”

She has no chance to ask him what he means by that before he starts pounding into her wildly. Hard enough to make the backs of her thighs sting and her breasts bounce. His cock plunges into her even deeper than before, forcing her to confront the pleasure, and Loid slots his mouth over hers to swallow her noises.

The pressure in her lower abdomen tightens to an alarming degree. All the muscles in her body shake as she feels the last of her control slipping away…

The tension snaps without warning as he thrusts inside her one last time.

“Loid!”

Yor bolts straight up in bed. Sunlight, bright and piercing, streams through the curtains of the window behind her headboard and she squints. Disoriented, she glances around her bedroom only to find that she is very much alone. 

Her body is slicked in sweat, heart thundering inside her chest, as she blinks away the sleep from her eyes. Looking down, she sees that her nightgown is perfectly intact as it melds to her skin.

Loid is nowhere to be found. 

It was a dream…

The realization strikes her like a blow to the chest. 

Yor collapses back into her pillows with a gasp, heaving for air. She feels parched and winded, as though she spent hours running. Her muscles, too, feel oddly limp. Like they have been overused. And between her thighs is sticky. Its an uncomfortable feeling.

She stares up at the ceiling, willing her body to calm down. 

What on earth was that? Just thinking about the dream makes her whole face burn so hard it physically hurts. She covers her cheeks with both hands, willing the fervent stinging to go away. But the longer she lays there, the more her brain teases her with figments of the dream.

Loid’s eyes, his smell, the feel of his fingers on her skin…

Yor swallows. 

How is she supposed to face him now? When all she can think about is the way his lips looked so pink after kissing and sucking on her? Or the sounds he made while he was inside her?

Dread, a new addition to the myriad of emotions broiling inside her, makes her especially slow to get ready this morning. That, and she spends ten minutes diffusing another wave of embarrassment when she discovers that her panties are all but glued to her sensitive skin, soiled by her own musky arousal.

Silky strings stretch when she pulls them down her legs and she bites her lips so hard she swears she tastes iron.

Yor throws her panties in the trash. She can't chance Loid coming across them in the laundry and having to explain their state of ruin. She will just stop by the delicates shop on her way home this evening to purchase a replacement.

Or maybe a few. On the chance that this dream…reoccurs.

By the time she exits her room, it's well past the time she normally leaves for work. The telephone chimes as she walks by, almost as if sensing her presence, and Yor pauses. 

“Forger residence,” she greets.

“Hello, Mrs. Forger,” comes an all too familiar voice over the line. The Shopkeeper is placid as usual. “I have another client for you. He will require your services at the cinema. Showing room three in promptly one hour.”

Yor clears her throat. “Yes, of course. Please assure him that I will be there soon.”

The Shopkeeper disconnects.

Yor closes her eyes and breathes in to fill her lungs completely. She has never minded her line of true work, but in this instance she is particularly grateful for it. Perhaps this client will help her take her mind off of these lewd things plaguing her.

Opening her purse, she ensures that her golden stilettos are safely stowed before heading into the kitchen.

Loid and Anya are enjoying breakfast like always. And like always, Loid lounges in his white shirt and tousled hair while he skims the daily paper and sips his coffee. Anya shovels bite after bite of cereal into her mouth, eyes still swollen shut with sleep. The radio hums a faint, cheery tune that fills the silence as they eat.

A plate of toast, jam, and coffee – with her preferred levels of cream and sugar – sits in Yor’s spot.

Loid flicks down his morning paper. His smile is the same smile he gives her every morning, and yet, Yor is immediately reminded of his coy grin as he kissed his way between her thighs in her dream.

The area pulses, as if remembering too.

“I'm running very late,” Yor blurts before Loid can greet her. “I won't be able to join you for breakfast. I’m sorry! Goodbye!”

She turns on her heel and all but races to the front door. As she leaves, she tries to ignore the tortured whining of her stomach, now having been denied two meals. And the throb between her thighs as Loid’s face flashes through her mind yet again…

Loid stares at Yor’s back as she hastily retreats to their front door. When it slams shut, rattling their home, he blinks.

