Mon, February 06 2012
| TITLE: | Rules of Engagement |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Tonja Moore |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | NC-17, Adult-Het |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Jules\OFC |
| DESCRIPTION: | Jules goes undercover (so to speak). |
| STATUS: | Complete |
The smell of lamp oil, when one is already feeling off-color from a too-rich meal and a too-smoky atmosphere, is not a pleasant thing, Jules decided. He was transferring the small light from his bedside table to the window sill, and the odor was adding to the agitation of his unsettled nerves. Even after months of association with the Foggs, Jules still found his pulse racing and his breath quicken when he was involved in one of their subterfuges. This one seemed to be particularly wracking, not only because of what he was doing but also where he was.
The palace or villa or whatever the domicile of a Turkish Sultan was called was a massive stone structure, centuries old, and full of twisting narrow passageways that were quite bewildering. Jules was sure if he left his room he would be lost almost immediately. How Rebecca thought she could make her way to the Sultan's sanctum and get copies of the Black Sea port fortifications, Jules simply did not know. He hoped she had a plan of the interior.
Rebecca's original scheme had been to enter the palace through the harem, but Phileas had firmly quashed that idea. With his voice dripping the sarcasm he knew so well how to employ, he had pointed out that a harem was meant to keep its inhabitants inside, not to allow them to wander about freely. He went on to note that Rebecca's coloring, which could not be hidden considering the scantiness of traditional harem garb, could not be disguised and would give her away instantly. He accused her of only wanting to wear such an outfit to annoy him. Rebecca had argued, but was finally forced to admit that the locks and guards would probably take too much time to neutralize. They had arrived at an alternate plan after much wrangling.
Jules did not remember much of the argument. He had been too engrossed in watching Rebecca pace around the main salon of the Aurora in the "annoying" harem garb. The sunlight streaming in through the windows had given the gauzy trousers a translucency that was very distracting. The page in his notebook that he had been working on was full of blots instead of thoughts. In the end, however, the Foggs had settled on the plan that had brought Jules to his present location in the palace. Phileas had pulled some diplomatic strings to wangle an invitation for himself and Jules to dine with the Sultan and to spend the night under his roof.
The smoke from the oil lamp in his nostrils made him want to gag, but he ordered himself to ignore it as he padded over to the window, his feet bare to keep from making any noise. He opened the elaborately carved shutters and pushed them clear. He could not see the Aurora in the night sky, but he was sure that she was out there with Passepartout's steady hands controlling delicate maneuvering to get close enough to the palace. He placed the lamp on the sill and stepped back to wait.
A few minutes of ear strain had passed before he detected the sound of the winch. It stopped and he heard a soft whistle. He moved the lamp off of the window sill and reached across to the landing platform to assist Rebecca into his room. She was dressed now in her leather working costume, but had eschewed her usual boots in favor of soft-soled slippers that would make no sound on the stone floors. The window was not overly large and there was some wiggling necessary to get her all the way in. In his unsteady state, Jules did not need the stimulation caused by her arms wrapped closely around him, which brought her breasts in close contact with his chest. Being around Rebecca always caused his thoughts to become somewhat carnal anyway. If he ever went to confession with all of them, he was sure he would not be able to complete the required penance in his remaining lifetime. Being this close, however, brought on... reactions.
When she was on her feet again, Rebecca did not move away but leaned even closer to whisper, "Is everything going according to the plan?"
The feel of her lips so close to his ear brought on more reactions. He hoped she would not notice. He whispered back, "Yes. Phileas is still with the Sultan. I excused myself early and was shown here." He could not stand the proximity a moment longer, so he backed away and used the lamp at the window to give the signal to Passepartout. The basket swayed upwards and out of sight. He turned back to Rebecca.
She was studying him quizzically. "Are you all right, Jules? You look rather flushed."
He floundered for an explanation. "The food... it was good, but... rich. Too rich.... I'll be all right in the...."
The knock at his door caused them both to jump. After a scant moment of hesitation, Rebecca dove to hide behind the long draperies at the side of the window. Jules scooped up the lamp from the sill and put it back onto the bedside table before he opened the door.
The hall seemed to be full of people at first glance, but when Jules got himself under control, he managed to count five. The one in front was one of the Sultan's high servants. Jules remembered his face from the dinner. The servant bowed and spoke in heavily accented French. "I have come to see that all is as it should be in your room, Mr. Verne."
Jules summoned up a cheerful smile. "Yes, yes, thank you. I am quite comfortable. Thank you." ''Now go away=, he added silently.
The man bowed again. "And now, would you select your bedwarmer for the night? The Sultan has sent three for you to choose from. Or, perhaps you would care to have all three?" He stepped back from the door to show three lightly veiled women dressed in "annoying" harem outfits, one in yellow, one in maroon, and one in blue. Behind them stood one of the tall eunuch guards, his face impassive as he glowered down at the Frenchman. Jules swallowed, glad that the light in the corridor was dim. He fought to keep his face expressionless, but was not at all sure that he succeeded. "Er...." was what came out of his mouth, but that seemed unresponsive. He tried again. "I do not think I...."
