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The cold light bleeds blue and syrupy through the curtains, signalling a new dawn, a new day, casting shadows over the messy kitchen. (It’s hard to believe everything that transpired some mere hours before, the way a simple kiss has changed anything and everything and then some.)
On some level, Taggie had given up all hope of anything happening at all. Despite longing looks and lingering touches; despite how close they seemed to get after New Years Eve, the bid for Venturer and all the late nights it took to get their franchise off the ground. She never even accounted for what could happen, when Rupert returned from Spain.
But Cameron. Cameron had happened.
(And she hadn’t held it against him, not really. She was jealous, sure, hurt and sad and longing - she wanted Rupert all for herself and thought maybe, finally, something would happen. But then Cameron. Cameron, in all her glory, walked in leggy and fabulous; and Taggie had barely had time to adjust to this new reality when she found out her father had all but demanded Rupert not touch her. To stay away from her.
Two steps forward, three hundred steps back.)
But some hours before, here in this very kitchen, everything had changed. This time for the better.
Only he’s not you.
She’d tried to give him an out, to let him off the hook - but Rupert hadn’t taken it. And that, to Taggie, had confirmed on some level, he felt some of what she felt for him too.
Taggie had to pinch herself twice that morning - (not that she’d slept yet, cleaning up the remnants of the party) - to confirm it was real. Because how many times had she dreamt of this, of closing the distance between them? Everytime Taggie thought they were closer to their feelings, to something defined, reality would intrude.
It was exhausting.
But there was nothing exhausting about the way he kissed her last night; all consuming and all knowing. The way his mouth had slanted over hers possessively, licking into her mouth without thought. The way he’d pulled her closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, had squeezed her closer, almost like was desperate to crawl inside her and make a home amongst her bones and blood.
Taggie’s cheeks warm as she thinks back over their kiss - to the point where she doesn’t even hear the kitchen door creak open at first, before his cleared throat sartles her from her daydream.
“Oh.” She breathes, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. “H-hi.”
Rupert smiles back, and well - (She’s not sure how someone who’s probably only had a few hours of sleep total over the last week can look so damn good, but - hey. Taggie’s seen worse.)
It’s only seconds later, that Taggie notices the way the smile doesn’t reach his eyes; the way it’s polite and careful, more like the politician version of himself, and not the Rupert Taggie has come to think of hers .
There’s a kind of sinking feeling in her stomach, her skin prickling with awareness and awkwardness - and it’s the worst kind of feeling. Resignation. Sadness. Despair . He kissed her in this very kitchen some hours before. He’d only left to ensure that the other esteemed members of Venturer’s team poured themself safely into cars, to make sure that Cameron was fine with the walk up the paddock to his own home. Taggie hadn’t even considered the fact all the progress they had made could so easily be undone in a handful of hours.
“It was just a kiss.” She murmurs. “Wasn’t it?”
Rupert glances over at her, frowning, saying nothing. She hates the way her heart begs for him to say the opposite, to declare no, it wasn’t, it was everything and then some. That they’ll figure it all out, even if its so very fucking complicated, between her Venturer, their significant others, her father, her now absent mother.
“I’m sorry, Taggie.”
“Don’t - don’t do that.” She shakes her head, shuffling closer with a sharp frown. Her hands itch with the desire to reach out and touch him, to soothe and solve. “Don’t apologise like it’s something you regret.”
(Taggie isn’t sure she could handle it, if the kiss was something he regretted.)
“It’s not just your father, you know.” Rupert shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s everything else.”
The reasons flash in front of her, like neon signs. Venturer. Cameron. Seb. His imperfect reputation, her perfect reputation. Somehow, they’ve found themselves in this mess, and Taggie is sure that anyone, from the outside looking in, would say it’s not that complicated.
But Rupert was the one who’d said he was trapped, and he couldn’t get out - and Taggie had no way of knowing if it was the case, or not. He wouldn’t even tell her anyway.