“Papa,” Anya says, squinting at him over her cereal bowl, “what did you do to make Mama upset?”

“She's upset with me?”

Anya nods. A disappointed pout spreads across her round face and she stares him down harder, like she's trying to glean the information out of him through long-distance osmosis.

When nothing happens, she huffs and continues shoveling spoonfuls of wheat cereal into her mouth.

Loid sits back in his chair and frowns as he folds his paper into a square, sipping his coffee with thought. He doesn't recall doing or saying anything to upset her. Though that does not mean he did not do so unwittingly. He does know that sometimes Yor can become insecure about her role as a wife and mother. During times like those, she appreciates when they go out together, just the two of them, so he can reassure her. 

It has been a while since they last went on a date. But, at least in his eyes, Yor doesn't seem sad or insecure. Nor in need of his particular company. In fact, she appears to want nothing to do with him.

By the flush on her cheeks and the way she couldn't look him in the eyes… Loid supposes she could just be flustered. But about what?

Loid is completely stumped. He's supposed to be good with women after all his years as a spy. Yet, he cannot understand the woman whom he has lived with for the better part of a year.

“Mist-serious,” Anya sings.

Loid looks at her, frowning. “What?”

She squawks. “Nothing!”

He returns to sipping his coffee, two pours of cream and light sugar, the way Yor has taught him to prefer it. Anya keeps her eyes dutifully trained on her cereal.

His mind continues to pour over Yor and her odd behavior. Taking another sip, he then recalls the night before.

Completely unintentionally, he heard some peculiar noises coming from her bedroom. He just happened to be retiring to his own room when he passed by her door and heard the strangest sound. A low-pitched, drawn-out keening, almost pained in its degree and pitch. And then…

“Loid…”

It threw him for a moment, hearing his own name murmured in her voice, and he debated knocking to check on her. What nightmare could she possibly be having about him? But when she fell silent, and remained that way, he shrugged it off and went to bed.

Thinking back on it, perhaps he should have knocked. It's clear now that she was suffering from some sort of nightmare or stress dream. She has been doing a lot more around the house recently. In addition to cleaning, she has taken charge of all of Bond’s care and routines, and she now leaves City Hall early three times per week to be home in time to watch Anya when she returns from school. She has also started to take over Anya’s bedtime routine…

That must be it, Loid realizes and sits up a bit straighter. She must be feeling overwhelmed with all these additional responsibilities she has taken recently. Which means she needs a break.

“Hurry and finish your breakfast,” he tells Anya, who still watches him with those overly-perceptive eyes of hers. “You don't want to be late for school.”

Anya nods, a look of serious concentration taking over her features. She all but inhales the rest of her cereal before throwing herself from the table and clambering to her bedroom to get ready for the day.

After seeing her out to the bus, Loid heads back inside and makes a phone call.

Today appears to be one of the rare days in which WISE has not provided him with any additional operations, which means he gets to spend it at the hospital. Days like these are the days he cements his cover and delves into his role as a psychiatrist. Of course, the other undercover agents at Berlint General end up taking care of most of his “work”. It's merely the appearance that matters.

He spends most of the day in his office, scrutinizing “patient files”.

In reality, he works on his backlogged mission reports that his handler has been nagging about incessantly for weeks. Sylvia will be much happier with him, he thinks at the end of the much too slow day, that he managed to complete most of them. Only two remain and he can finish them within the next few days as long as she doesn’t throw another operation his way.

He tells her as much through an encrypted message via the grocery clerk on his way home.

Loid makes it home well before Yor. He has plenty of time to change into his comfortable clothes – his favorite white t-shirt and black lounge pants – and free his hair from its gelled confinement. He lets Bond out for his evening walk, and serves his dinner a bit earlier than usual, much to Bond’s utter delight. Loid is just getting started on dinner for himself and Yor, a pork roast that he knows she will adore, when their front door opens and Yor trudges inside.

He can hear the drag of her feet as she makes her way through the hall and into the main room. Not even Bond’s excited mauling gets her to perk up, and she enters the kitchen looking far more exhausted than she should.

