The Stocking

The Master

Fawn fidgeted nervously on the small parlour table, hands grasping her elbows to herself as she skittishly tracked his every movement.

"Here we are," he announced, carrying in a tray of steaming tea and scones. His linen shirt was rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his powerful forearms tensing slightly as he brushed the stocking stuffers aside to set the platter down.

Fawn could almost taste the heavenly tang of bergamot hanging in the air.

"Forgive the scant offerings..." he smiled apologetically. "It seems I don't have much of an appetite these days."

Fawn's brow knitted, unsure whether he was mocking her. It was more food in one place than she'd seen in a year...

A gust of air flurried her hair as he settled down into his seat. She watched with undisguised awe as he lifted the colossal kettle with ease, the tendons in his powerful hands contracting slightly as he poured. She still couldn't wrap her head around seeing him this close.

She was so transfixed that she barely registered his hand changing paths until it was soaring straight toward her. She skittered backward, heart thundering in her ears.

"Easy, little one," he soothed, his fingers pinching a tiny thimble of tea in offering. Placing it down before her, he then crumbled a few pieces of buttery scone on a china dish and set it at her side. As soon as his hands retreated, Fawn's instincts overcame her. Scrambling forward she began to devour the luscious, warm pastry as if it were her last meal on earth. She paused mid-swallow, keenly aware of his gaze now blanketing her. She flushed with hot embarrassment at the hint of amusement in his eyes.

"There's more where that came from if you'd like."

Overcome with self-consciousness, she shook her head, stooping instead to gather up the warm thimble of tea. Cradling it between her hands, she took a small sip, then a deeper one, a welcome heat flushing through her until her body began to soften.

He laughed softly. "There, see? Nothing a brew can't fix."

Leaving her to settle, he poured his own cup of tea, breaking off a chunk of scone half the size of her body. She steeled her stomach, trying not to think about how easily he consumed it.

"How are you feeling?"

Fawn started at the sound of his deep, rich voice. She hugged herself closer, suddenly captivated by the grain in the old wood.

He titled his head, as if trying to catch her eye. "Nothing broken I trust?"

She shook her head soundlessly, unable to force out a single word. Glancing upward cautiously, she was struck with the full force of his undivided attention, his gaze drinking her in leisurely. A low singe crept up her cheeks until they were smoldering, her eyes darting about her in a fluster. She didn't know where to look...there was just so much of him.

He chuckled softly, crossing his arms upon the table and leaning forward. "You're a shy little thing, aren't you? Tell me, do you have a name?"

Fawn shrank back under his looming shadow, her breath quickening with her pulse. He must know how intimidating he was being...

"There's no reason to be afraid."

Fawn's head shot up, her brows knitting for the first time in anger. She wanted to scream that she could think of exactly 6 reasons at this very moment, and one of them was imminent death. Instead, she scoffed quietly.

To her horror, he seemed to catch the offhand gesture, a fascinated grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"There you are..." he whispered to himself. "Come, tell me your thoughts."