“I know. I told you I didn’t want you to get out of it, remember? I’d never want to make life harder for you.”
The silence stretches out between them like an ocean and Taggie turns back to the sink, to the dishes piling up from last night’s party. They wouldn’t get done if she didn’t handle it.
“Seb’s a good kid.” Rupert murmurs and Taggie closes her eyes.
Seb. Her boyfriend. (And the worst part of it is, he is - he’s such a good person. He calls when he says, he follows through with every date, with every word and then some. He holds her hand and kisses her cheek. He’s kind and passionate and sweet; he treats her well. But Taggie had meant what she said. He wasn’t Rupert. Seb was everything she should want - but Rupert was everything she needed.)
“Right.” Taggie murmured. Her hands plunge into the soapy, warm water, the bubbles slipping over her skin.
“And Cameron’s…” She swallows past the lump in her throat. “She’s a good woman.”
Everything Taggie wanted to be when she grew up, was everything Cameron already was. Smart, confident, self-assured and comfortable in her own skin. She knew her place in the world, knew how she fit in and had no problems carving out space for herself in rooms no one wanted her in. Taggie was the exact opposite in almost every regard - awkward and shy and opinions unheard. No one stood up and took notice when Taggie walked into a room - not like they did for Cameron.
“Right.” Rupert cleared his throat - he took a half step towards her, before hesitating. “I’ll see you around?”
Taggie smiled at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be here.”
Because where else could she possibly go?
Time moves in a slow and predictable way. She settles into a routine, catering for the village elite and spending her evenings taking care of whoever it is that visits the Priory that evening. Seb takes her out on weekends, either to see a movie or for lunch at the pub in town.
(It is a comfortable, safe existence - and it is completely and utterly boring.)
In the middle of it all is Rupert, and the knowledge Taggie harbours, knowing what it’s like to kiss him, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under her hands, the taste of his mouth as he licks into her.
They hover around each other with the unspoken reality of what transpired in her kitchen; his eyes dark and flickering to her mouth everytime she veers too close to his orbit. Everytime it happens, she feels the heat spark under her skin, feels herself growth breathless and blushes.
She holds Seb’s hand and stares at Rupert; wishing it was his hand she was holding, wishing it was him who would kiss her goodnight in a few short hours.
He keeps a hand on Cameron’s back and stares at Taggie; and she thinks he’s wishing it were her, too.
(They seem to be at some kind of impasse - longing and yearning, knowing they should be together but unable to somehow bridge the gap. There’s a silent agreement to try - try with Seb, try with Cameron. They're polite, respectable choices, age-appropriate and uncomplicated.
But even the reality of her choice doesn’t change the longing Taggie feels deep into her bones. It doesn’t change the jealousy she seethes with when she overhears Cameron murmuring about moving into Penscombe Manor, about how excited she is to live with Rupert.)
So that’s the way it goes.
Taggie with Seb. Rupert with Cameron. An ocean of longing between them.
Predictably, it all goes to shit a few months later.
(Reality is a cruel mistress, and she would never be comfortable letting Taggie think her life is approaching something akin to normal.)
The Venturer team gathers one evening at the Priory, deciding her home is their unofficial headquarters - at least until proper office space can be sorted out. Taggie hopes that it happens sooner rather than later, she’s getting quite sick of the fact she’s throwing parties that she isn’t paid for and having to clean up after grown men and women without so much as a thanks .
But her resentments aside, there’s so much to do with so many people milling about - food, snacks, tea and coffee; hiding the whiskey so her father doesn’t slosh himself before he’s even had a chance to play at being a leader.
(She thinks this whole bid, this franchise, this new way of doing things, will be good for him. She desperately hopes it will be good for him. A way to take his mind off the fact her mother really has left; hasn’t returned any of their calls, hasn’t written one letter and doesn’t seem to care her name is being splashed through the London papers, in connection with a man who isn’t her husband.)