Back hunched, cheeks aglow, soft bags under her eyes… She barely even glances at him when she murmurs her usual greeting.

Loid feels a tremendous amount of guilt for not noticing this sooner.

Yor suddenly stands up a bit taller, spine stiff as she peers around the kitchen. She listens with a tilted head, while rubbing her hand through Bond’s fur, before turning to Loid with a worried look. It's the first time she's looked him in the eye in over a day and it throws him for a moment. He completely forgets about the pork roast.

“Where is Anya?”

“She's staying with Franky tonight,” he says.

“Oh…” Yor’s eyes flick to the ground, then back up at him. “Is there a reason?”

“I thought maybe you could use a relaxing night at home,” Loid admits. “You looked stressed last night and this morning. But I can't be certain since you're avoiding me.” A chuckle slips past him.

Yor stiffens, shoulders hunching, and eyes widening. It's a look of mild panic and she appears to try and wrestle it under control as she wrings her hands in front of her.

Bond nudges her leg as if he can sense her rising anxiety.

“I haven't been avoiding you,” she says, voice higher pitched than usual.

Loid looks at her with a wry smile that says he doesn't buy it. His brow lifts and her whole body slumps, head hanging as she sighs.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbles, “I wasn't trying to…”

Loid feels his heart squeeze. “No, it's okay, Yor,” he assures her. “But, did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? You have to let me know if I upset you. I can't read minds.”

“No!” Yor waves her hands frantically. “No, you didn't do or say anything wrong at all. It's…it's me that's the issue.”

They both fall silent and Loid watches as her hands fall to grip her beige petticoat. Her knuckles turn bone white and her cheeks red as her favorite summer roses. Long, dark eyelashes shield her eyes as she stares down at her fingers in an effort to avoid his gaze yet again.

What could possibly have her reacting this way? Yor has always been quick to fluster, but she also always seems to overcome it after a few moments. It has never lasted a full day before…

The curiosity is eating him alive, making him want to blurt it out. But he doesn't.

Loid digs deep, drawing on his mastered aloof persona as he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Definitely not.” Yor shakes her head and bites her bottom lip. “It's too embarrassing and…”

“And?” 

“And I don't want to disgust you,” she all but simpers, sounding utterly distressed as she finally looks him in the eye.

Loid rears back. “What? Yor, I doubt anything you say could, uh, disgust me. Trust me on that.”

He has seen, heard, and encountered a great many things in his years with the agency. Some more disturbing than others – such as the time he went undercover at an underground, highly illegal, fetish club and observed his target being stripped naked and used as a dining table. Complete with tableware and other…decorative pieces. He still hasn’t been able to scrub that experience from his brain.

Whatever Yor is struggling with cannot possibly be worse than that, Loid is sure.

“I can’t risk you thinking that I’m strange,” she continues, “and wanting me to leave.”

What?

Loid almost rears back again. “Yor, I have no idea where this is coming from, but that’s insane. I’m not going to make you leave. You’re my wife.”

Perhaps only in name, but the commitment is genuine. While there may not be any romantic inclinations between them – though there have been times where he has speculated – his dedication to her as his wife is absolute. For all intents and purposes, Yor is his wife.

In fact, sometimes he forgets she isn’t.

Yor just shrinks further into herself at his declaration. Hugging her elbows, she exhales.

“I promise,” Loid continues in a softer voice. “Whatever is bothering you is not going to change that. And if you want to talk, I can try to help. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles after a moment. 

She stands there for a few more minutes, like she’s debating whether or not she wants to talk. All the while, her face gets impossibly redder like she’s had too much wine. Arms still crossed, her finger taps on her elbow and her teeth continue to gnaw on her bottom lip until he can make out the little indents. 

When he catches himself staring, Loid blinks and clears his throat.

Bond bows into a deep stretch and releases a deep, howling, yawn before settling on the floor between them. He rests his large head on both paws, seemingly content to lay there while they talk.

Yor swallows. Then she inhales. 

“Okay,” she repeats, like she’s preparing herself. 

