Pent up emotion helps me wrtie decent stuff. This was inspired by literally just life around me and how I've been feeling. This is set in past not the times now around the 1920s and that also inspired her dress. Hope you enjoy it!
"Storms make trees take deeper roots."- Dolly Parton.
They promised each other the night, and only the one night. They would not go look for each other after this. They would forget each other. And if one day as if by fate they would meet again then they would.
One hour earlier...
Lydia sat on one of the empty bar stools. She was sick and tired of these functions, of not being able to go off and do as she pleases, how she pleases. She wanted to be an independent and free young person. But it was being a woman that seemed to be restricting her. Was this really the price they had to pay?
She hates that she was lusted after. Seen as a mere object or accessory. She hated how women were all so submissive. She hated the way life and culture worked.
So she would take advantage of her situation now. Sitting alone, glammed up, the plan to drink, dance and have fun. Ordering a white lady she rested her head on her hand, tapping the counter.
She took in the party around her. The lavish foyer of the hotel, open and stylish. Silk drapes swayed to the breeze. Music played at a slow tempo, the lighting dim creating a sensual atmosphere. And everyone dresses to the nines.
She thought about herself, about her future and life. Thanking the bartender she turned, nursing her drink. She was almost isolated, with the slight shine of a light hitting her every so often as she sat. People around her got up for the next dance but she remained.
Francisco was central in the mass of swaying bodies. The company party was a hit. He twirled Else once again, politely smiling. Where the hell was Damien, he thought to himself. His eyes scanned the room, once, twice before coming to a stop.
His movements faltered, his face ashen in recognition. His eyes honed in on the figure near the back. He was shocked to the core for a few seconds. Could it really be her?
A slight tug from Else bought him back to the present. He smiled a tight smile, eyes trained on her for every second he could.
There in front of him he thought stood Lydia. His Lydia. Her dress, cream with black jewels and beading. Black gloves covered her hands and her hair piece a diamond across her head. Her hair was jet black and short. Her eyes lined in kohl. A light icy on her cheeks. And her lips, ruby red. He remembered those lips as if it was yesterday. He never forgot.
Seeing the figure of Damien, shielding her from his view, he stopped and glared at him for leaving his pregnant wife with him for so long. They were both starting to worry. With a curt nod in front of all the other people, her let him cut in, sidestepping. Turning he made his way to her. He was in awe. Could it really be?
Lydia felt it. That pressure on her chest,leaving her breathless. Her body warming and hypersensitive to her surroundings. They say her breathing shook with each intake. She was confused, scared and shocked. What had her like so?
Looking down at her second drink of the night, a vermouth she downed it in one go, hoping it would calm her nerves. It had been so long since she felt any of this. She was sure her feelings, were all dead.
"Lydia?"
The sound of a deep questioning voice broke her revere. It couldn't be? Not here at least. The same voice had haunted her for the past five years. She breathed in deep and steady, straightening her back before turning.
She wasn't prepared. She felt it, the way her breath stopped. Her body internally shaking. He looked the same. She could see him. Yet he had matured. Grown more handsome with time. But his eyes, the same brown eyes stared at her soul.
" I think you are mistaken sir, my name is Margo."
Her voice didn't shake, she was thankful. Her body still aches for his warmth, longed for his touch but she pushed it down. She was t going to break now.
Francisco couldn't believe it. Or was it he didn't want to? They looked so similar, that he was so sure it was her. Smiling down at the Margo he couldn't help wonder where she was, what she was doing.
"I'm so sorry m'am, I seemed to have mistaken you for someone else."
He kissed her hand, which she very quickly retracted. With a nod and a small excuse me, she walked away from him. Just like Lydia had. She turned took one last glance before hurrying up. Francisco ran a hand through his face and over his face. He was losing the plot now.
Lydia let out a startled breath when she felt she was far enough. Grabbing two flutes of passing champagne she downed them both, trying to get herself back to normal. She closed her eyes, hoping it would keep the tears at bay. But as she felt the hollowness first her heart she ran for the closest bathroom.
She cried, silent tears streamed down her face. Pulling herself up in the empty room, she splashed her face with cold water before retouching her make. A shake of the head and a stray heart of the neck, she nodded at her reflection making her exit.
She was going to leave. Right now. Her strides were powerful. Her head held high as she sauntered across the room. She didn't dare look around. To see Francisco which would just have her stop as if her feet glued to the ground.
He watched her, halting his conversation. She was leaving and he couldn't allow that. Not yet at least. Excluding himself he practically ran across the room, gaining so weird stares along the way. She couldn't see him. But her was sure she felt something as he could as he got closer.
"Leaving already," he smiled up at her.
"A drink before you leave Miss Margo, come please."
She couldn't refuse. Or was it that she didn't want to. She didn't know what she was doing anymore. All she could see was his brown eyes. They way he kissed her neck. They way his slight touch down her arm would leave a scorching trail.