There’s a plate of sandwiches in one hand, and a tray of brandy snaps in another, when she turns and finds Seb smiling at her. It still kind of shocks her, sometimes, the way he gravitates towards her, wants to be around her - it’s so different from the other boys she’s been with, so different from Rupert - that she doesn’t know what to make of it.
(She has to stop herself from trying to find some kind of ulterior motive underneath the niceties.)
“Oh.” She breathes. “Uh, everyone’s gathered in the living room.”
Seb’s head tilts slightly to the side, an amused smirk on his face. “I know. Thought I’d hang out here with you instead.”
He pauses a second later, frowning gently. “If - if that’s okay? I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”
Taggie isn’t sure what to say at first, blinking at him, before the words sink in. “No, n-no. Uh. I’ll just run these in and then?”
Taggie isn’t sure why she phrases it as a question, not sure why the sight of his pleased smile and easy nod cures something for the anxiety she feels prickling under her skin. He’s her boyfriend, for Gods sakes, but she still feels nervous around him.
She ventures into the living room, - dimly hearing the kitchen door open and close behind her - to drop off the food, when her gaze meets Rupert’s.
He’s smiling at her, soft around the edges, eyes dark like that night in the kitchen, and Taggie frowns.
(He’s so bloody confusing - pulling away from her, telling her they can’t, telling her there’s too many reasons between them to ever be more than they are - but he’ll do this. Look at her like he craves her.)
Taggie turns away without a word.
When she returns to the kitchen a moment later, she finds her mother. With Seb. Her Seb, her sweet, perfect, boring Seb, next to her wild, unpredictable, complex, mother.
Maud.
At first, Taggie merely blinks at the sight of Maud in the kitchen, curls wild as ever. It doesn’t seem real - the way she’s already shucked her coat, flung over the back of one of the chairs, and is poking her way through the cupboards - likely looking for the whiskey Taggie’s taken to hiding from her father.
Seb glances over at Taggie and frowns, unsure of what to do, what to make of all this - hoping Taggie has some kind of answer, but.
He’s shit out of luck, because she doesn’t know what to do either.
Maud turns with a flourish and squeals at the sight of her eldest daughter. “Oh Tag, angel, Mummy’s missed you!”
Her mother rushes closer, hands cupping Taggie’s cheeks, kissing the tip of her nose, dutifully ignoring the way Taggie is frozen and unmoving.
“London was so dreadfully boring, changed in an absolute heartbeat since we’d all last been there!” Maud trills on. “I missed you all and your father so much I just had to come back as soon as I could!”
“What about the play?” Taggie asks flatly, her hands curling into fists at her sides, nails digging half moons into the meat of her palms.
(This is so like her mother, floating in and out, from whatever person makes her feel wanted at any particular time. It tore their family apart once, those early days of her father’s career at the BBC, lead them to land here in Rutshire. It almost tore them apart a second time, the way her mother would flirt with any and all willing men in the county, Rupert top of the list, Bas a close second. She’s not sure why she’s shocked her mother left for another man, for an abstract concept of attention. It’s what has always governed her no matter what.)
Maud waves away the words with a flourish. “Horrible reviews on opening night, I extracted my brilliance from that as soon as I could! Should have known it was going to be a right stinker.”
Her mother glances at her, eyes warm and loving and sighs dreamily. “Besides. How ever could I be away from my darling family?”
Taggie parts her lips to reply, that while she was away, that darling family did pretty darn well all on their own, but -
“...Maud?” Her father questions, frowning and Taggie dimly thinks, oh goodie, right on fucking schedule.
“Declan!” Maud cries, delighted, and she rushes to throw herself into his arms - only for her father to hold her at arm’s length.
“Oh -” Her mother frowns, before she notices the shadowy figure standing just over her father’s shoulder.
“And Rupert’s here!” Maud grins, devilish and playful. “How exciting.”