And she tells him everything. Voice trembling, eyes shaky, hands wringing. Yor recounts everything in choppy phrases and pauses to maintain her poise and self-control. Telling him about the crude conversation between her coworkers doesn't seem to unsettle her as much as telling him about the result of that conversation.

Yor’s rambling is interrupted by a shudder deep enough to make her spine arch. She takes a steadying breath. “When I came home and went to bed, I, um… I dreamed about it. In the dream, we…did things. I was so embarrassed when I woke up this morning,” she cries, hiding her face in her hands. “I just couldn’t look you in the eye! I’m sorry…”

She speaks so quickly that it takes Loid’s brain a minute to digest the information. But when it finally sinks in, all he can do is gawk. He thinks he feels his mouth pop.

Yor looks as though she is ready to faint.

That is certainly not what he expected her to say. Her colleagues were gossiping about their supposed sexlife. She had a wet dream about him? And now she’s mortified about it… It takes Loid all of two seconds to process this and gather his composure, smoothing his face and clearing his throat again. Though he feels the heat under his cheeks still.

“...Oh.”

“I knew it,” Yor wails, ripping her hands away from her face, chest heaving as she works herself into hysterics. Her eyes shine with distress. “You’re disgusted! You think I’m strange! I didn’t mean to have that dream!”

“No, Yor – ” Loid reaches out to touch her arm and thinks better of it, curling his fingers with a cough. He keeps his voice low and even, comforting. “It’s okay. Really. You’re not strange, and I’m not disgusted. Look at me. Do I look upset?”

Her breathing starts to even out and she peers at him, sniffing. “...No,” she murmurs, more calmly.

“You can’t control your dreams. It’s your subconscious’s way of processing information,” he tells her, drawing on the minuscule psychological pedagogy he actually possesses. “Besides, having dreams about that kind of stuff is, uh, normal.”

“It is?”

Her sudden relief has him softening before he even realizes it. “Yeah. I have them too sometimes,” he admits.

Yor’s mouth drops open and her eyes grow twice their size, like she's floored by this. Then, almost as though she can't help it, she blurts, “About me?”

Loid’s brain screeches to a halt and stutters.

When he blinks, Yor seems to realize what she said. “I'm sorry! I don't know why I asked that,” she babbles, quickly backtracking as she tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear. “That was very inappropriate, Loid, I don't know what – ”

“Sometimes.”

Loid tenses. Did he just…?

This time, it’s Yor’s turn to halt. Her babbling instantly dies, and she clasps her hands in front of her hips again.

She looks the part of a shy schoolgirl.

“Oh.”

Bond yawns again, looking up at Loid with eyes as black as ink. Then, the dog glances at Yor. When neither say anything for a minute, Bond rises to his feet and trots out of the room with folded ears as if to spare himself the awkward tension.

Sometimes, Loid swears that dog is more intelligent than an animal should be.

Loid clears his throat. “So, uh. Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” Yor says in a soft voice. Her hand lifts to her face and cups a pink cheek. “But…speaking with the girls this morning did make me realize something. We’re supposed to be married.”

Loid hums.

“And married couples do…those things,” she mumbles, blush deepening. “They know each other. Intimately. And we…”

“We don't.”

Yor’s head bobs, eyes set firmly at his chest and not his eyes. He's surprised steam isn't whistling out of her ears like a kettle.

“Yesterday gave me a whole new set of worries,” Yor continues. “If people find out that we don't, um, know each other intimately, they're going to think it’s strange.”

She has a solid point. They are supposed to project the image of a stable, normal, loving family. That is at the core of his mission and the key to its success. Considering the fact that he and Yor are also supposed to be not even two years into their marriage, they should be all over each other. Yet, they normally don't even touch each other in public – save the occasional drunken carry home, or the time he unintentionally took a nap on her lap on a park bench. 

Their lack of physicality will undoubtedly cast suspicion on them sooner or later…

And suspicion is a threat.

