Bee and Temp

They had been safe for a while, so everyone let down their guards. Time was loose and long in the village. Each day felt new and bright because none of them were stumbling off the dawn shift or snoozing from midnight watch. No one had to sleep under camouflage, quiet the horses, or keep a perpetual eye over their shoulders.

Templar was laughing over something Reese had said. Beatrice found herself laughing along, though quieter than normal, still mulling over what Bess had said.
“He’s obviously protecting more than the money now, dearie.” The old bat.
He was now chatting animatedly with Reese, telling a story that Beatrice had missed the beginning of.
Obviously Temp was attractive, she thought biting her lip, funny too. Beatrice’s face burned as she recalled the dream she’d had a few weeks before. The vivid feeling… She wanted to squash the fluttering she felt whenever she thought of the possibilities; it was too silly, too impractical, and too blind. Too much like who she used to be. As the plan went, they were going to split ways once they reached Bine Harbor, only two weeks away, and that would be that. She would be back home.
“-then Beatrice here,” Templar said loudly, shaking her out of her reverie both literally and physically, and gesturing wildy, “comes rocketing down the stairs. I go to try and grab her but she starts kicking and yelling like some wild thing.” The others laughed as she squirmed away, elbowing him in the process, half-smiling herself.
“Always a fast one with the ladies, aren’t you Temp?” Someone said. Beatrice stopped suddenly, blushing at the implications, painfully aware that she was the only woman at the table. Templar let go of her.
He answered, “With a fast mouth like yours, I’m surprised you aren’t one Dave.” Everyone started chatting again. Templar had started a new story.

They were walking back to the inn, through the narrow cobblestone streets between the sleeping houses. The night had the warm uplift of the summer months, a sense of boldness and freedom snaking through the hair. Beatrice was silent, lost in thought, one step behind Templar. She did not see Templar stop to step over the bricks hidden in the shadows and bumped ungainly into his back.
“Oh, sorry.” He said distantly as he navigated over the pile. Jumping down on the other side, he waited for her.
“Trying to pull another fast one on me?” Beatrice quipped, picking her way over the bricks. Her comment met silence. Unnerved, she glanced over at the still figure, brushing the hair from her eyes.
He stood with his legs planted, hands deep in his pockets, face half in shadow, with a strange expression on his face.
“What’s wrong Temp-“ She started, straightening up from her position, but was cut off as Templar took two strides, slipped his left hand behind her right ear, and ghosted his lips over hers. For a split second, she breathed not oxygen but the warm exhale of his breath. She felt as if every muscle in her body tensed unsure how to react. An electric tingle shot from her brain to her toes. Their eyes met.
Taking his face in her hands, Beatrice leaned into him, eyes closed, as their lips met again. His hands moved to her waist, drawing her closer. In the silence were many things: the soft rustle of clothing, the clattering of the discarded bricks – the uneven breathing. Beatrice worked her fingers into his hair, clenching and unclenching as waves of heady warmth crashed through them both. Their bodies moved in a hungry rhythm.
The kiss ended quietly. Beatrice rested her forehead against his, eyes still shut, breathing hard.
“What,” she whispered softly, “was that?”
“I-“ he started and then stopped himself, “I’ll see you back at the inn.”
“What?” Beatrice sputtered, incredulous.
“Goodnight!” He said, slipping off into the dark night.

After a morning of fruitless searching, she found Templar with the horses. She heard his soft whistling through the window, which stopped as she entered the barn.
Beatrice worked her way slowly down the stalls although she already knew where he was. The barn was quiet except for the quiet whinnies of the horses and the calling birds in the high rafters. Sunlight reached small fingers through the cracks in the ceiling and fell upon the speckled backs of the beasts the barn housed. Beatrice took a few deep breaths before entering the saddle house adjoined to the barn. He was not surprised.
“Hey, Bee.” He said amusedly, polishing an already gleaming brown saddle. She stood in the doorway, a silent silhouette in the dusky room. They stayed that way for a few minutes. Templar’s small grin gradually grew into something he tried to bite back. Finally he could resist no longer.
“What’s up bumble-“
“It’s funny, Temp.” Beatrice began, sauntering into the room, “I met a guy last night.” She pulled one of the saddle stands up to the table he was working on and perched, as suggestively as she could, on the seat.
“He decided to be a gentleman and walked me home from that nasty bar in the village. You know the one right Temp?” She moved a few inches on the stand, making the flimsy joints creak ominously. Distracted, Templar looked up. And then looked some more, his face unguarded. Internally smirking, Beatrice continued calmly. “Well we were just walking through the Lowers, when he just suddenly turns on me!” She leaned down to rest her elbows on his worktable, propping her head on her hands and tipping it to one side. “And do you know what he did?” Templar, no longer smiling, looked away. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“He did this.” She whispered, climbing onto the table. He stood as if to leave but could not take his eyes off her face. Trapping him again with her hands, she kissed him forcefully as his lips rose to meet her. Still locked at the lips, she let him push her back on the table but had to relinquish her hold to make sure she did not fall backwards. Gently breaking the kiss, Beatrice propped herself up on her elbows smugly. She had her answers.
The night before she had been angry and confused. So the next morning she set out to finish what had been interrupted, whatever it was, on her terms. It had been a long time since she wore a dress that tight. It had seemed to work; Templar was bent over her, drawn as if by a magnetic force. His face was flushed, expression flustered. Satisfied, she started to rise but his hand stopped her. Templar removed the space between them once more, kissing her now with more intensity. A little unsettled, Beatrice struggled against him. The tables had turned.
Pausing for a second, his lips brushed her ear, and he spoke to her in an urgent, low voice.
“Beatrice, is this real?”
She exhaled slowly, “Yes.”
She then tenderly met his lips and cautiously so as not to startle him, lowered herself the rest of the way onto the table. Lowered eyes, he sat gingerly beside her, his short blonde hair falling between them cutting out the light that shone on their smiles. They stayed in the saddle house until the sun was low. The brown saddle had long before fallen to the floor.