Taggie thinks she’s going to be sick. (It was bad enough watching her mother flirt with Rupert the first time - but now that she considers Rupert to be hers, it would be even worse.)
Wordlessly, she shifts out of the firing line of her mother’s antics, and takes the whiskey bottle from below the kitchen sink. Not even a moment's hesitation and she’s unscrewing the cap, taking a large swig with a grimace.
She doesn’t look at Seb, or her father - in fact, no one but Rupert notices, his dark eyes frowning in concern over at her, flitting between Taggie and her mother.
“What are you doing here?” Her father questions, shaking his head.
“Well I’ve come back haven’t I?” Her mother pouts, one hand on her cocked hip. She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world - like of course she’d come back, silly, how dare you assume Maud O’Hara would ever do just one thing and one thing only?
“Why have you come back?” He rephrases, raising a brow.
Maud frowns. “Because this is where our family is.”
“You walked out on our family.” Declan drawls, eyes narrowed.
“Well, yes, but -” Her mother purses her lips.
“You walked out. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have a right to this family any longer.”
Taggie takes another swig of the whiskey, and it burns a line down her throat.
(Because the thing is, she had spent so long wondering what it would be like if her mother returned - that Taggie never even realised she was happy that Maud was gone. No more walking on eggshells. No more feeling like she had to watch her mother like a hawk, ensure that she wouldn’t stray, wouldn’t flirt.)
“Oh, Declan, don’t be stupid -”
“Why don’t you slow down?” Rupert’s voice is warm at her ear, breath coasting across her neck. She feels his hand come to rest between her shoulder blades, warm and inviting. “That’s the strong stuff.”
Taggie frowns up at him. When did he get so close? “Why do you care what I do?”
“Because I do.”
And it’s the way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like caring about her is as natural as breathing - that makes Taggie frown.
“That’s not a reason.”
Maybe she’s already a little buzzed - she never did have the best kind of tolerance for alcohol.
“Taggie.” Rupert sighs. “I care . Isn’t that enough?”
(She’s never doubted he cares - because on some level, she’s always felt it, always known it. But it’s why he cares now, why he feels fine showing that, now - that’s what leaves her confused. Taggie had gotten so used to their new normal; the way she would stare at him and he would stare at her, the way she would long and yearn to feel his hands on her again. The way she had to settle for Seb, the way she had to pretend, more than once, that Seb was Rupert. It made her feel like the worst girlfriend in the world, but - what else could she do?)
Instead of replying, she wordlessly meets his gaze and takes another swig.
The three or four swigs of straight whiskey have already gone to her head, because even despite her words, she finds herself leaning into Rupert’s touch at her back. It’s something more than comforting - some like protection and safety.
Wordlessly, together, they watch as her parents fight - as Maud throws the last year of neglect into his face; as Declan throws the abandonment and the cheating right back at her.
Dimly, Taggie is aware she’s watching the demise of her parents' marriage in real time - her boyfriend and her… well, whatever Rupert is to her, an unwilling audience. (Had the other Venturer people in the living room gone home? Or were they sitting there watching, waiting, hearing, all of the O’Hara family history laid bare? Taggie can’t find it in herself to care.)
“Maybe if you hadn’t neglected me -” Maud hisses.
Declan scoffs loudly. “Maybe if you had been a proper wife -”
“Oh that’s fucking rich, Dec! Only wanting me to sit around home and waiting for you -”
“I don’t think it’s much to ask that a man’s wife not take any other lovers -!”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
“I can’t do this.” Taggie whispers, to no one in particular. “I can’t be here .”
Dimly, she hears Seb call her name, but she can't - she can't pretend to be the perfect girlfriend while her parents are falling apart right in front of her.
She turns without another word, leaving the kitchen and climbing the stairs to her bedroom. The bottle of whiskey is abandoned on the table.
She reaches upstairs in record time, is about to close the door when there’s a foot in the way and Taggie frowns, heavily.
“Taggie -” Rupert says, sighing.