Yor’s brother has been suspicious of them from the very beginning. They managed to stave him off for now, but it's doubtful Yuri won't try something again. And if they can't refrain from garnering the attention of her civilian coworkers, how could they possibly hope to fool a lieutenant of the SSS?

Loid inhales, smoothing a hand over his mouth.

He should have foreseen this issue. Though if he is being completely honest with himself, perhaps some part of him did and refused to address it. He's taken advantage of far too many women in his years as a spy for the sake of the mission. Yet, the thought of proposing such a thing to Yor, the risk of making her feel pressured or uncomfortable, is not something he is willing to entertain.

It's not that he's become attached to her. He's certain. More likely, it's…respect that he feels. 

“You're right,” he says. “Maybe we should start being more affectionate with each other in public.”

Small things, he thinks. Holding hands, his arm around her shoulder, her hand in the corner of his elbow while they walk…

“Oh,” Yor stutters. “Yes, I think that's a good idea. But I was also thinking…” She trails off, blinking, and shakes her head.

“Thinking what?”

“No… I shouldn't ask that of you.” Yor’s face falls into an embarrassed grimace. 

“You think we should do more than hold hands?” When the blush on her face darkens, realization strikes him. “Or…you think that we should sleep with each other?”

Yor hiccups.

He must have nailed it.

“It was just a thought,” she insists, sounding panicked. “I figured it would be the best way to keep others from being suspicious, so we don’t have to pretend, at least, on that front. But it’s absolutely ridiculous and I made you uncomfortable and please just forget I said – ”

“No, you’re right.” Loid holds up a single hand and she stops flailing to pin him with huge eyes. “It’s the best way to prevent suspicion. The best lies are rooted in truth, after all. But, are you sure you’re okay with that, Yor?”

Yor stares at him, cupping her own elbows. Her face, which has glowed various shades of red this entire conversation, barely composes itself as she nods. “Yes… I am. I think we should do it at least once…” She swallows and looks at him. “Once should be enough, right?”

Loid’s mouth is suddenly dry. 

He is accustomed to engaging in intercourse with targets, people with whom he has no rapport or connection to. In most cases, he never sees them again after the night is over. Or, if he does, it is only a handful of times. This is different – Yor isn’t a target. They live together and will be expected to keep up the ruse of a happily married couple.

Once will have to be enough.

“Yeah,” he says, jaw strangely stiff.

All at once, the quietness of the house settles on him. The gentle hum of the refrigerator is a constant white noise and the smell of raw pork assaults Loid’s nose all at once, reminding him that he left the roast sitting on the counter behind him. Dinner has long been forgotten. In the other room, Bond makes a huffing noise.

The television is silent. The incessant sound of little feet pounding on the floors, and the constant high-pitched chatter, are notably missing in the background music that is their home. Anya’s absence is felt like a gaping hole.

Loid purses his lips and looks back at Yor. “Did you want to do it tonight?”

“So soon?” Her entire face flushes again.

“We don’t have to,” he quickly assures her. “But I do think it would be best to do it when Anya isn’t home.”

“Oh. Yes.” Yor nods vigorously. Her bottom lip catches on her teeth. “You said she’s at Franky’s for the night?”

Loid nods.

“Okay, we – we can do it tonight.” She purses her lips, clenching her fists as if she’s coaching herself. Then she pauses. Swallows. “But, I need some time to gather myself.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He coughs and palms the back of his neck. Honestly, he's going to need some time to gather himself too. “Go ahead and, uh, get yourself settled. I’ll…get things ready for us.”

Yor’s voice is a mere squeak when she says, “Okay.”

They both stand there for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. Then, Yor turns on her heel, mumbling something under her breath, and scurries out of the kitchen and to her bedroom. Her door closes with a little more force than usual, making Loid blink.

He exhales and shakes his head before wrapping up the pork and putting it back in the fridge. They can have pork roast tomorrow. Afterward, Loid heads to his own bedroom to start preparing.

His grey bedsheets, although perfectly pristine and pressed on the mattress, feel out of place. He hasn't washed them for a few days. And he's not sure how Yor will feel, using his personal sheets. So he strips his bed and tosses the sheets into his hamper. From the boxes in his closet, he pulls out the plush cream comforter from the “super lovey dovey” set. 

