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Interlude Eight
That which we call a rose by any other name…
Wherein Sydney and Sark relax in opulent surroundings and have a discussion of future importance
The bedroom was done in whites, creams and gold’s. The floor to ceiling windows framed the king sized bed, curtains draped down from the ceiling to frame the head of the bed, the bedspread looked as soft as a cloud. Giggling she darted towards the bed and launched herself onto the mattress. She sank into fluffy softness, it was heaven compared to the forest floor and the inn’s bed. She turned her head, Julian was observing her with a tiny smirk on his face, her gaze flickered past him and she spotted another door, the bathroom.
She was off the bed and across the room before Julian could do more than blink. She held her breath as she opened the bathroom door. She wasn’t disappointed, the room was made of white marble, threaded through with veins of rose, gold flashed from the facets and handles. Laughing she walked over to the monstrous bathtub, made of the same marble as the rest of the room, making it seem as if it had been carved up out of the floor, vines and leaves had been carved faintly into the tub giving it texture as she ran her hand over the rim. Bottles, soaps and sponges neatly lined a shelf, leaning over she quickly plugged the drain and started the water running. After selecting a bottle of sweet smelling bubble bath and pouring it into the tub she turned to find Julian leaning against the doorway observing her.
Smiling coyly at him she started to undo the ties of her top, “It’ll probably take a while for the tub to fill up.”
He made an agreeing noise as he watched her hands.
*~*~*
Sighing contentedly she stretched out her toes attempting to touch the far end of the tub, she fell short. Bubbled swirled about, agitated into motion by the movement of her leg, flickering candle light danced across the watery surfaces unoccupied by frothy bubbles. She leaned back against Julian’s chest, sliding down a bit more so her chin nearly broke the surface of the water. Twisting a bit so she could rest her cheek against his slick chest she cast her half lidded eyes up to his face, watching him. He was idly brushed a soft sponge over her body, a light brush between her thighs, to the undersides of her breasts, circling her stomach.
“We should start to think of baby names,” she reminded him.
He pursed his lips, “Lucrezia?”
She snorted, sending bubbles scuttling across the water, “I was being serious.”
He pouted a bit as she put forth, “Madeline?”
His lips twisted into a grimace, “I’m not having a daughter named after an annoyingly cheerful French orphan.”
She blinked, “I’m not sure I want to know how your even familiar with whom she is.”
The sponge moved on to her arm as he suggested, “Bridget?” Though he pronounced it ‘BUR-zeet’.
“I like Bridget,” she pronounced it properly, ‘BRIH-jet’.
“Bridget, it is,” he consented to her pronunciation. “How about Anne for a middle name?”
She looked up at him in surprise, “That’s my middle name!”
He glanced down at her, smirking slightly, “I know.”
She splashed at him, “Fine, Bridget Anne. What about boy’s names? And don’t even think about saying Milo.”
He shuddered lightly, “Heaven forbid. And no offence, but not Jack, Jonathan or anything of that sort.”
She laughed slightly, “Okay, no naming after my dad.” She thought a bit, abstractedly dragging a fingernail around one of his nipples, her tongue absently poking out to do the same to the other one by her mouth. His arm around her back and waist tightened but the sponge continued on its soft, slow tour of her body.
Finally she tentatively offered, “Marcus?”
He squinted his eyes in thought, “Your SD-6 partner, correct?”
“Yes, he’s always been a mentor as well as a good friend of mine. Not to mention he’s saved my life in the field countless of times.”
“Marcus is acceptable,” he declared.
She rolled her eyes, sitting up so her head was level with his, “What’s your middle name?”
He eyed her a moment, “Nicholas.”
“Julian Nicholas Sark,” she let the words slid around her tongue.
“Julian Nicholas Lazarey, actually,” he corrected her.
She made a face.
He arched an eyebrow at her, “You didn’t think I was using my real last name did you?”
“No, but it’s still disappointing,” she rested her head on his shoulder as he lifted the sponge out of the tub and let water run over her back, making her shiver and press closer to him. “Marcus Nicholas,” she frowned, “Marcus Nikolai.”
“Nikolai Marcus,” he countered.
She opened her mouth to protest then tried it herself, “Nikolai Marcus. Okay,” she nodded against him.
“Good,” he decisively settled the matter, “Now if we just have a boy and girl we’ll be set for names.”
She smiled and ran the back of her hand over his chest, “What if we have three children? Or maybe just one.”
“No, two,” he seemed quite certain.
“Why just two?” she curiously wanted to know.
“If we have only one then they’d be an only child. We’re both only child’s and I suspect we both would have liked to have a sibling when we were younger.”
She didn’t dispute his thinking and he went on.
“So it has to be two, because we have three we could end up with three girls or three boys, but we could end up with two and one. Then the two could team up against the lone one,” he pointed out as if it was obvious.
“So then we have four,” she waited for his response, which was quick in coming.
“Ah, but then if we have four we could have three and one, again leaving the one, boy or girl, to defend themselves against siblings of the opposite sex banding together to pick on them. But if we have just the two then it doesn’t matter if it’s two boys or two girls or one of each. It’s all even that way; two really is the way to go. There’s also no middle child, just the oldest and the youngest.”
She gazed up at him delightedly, “You’ve been thinking about this!”
He looked a little sheepish, “Perhaps, a little, here and there.”
Grinning she leaned forward, sealing his lips with hers.
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