“Let me close the door.” She murmurs, pleading.
But Rupert only pushes his way in and closes the door behind him. He says nothing, arms crossed loosely and watching her with those dark eyes. It almost, almost reminds her of New Years Eve, the way she’d tearfully confessed her fears - wondering if anyone, ever would love her; the way Rupert had reassured her someone would.
(She now realises he probably meant himself.)
The longer he stands there, staring at her, the more that her resolve crumbles. Her face crumples with a grimace and tears well in her eyes.
“Why did she have to come back?” Taggie whispers.
In seconds, Rupert is taking her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She sniffles, pathetic and acting like a little girl, like a fucking child - oh so sure that Rupert doesn’t want a crying girl against his chest, but she can’t help it.
And Rupert doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything; merely strokes her hair and holds her tighter.
(He’s her anchor amidst a raging, lost sea - the only thing she can hold onto, lest she drift out and away.)
“You can talk to me. You know that right?” He murmurs gently against her hair. “I am your friend.”
Taggie pulls back with a scoff, shifting away from his embrace and crossing her arms. “We weren’t friends before.”
And maybe it’s because she’s had too much whiskey, maybe it's because she can still hear the sounds of her arguing parents downstairs, maybe it’s because she’s spent these last few months longing and yearning; watching as he touches and kisses and dotes on Cameron, when he should be doting on her, - but the dam breaks.
The heartbreak, the anger, the all consuming loneliness she feels ten fold - since he told her it was only a kiss and that he’s sorry, but she had begged him not to regret what happened, - washes over her, flooding her senses, and then some.
“Let’s be honest here, Rupert. You were infatuated with me. I was just a conquest, a fox to be hunted. I was the beautiful daughter of some guy you hated. A way to get at him without even really trying .” A dry, humourless laugh falls from her lips. “Friends? Bullshit. You don’t have friends, let alone with someone like stupid Taggie.”
(She knows what people say about her - knows that her dyslexia and her lack of direction, her inability to do anything other than cook - means people view her as an idiot, as less then. She’s even sure Rupert probably thought the same about her, too, at some point.)
Her eyes burn and sting with tears; but no matter how much poison she lets loose, it doesn’t change the very real truth lurking in Taggie’s heart.
“And you know what the worst part of it is? I wish I could hate you.” She whispers. “It would be so much easier if I could fucking hate you.”
She laughs softly, wetly, embarrassed at her own admission and her own vulnerabilities. “Maybe then I wouldn’t miss you as much. Maybe it would mean I would want you less.”
And Taggie waits, and waits and waits - wishing for him to say something, anything. To fight her words, to fight for her, but he says nothing. Instead, Rupert merely looks at her, with sad, longing eyes.
“God, are you even going to say anything? I tell you I miss you, that I want you, that I wish I could hate you, and you won’t even say anything!” She cries out, hands waving at the space between them.
“Agatha.” He growls. “Do not pretend to know what my feelings or my thoughts are.”
Her eyes narrow.
“My name is Taggie .” She hisses.
Rupert snorts, delicately, and looks at her like she’s stupid. “Your name is Agatha, you just prefer Taggie.”
He takes a step closer, and Taggie steps backward, away from his advances.
“You like chocolate ice-cream over vanilla, but hate chocolate puddings.”
Another step and Taggie feels her heartbeat rage and roar in her chest.
“You can’t follow a recipe to save your life.” He raises a brow. “You prefer baking over cooking, but still manage to make the best carbonara pasta I’ve had outside of Italy.”
Before she even realises it, he’s standing in front of her, and Taggie feels the back of her legs hit the edge of her bed.
“You forget to drink water throughout the day and think chugging two litres of it at night will make up for it.” Rupert’s hand reaches out, fingering a loose lock of her hair. “You love your sister more than your brother and feel guilty every single day for that fact.”
Taggie opens her mouth to refute, to argue - but Rupert doesn’t even notice, doesn’t even care, and instead just barrels on.