It only takes a few minutes to spread across his bed. The huge pink heart in the middle glares at him and he pauses.

Loid flips the comforter over to the other side.

No need to make this any more awkward than it will presumably be.

Hands on his hips, Loid turns and catches a glance of himself in the full length mirror leaned against the wall. He stares at his own rumpled appearance, taking note of the tired lines on his face. The longer he stares, the more he begins to feel grimy, like his skin is developing a layer of dirt. Loid runs his tongue over his teeth and frowns. Then he heads to his master bathroom. He splashes water on his face and grabs his toothbrush, brushing almost violently. He brushes his teeth for more than five minutes, until they feel scraped raw and minty foam burns his lips. 

Strangely, it doesn’t help with the sudden grimy-feeling on his skin. 

Loid sighs and cranks up the shower before hopping in. It’s a short, but effective wash. Soaping himself down, a quick scrub of his hair, making sure he scrubs between his toes and the creases of his body.

He just wants to get rid of that layer of dirt from the day.

By the time he’s finished and is standing in the middle of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, Loid notices the tingling sensation in his stomach. Nerves. He's rarely ever nervous so the feeling is foreign to him and difficult to identify most of the time. But there is no doubt that he's nervous.

About what, specifically, he isn't sure. But the feeling sits with him as he runs his fingers through his hair and throws on a clean shirt and dark grey fitted boxer briefs. He pulls up a pair of loose shorts after a too-long internal debate while staring at himself in the mirror. They are going to come off in a few moments anyway.

When he thinks about it, his heart trips. Loid swallows and rubs the spot on his chest.

He doesn't understand why he is so nervous about this. He's been with women before, seduced a number of them for previous missions. Hell, he's done a number of depraved things in the bedroom for the sake of intel. None of those times rattled him. Nor the times he diffused a bomb a mere second from detonating, or stopped enemy missile strikes. 

Yet, sitting on the plush comforter on his bed and waiting for Yor, Loid feels like his heart is going to explode.

When his door cracks open, and she inches into the room, his chest squeezes painfully tight. She comes to him wearing her simple baby-pink nightgown, hair damp and freshly brushed, smelling like roses and vanilla. Her skin along her collarbones and legs looks soft and flushed, like she took her time exfoliating. She must have had the same idea and taken a brief shower.

His chest does the squeezy thing again and Loid has to remind himself to breathe.

Yor says nothing as she sits next to him on the bed, shoulders and spine stiff.

They sit next to each other for at least ten minutes, the silence like a steadily increasing pressure on Loid’s shoulders. He finally cracks.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says softly, glancing from her face to her hands fisted in her lap.

They tighten. “No, I want to. But…I just don’t know where to begin,” she admits and ducks her head.

Oh.

“You haven’t done this before?”

“I have, once,” she murmurs. “But – it was a long time ago. And I didn’t…”

When she trails off, dark eyes staring at something far away, he doesn’t push.

“What about you, Loid?” she asks, glancing at him shyly. Then she blinks, laughing a little to herself. “Nevermind, you were married. And you have Anya. So of course you have experience.”

The urge to correct her sits on his tongue. He has to bite it to keep himself from saying anything. It’s a small lie, but for some reason, in this moment, it feels so much bigger. Perhaps it’s the intimacy of the moment, sitting side by side, speaking softly, the bare skins of their legs nearly brushing. 

Or perhaps it’s the fact that Yor is always so open and honest with him. She has no secrets to hide, or lies to tell. 

Loid shoves down his rising guilt and latches on to the only truth in her statement. He does indeed have experience, so he nods.

“Yes, but it’s been a while for me, too. So we’ll figure this out together.”

That, he knows with certainty, is the truth too.

The look Yor gives him is one of pure gratitude. Her eyes, the color of warm brandy, make his stomach flip again. 

“For now,” he murmurs, “let’s just get comfortable with touching each other. How does that sound?”

Yor nods, swallowing. “Okay.”