"If you insist sir."
She nodded at him softly with a smile. His breath caught.
"Francisco, call me Francisco," his voice wavered.
He gestured for her to loop her arm through his, guiding them to the bar. Not once did his gaze falter off her. He ordered her a white lady and him a cognac. Hoping it was what she liked . It was what Lydia always said she would drink.
Lydia cleared her throat, "I don't like white lady's."
His physical stance tensed. Apologising her ordered her a vermouth. Turning his attention to her they sat in silence as their drinks were respectably places in front of them. They both took a sip before he started to talk.
The night felt infinite as they spoke. He was a man of words. She was a woman of silence. And yet they were both comfortable with the silences that would pop up. They drank, one, two, three till they were slightly buzzing.
And he kissed her. Like he always did.
One hour later...
She made him between kisses. And so he did. They both did. They promised each other the night, and only the one night. They would not go look for each other after this. They would forget each other. And if one day as if by fate they would meet again one day then they would.
His lips met hers in a fervent kiss. Like a starved man, ravishing her red pouty lips. He wasted no time. Pulling the zipper of her dress down, he let it slip pooling at her feet.
Her hands wrapped around his neck, as he effortlessly picked her up, hands firmly holding her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. Her hands tugged at his tie, taking it off following the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt.
Laying her on the bed, Francisco removed his articles of clothing. He still had the same scar in his chest. His body still taught, but you could see the newly sculpted muscles as he flexed.
The light dimness of the light accentuated her golden tan. His eyes ran over her laying figure. And as she rose to her elbows to reach for him, he met her half way. They kissed as she ran her hand over his scar, up around to his back.
His hands skimmed the sides of her body. He swore he knew every, curve for someone who wasn't his Lydia. He kissed down her neck, open kisses down the valley of her breasts until he reached what he wanted.
The sight of him between her legs made her gasp. The flutter of a touch on her lips had her grab the sheets in painful want. She needed more and as she was going to speak he delved deeper into her.
Her mind went hazy, her hands pulling at the strands of his hair. She gasped, back arching as his hands dive under holding her closer to him. Her body was in flames, heightening every touch. She felt warm and at home. But before she reaches her peak he stopped.
She was going to huff in annoyance but the sight of him had her voice lost. He smiled down at her, lips glistening in from the lamp lights as he bent to kiss her. Climbing over her, body weight supported by his arms her entered her tightness.
Her head fell back. He filled her, and stretched her. Tears brimmed her doe eyes as she forgot what it was like to be loved by him.
Francisco grabbed her hands entwining their finger above their head as he moved. His pace grew with each movement. He kissed her once, twice. Their eyes remained connected as if they couldn't look away. The moment so intimate as if making live with your lover.
He rested his forehead against hers. Her hands squeezed his harder as she came closer and closer to her peak. His breathing halted for a second or two. And they reached their release together, whilst he swallowed the silent gasp from her mouth in a soft comforting kiss.
He moved to the side, cradling her to his side. They needed to talk. But he needed to clean up and shower and so hoped she would stay for a little while.
" Margo I'm going to shower, join me?"
She hummed spent. He laughed into her hair moving from under her.
"Wait for me cariño," kissing her head he got up.
Lydia opened one eye, all she saw was his retreating back. The sound of the shower starting was her queue. Silently she dressed and gathered her things. She wanted to cry, scream and run into his arms. But she couldn't. She wasn't the same Lydia any more. Yet he used the same nickname as if he knew.
She couldn't risk it. She wouldn't. Turning to leave she thought about it for a second. Taking off one of her diamond earrings she left it on the bedside table. In return she hoped it would be enough for him to live his life to the fullest. To move on.
She turned back for the last one last time and whispered, "Te sigo amando. Creo que siempre lo haré."
And with that she left.
Francisco came out, a towel wrapped around and one for drying his hair. He was smiling like a teenager, he knew it was her nothing could convince him otherwise.
But the sight of the empty room had his soul feeling crushed. He had been living only for her her. The towel dropped from his hands and for the first time since the time he lost her he a line tear made its way down his face followed by another.
Wiping them away he went and sat in the edge of the bed, head in hands. Why was all he could ask. Angry he broke every lamp and vase in the room. Anything he could. Moving the the bedside table the slight glimmer of a diamond had him halting. He picked it up and stared.
" La idea de que me mantiene vivo Lydia," he whispered into the cold empty room, lurching the stud like it was his lifeline.
A/N
So this is definitely one of my favourite one shots. Maybe even my favourite for sure. I feel like it's the one so far that has the most raw emotions. And I love it because of that.
Translations from Spanish, I don't know if they're all actually right so let me know if you do!
cariño- Darling
Te sigo amando. Creo que siempre lo haré- I still love you. I think I always will.
La idea de que me mantiene vivo Lydia- The thought of you keeps me alive Lydia.