“You love Rutshire more than London.”
He nudges at her legs and Taggie falls, lying back on her bed, looking up at Rupert with wide eyes, and thinks, dimly - what the fuck is happening right now? This isn't apart of their script, this isn't following the carefully drawn lines of Taggie and Seb and Rupert and Cameron.
“Everyone always says Gertrude is the family dog, but those who really know you, know she’s your dog.”
She can’t breathe, she can’t think - and Rupert takes her momentary, stunned silence, to shift, laying gently next to her. She can’t even remember the last time they were this close to each other.
Rupert’s hand reaches out, stroking across her hair before cupping her jaw. “And everyone always says your hair is red, but it’s really closer to brown, especially in the sun.” He half smiles. “You still want to pretend that I’m not your friend?”
Taggie swallows roughly, her throat dry. She peers up at him and sees nothing but truth, but honesty, in his dark, hazel eyes.
“Friends don’t talk about friends like that. It -” She hesitates.
Rupert hums. “Taggie? Stop talking.”
And then the next thing she knows - Rupert is kissing her, his mouth slanting over hers possessively, licking into her mouth with single minded precision.
Her hands come up to cup his cheeks, keeping him close, and she bites at his bottom lip with a little more vigour than she originally intends.
“Mmph, fuck.” Rupert hisses, pulling back slightly. She can see the slight indentation her teeth have left on his lip and Taggie grins.
“Poor baby.” She pouts.
“So you want to play, do you?” He whispers against her mouth, and Taggie grins against his mouth.
And the thing is, she knew Rupert kissed with his whole body, the way he licks her into her mouth, pressing her into the mattress, nuzzling her nose with his - but it feels so much different this time, knowing they’re hidden here in her room, away from everyone and all their problems.
His hand smooths down from her cheek, down her neck, across her breast, squeezing gently.
Dimly, she registers the fact that there are people downstairs - that her mother has come back and she’s fighting with her father; that her boyfriend and the rest of Venturer are downstairs, that Cameron’s downstairs - and any and all of them could knock on the door at any second.
But the way Rupert touches her, reverent and worshipping, hands stroking up along her hips and splaying across her ribs, causes all thoughts to leave her mind.
Her leg hooks over his hip, pulling him closer and she moans against his mouth, when his hips press against hers; the line of his erection is hot and hard and right where she needs him, and Taggie can’t help but rock against him.
“Look at you.” Rupert murmurs, eyes shifting down to their joined hips. “You need me to take care of you?”
He presses a wet kiss to the apple of her cheek. “Say it.”
“Take care of me.” Taggie breathes. “Please.”
(She thinks she means it in more ways than one.)
It happens in flashes from then on out - the removal of shirts, the undoing of belts and zippers. The soft, reedy gasps of desire; the wet, loving sounds of kissing. She feels herself grow slicker with every tweak of her nipple, every lave of his tongue on her neck. She doesn’t shy away from touching him either, stroking her hands across the miles of tanned skin, the odd nicks and scars she wonders about.
(Later. She’ll ask later.)
He’s determined to take her apart, inch by inch, and Taggie relishes the feeling of being ruined by him.
She doesn’t remember much, only that she’s been dreaming of this for so long, wanting him for even longer - that the idea of them actually being together seems something out of reach, until Rupert is naked in front of her.
Rupert’s hand idly strokes his cock as he looks down at her, a half smile playing at his lips.
“Are you sure?”
Wordlessly, Taggie sits up and onto her knees. Her gaze meets his, and she doesn’t shy away from it, from the lust and the desire and the longing. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders, and she guides him to her bed, to lay down on his back, and hooks a leg over his hips.
Her cunt, wet and silky, sits atop the line of his hard cock and Taggie gasps at the feeling, at the gentle glide of her along him. It’s more than before, but it’s still not enough.
Taggie gazes at Rupert, eyes warm with desire and something akin to love. She smiles.