The servant smiled and repeated his bow. "If the ladies are not to your taste, sir, the Sultan also has as slaves some youths who would be...."
"No!" The word shot out before he could stop it. Jules coughed and moderated his tone. "No, I... um...." His mind raced furiously. "Do any of the ladies speak French?" he asked suddenly, hoping this would give him an excuse. "I do not speak your language."
This brought a knowing chuckle from the other man. "It is not really necessary for one to say anything, sir," he said. "All are well-trained in their art. But, if you require one who can communicate with you verbally, then I suggest Maryam, the one in blue. Her mother came from your country."
"She did?" That was no good then. Damn, he had to get these people away from his door! Well, perhaps one was better than five. Maybe Rebecca would have an idea for what to do in this situation. "Then Maryam will do. Thank you."
The servant turned to the shape in the blue veil and said something in his own tongue. The lady nodded and stepped forward. Jules resisted the impulse to yank her inside and slam the door. Instead he said again, "Thank you," and then added with what he hoped was the correct inflection, "I will not be needing anything further this evening."
The servant smiled as he bowed, then gestured for the others to move along down the corridor. Jules waited until they were some distance away, then backed away from the door to let Maryam come in. He closed the door quickly and turned to her. In the somewhat brighter lamplight of the room, he could see some of the face behind the loosely woven blue veil. She was young, with creamy light brown skin and black eyes. He could not make a proper assessment of her attractions at the moment, however. He was interested only in getting her out of the way. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" he said politely. "I need to close that window."
The woman--girl?--regarded him for a moment, then dropped her eyes and moved away to stand by the bed. The soft blue of her garments blended with the filmy hangings from the elaborately carved canopy. It was a pretty picture, but Jules did not wait to see if the lamps made her trousers translucent; he hurried across to the window and leaned out to grasp the shutters. "What now?" he hissed to the shadowy form behind the draperies.
"You'll have to distract her so that I can slip out of the room," came the almost inaudible response.
Jules glanced over his shoulder, then back at the drapes. "How?" he whispered, but he was fairly certain he knew what the answer would be. And he was not going to like it.
A ghost of a chuckle floated out of the folds of material. Jules looked back at the figure by the bed nervously. He smiled weakly as he saw her watching him steadily. He was certain that she was wondering why he was speaking to the curtains. He sighed and pulled the shutters toward the window as slowly as he could. "How?" he said again.
"I'm afraid that you will have to let her perform her function, Jules. Just think of it as a sacrifice for Queen and country."
"She's not my Queen!" The words came out louder than he wanted them to and he darted another glance at the woman who appeared not to have noticed.
"My Queen and your country, Jules. French ships are in as much danger as English vessels." The soft words still sounded as though the speaker were laughing. "While you are... engaged, I can get to the door without her noticing. If you are... engaging enough."
The shutters were closed and Jules had to decide. All of the ramifications of his next actions flashed through his mind. If they did not find the locations of those secret guns, the lives of hundreds of sailors, some even younger than he himself, would be lost from sneak attacks on the ships. Balanced against that was his natural modesty and shyness. And the fear of making an utter ass of himself in front of Rebecca. Jules knew what he had to do, but he was not exactly enthusiastic. He squared his shoulders, muttered, "For Queen and country," and turned to meet his fate.
Fate was now reclining gracefully on the bed. The veil had been moved aside, revealing a pretty delicate face. With relief Jules noted that she was not a child. That would have made things awkward. She looked to be about his age, perhaps a bit older. It was difficult to tell in this light. Perhaps it was better for him not to think about that at all. He was not sure what he should be thinking about though. Queen and country? He hoped that the laughter he was hearing was strictly a figment of his imagination.
Jules cleared his throat. "Good evening, Miss Maryam," he said. She nodded her head, but said nothing. He tried to think of something refined and witty to say, but the situation did not lend itself to that. Probably a lecture on the evils of slavery would not do either. Finally, he burst out with at least part of the truth. "I am sorry, Miss, not that you are not lovely, but I really do not know what to do with you."
She did react then, a slow smile making its way across her face. She rose from the bed and came toward him. "When they told me I was to be with a Frenchman this evening, I was afraid," she said. Her voice was light and musical, much less heavily accented than the Sultan's servant. "Afraid that you would be old and drunk on your country's wine. Instead I find you are young and handsome. This pleases me. Do I please you?"
He wanted to say what would please him most would be for her to leave the room, or failing that, to go to the far corner and hide her eyes and cover her ears. That seemed rather rude, however, so he tried, "Would you like to just go to sleep? You can have the bed. I will take some of the pillows and…."