"I'm sure."
Her hand grips at his cock, gently lining him up, before she's sliding down around him - and she groans at the feeling, at every perfect inch, the way he just fits, in all the ways no other boys ever did.
She sets a leisurely pace - her hips moving slowly, luxuriously, walls rhythmically fluttering around his cock.
Rupert releases a shaky breath under her, eyes hooded as his hands grip her hips with increasing tightness.
“O-oh...” Taggie whimpers, head lolling forward, hair falling around them like a curtain, hiding them away. (This is something just for them, something no one else can take from them. Rupert is hers, and she’s never been good at sharing.)
A loose chuckle falls from his lips, voice hoarse around the edges. “Feeling good, sweet thing?”
Taggie nods jerkily. She couldn’t find her words even if she wanted to.
“Course you are.” He grins. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful, riding me like this.”
She laughs, breathless and soft as her head tips back.
“Look how wet you are." Rupert murmurs, one hand coming to grip at her breast, the other fluttering across her hip.
And Taggie - she blushes, hard and fast, so sure she must be glowing with the feeling. (Because she doesn't hate the way he talks to her, doesn't hate the dirty words he lets loose, the way he talks to her, about her - but no one's ever done that before, either. It's new, but not unwelcome.)
“Tell me what you want.” He all but commands it, and something inside of Taggie melts. “Tell me, sweet thing.”
She gasped, high and reedy in the back of her throat, and her hips jerked, rocking down harder onto him. “Make me come.”
Her hand is shaking as she grabs at one of his hands, fitting his fingers against her clit, letting him gather the remnants of her slick. Without even needing prompting, the two of them in tune as ever, he circles her clit gently, in time with the sway of her hips.
And Taggie, Taggie twitches with the feeling, the liquid heat pooling low in her belly.
“Oh, fuck.”
She raggedly drags a breath in, chest swelling with it, and Rupert chokes on his own moan at the sight of her; his hand shifts, squeezing around her breast, just this side of rough.
Taggie decides he’s entirely too coherent, and so she clenches around him further, and maybe — Rupert goes a little cross eyed, or maybe Taggie’s just seeing things.
“Minx.”
Her hips lift up a little higher, sliding down slow and slick, his cock notching against that spot deep inside her — and she tenses, back arching, body pressing into his hands at all their points of contact.
Her mouth falls open, tension coiled tight. it pulls and it tugs at the base of her spine, itching across her back. she does it again, lifting and sliding; bringing him home into the warm, snug velvet clutch of her cunt.
Rupert merely gazes up at her with wonder and awe and love; drifting away as she does like this, lost to her own pleasure, the single-minded desire to make herself cum.
“What do you need, angel?” Rupert coos, mouth notched up into a grin. Sweat has gathered at his temples, a sure sign that despite his facade — he’s a little more gone than she first thought.
(Maybe she’s inside his head, the way he is in hers.)
“Y-you. Just you.” Taggie gasps, back arching sharply. “Please.”
Without warning, Rupert hauls himself up to sit, arms wrapped around her back, pressing his face into her tits. “You have me, baby.”
He holds her tighter, squeezing, and Taggie shifts to bite down on his shoulder, to try and hold back the moans in her throat.
Her hips move faster, sharper, quicker, and she feels it happen - the coil shatters, and warmth floods her entire system.
Her eyes screw shut and everything inside her throbs with pleasure, her nails dig into the flesh over his ribs, unable to do nothing more other than hold on.
And all the while, her man, her love , works her through it. His lips press softly to her neck, guiding her hips almost mindlessly, softly — as Taggie eventually slumps against his chest.
Her breath comes heavy, in pants blowing across his skin and Taggie swallows.
Everything feels golden around the edges, and it’s with increasing clarity she realises that he’s still hard inside her. “Did you -”
And Taggie blushes, because she can’t say it. She loves the way he talks to her during, filthy and then some, but she can’t manage to give it back to him.
Rupert shakes his head, pressing a kiss to her temple. He doesn’t say a thing, but Taggie knows the answer.
His hips shift under her, and it’s fucking torture, is the thing. She’s pliant and lax on top of him, still fucking dripping; her hands making idle, smooth passes along his skin.
Taggie pressed a wet kiss to his jaw. “Do you want to -”
She doesn’t even get to finish her sentence, because there’s something desperate in his gaze as Rupert nods, a little jerky; and Taggie beams at him.
Her hand squeezes his shoulder, staying lax as he rolls her under him. And it’s not that she minds the position - missionary is a staple for a reason - but that isn’t what she wants, isn’t what she had in mind, so instead - she flips over onto her stomach and pulls herself up onto her knees.
Her legs shift open, parting herself like a gift for him to enjoy and take as his own.
(She never let any other have her like this - and granted, her experience is short lived, limited to two embarrassing times with boys she’d rather not think about at a time like this; but.
“G-go on.” She blushes, stuttering through the words. But his touch stroking along her back emboldens her, and she feels electric with this, with them.
“Take me. I want to feel you.”
Her hips push back against him, encouraging, and she feels his hands stroking down her thighs, warm and reverent.
There’s a broken moan falling from his lips, and Taggie fucking beams with it; before choking on a gasp as he pushes inside of her cunt, sheathed to hilt in seconds. She bites into the pillow below her, because it’s so much, she’s so full, and it’s all him - all Rupert .
His hips don’t stay still for long.
He grabs at her hips as he slides out, slowly, and Taggie whines - before he thrusts himself eagerly into the greedy clutch of her cunt, - all of it taking her apart far too easily.
He sets a slow but steady pace, aided by the wet glide of her cunt. “Fuck, Taggie.” He breathes out, and she grins into the pillow below her.
“Taking me so well, sweet thing. So fucking well.”
His pace turns jerky, before he groans; hips pushing into hers with one last, deep thrust. And seconds later, she feels it, the warmth of his own seed inside her, the way his cock twitches and pulses.
It’s fucking perfect.
Rupert collapses against her, arms bracketing hers, and Taggie hums happily.
He cleans her up wordlessly, silently, with the kind of care that makes Taggie want to weep - because it’s a glimpse of the man she always knew was inside of him. The man she swore up and down to anyone who would listen, was there.
And then he’s lying back on her bed, tucking her against his chest, holding her close.
Her chin rests on his chest, eyes soft as she peers up at him.
“Do you regret it?” Taggie whispers, eyes staring at her fingers as she traces patterns on his chest.
“I could never regret anything involving you.” Rupert murmurs, hand trailing lazily through her hair.
Something inside of her melts, and tears well in her eyes. She’s had him now, knows what he feels like inside of her, knows what he sounds like when he comes - and Taggie doesn’t think she can go back to what it was like before. More than that, she doesn’t fucking want too.
“I want this. I want us.” She breathes out, before she can think about the consequences of her words. “No matter how complicated it could be. I want to fight for us.”
Rupert peels open an eye and looks down at her. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, before he hums. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” She raises a brow. “Okay.”
“I tried staying away from you.” He sighs. “It just led to me wanting you more.”
His hand shifts from her hair, splaying across her back, his warmth marking her like a brand. “Seeing you with Seb was torture.”
Taggie swallows. “Seeing you with Cameron wasn’t much better.”
They lapse into silence before Taggie giggles, because, well - they’re both idiots.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Tag. I don’t want you to be one of them.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “So we’ll try.”
Taggie beams. “Okay. We’ll try.”
And it’s not perfect - she surely isn’t, and she knows Rupert isn’t either. But it’s so perfectly them, this agreement that they’ll try, that they’ll fight. She thinks back to the first days of the franchise, of the bid, how well they worked as a team - and well.
Taggie wouldn’t want to mess with the two of them when they’re on the same side.
They’re pretty fucking formidable.