She was close enough now to touch him and did so, raising her fingers to his lips to silence him. "Having seen you, I am now most eager to proceed. Do not be shy. For this night, I am yours."
Her fingers slid away from his mouth to caress his cheek, his ear, the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Jules gathered his wits for one last try. "I don't... I haven't...."
Maryam stopped him with a kiss this time, raising her lips to his, stepping close to press the full length of her body against him. Her lips were soft and warm and his felt bereft when she lifted hers away to whisper, "If you haven't and you don't, Jules Verne, then allow me to show you the way to do and to have."
Spice and honey. She tasted of spice and honey, Jules decided, when his lips parted to admit the tip of a questing tongue. His arms had come up of their own accord and were holding her as her small hands caressed his back and moved down on a leisurely course to cup his buttocks. His shaft grew hard in response, pressing against the front of trousers that were suddenly too tight.
Jules finally had to relinquish her mouth to restore oxygen to his lungs before he fainted. Maryam's hands came up and eased his suspenders from his shoulders. She pressed light feathery kisses on the line of jaw and down his neck as her fingers sought for the buttons on his shirt. She tugged the garment free and let it fall to the floor. Jules had a vague notion that he should slow things down to provide more distraction, but that fled as Maryam's soft cheek rubbed against the rough hair on his chest. A moment later her questing lips found and fastened on a flat male nipple and all chance of coherent thought left him.
Her low laugh seemed to come from miles away. "Do you like that, Jules?" she murmured. She sat on the bed and drew him down beside her. "I like it, too." The clasp that held her gauzy blouse in place was open and her breasts gleamed in the lamplight. Jules put up a tentative hand to touch the creamy skin. It was soft, so soft, except where the dark nipples had formed tight buds that trembled when he touched them. The urge to taste what he touched was irresistible; therefore, he did not resist.
A moan of what he hoped was pleasure escaped her and she lay back on the bed pulling him with her. The moan came again as he covered first one and then the other nipple and used his tongue to savor the sweetness there. "Ah, Jules, you learn rapidly," she whispered.
"I've always been a quick study," he answered, growing bolder with his explorations, using both hands and lips now. When he encountered the slim girdle around her hips, she assisted him in sliding it free. With a few voluptuous wriggles, she rid herself of the rest of her clothing, giving him more territory to investigate. Jules took full advantage of the opportunity, confirming the shapeliness of her bum and the feminine smoothness of her thighs.
Maryam put a stop to this most interesting activity by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Now you," she said cryptically. Jules understood a moment later as her quick hands moved to the buttons of his trousers. He was relieved, for the constriction there was becoming almost painful. When at last he was freed, Maryam gazed at his stiffened manhood with admiration. "Magnificent," she breathed, stroking it carefully. Jules was sure that his brain would explode if the play of her fingers continued, and even more so when she bent to caress him with a light kiss. "Come," she said. "I will show you now where to have and to do."
Her slender legs encircled him as she used her hands to guide him into her waiting nest. To the other sensations was now added a moist tight warmth unlike anything else he had known. He wanted more, needed more, and thrust forward to find it. His reward came in a moan and movement of the legs wrapped securely around him. He thrust again and again, using her voice as a guide to increase their mutual enjoyment. This spiraled upward, shutting out everything but the heated friction of skin against skin, the mounting pleasure building to an indescribable level, and then the climax caused him to burst into a thousand fragments of delight.
He rested his head on the pillow, unsure if he would ever have the strength to move again. No wonder so many people pursued this activity, he mused. It was quite... engaging.
Abruptly, the thinking part of his mind came awake and he wondered when Rebecca had managed to creep out of the room. He opened his eyes, then opened them wider as he realized that Rebecca was only now at the door. She opened it just wide enough to allow her to slip through, then looked over at the bed. She grinned at him, winked, and mouthed, "For Queen and country" before making her exit.
Jules was appalled. Why had she waited so long? There had been ample opportunity to get to the door while he and Maryam were... while they... what had she been waiting for? Surely she had not waited deliberately? He could not imagine....
Maryam stirred beneath him, moving so that her breasts rubbed against him. Her hands trailed down his sides, then slid underneath the curve of his buttocks. Jules found suddenly that he was not nearly as spent as he had thought.
*******
Jules sat at the table in the main salon of the Aurora with Phileas and Rebecca while Passepartout steered the airship over the countryside. They were all engrossed in examining the sketches that Rebecca had made the previous evening of the secret fortifications along the shores of the Black Sea. "These are excellent, Rebecca," Phileas said. "I am glad that the plan worked out properly."
Rebecca smiled. "It was a good plan, Phileas."
Phileas grinned somewhat ruefully at Jules. "Sorry that you had to miss all of the entertainment, Verne. The dancing was quite enchanting."
Jules carefully did not look at Rebecca. "Well, Fogg," he said, "no sacrifice is too great... for Queen and country."