one last time

vi

You slipped into your silk robe that hung on the wall and cleared a peephole in the steamy mirror to apply a thin layer of rosehip oil to your face.

Hans returned clothed in a housecoat. In his hand was a miniature gift bag adorned with a thin gold ribbon and stuffed with delicate red paper.

"This is for you. Merry Christmas, darling."

"Hans, you didn't have to get me anything," you beamed, "and it isn't even Christmas Eve yet!"

"I wanted you to open this now."

He was avoiding eye contact again. Is he anxious? Is he too shy to watch me open the gift? Is he worrying about tomorrow? Should I ask him about it?

You picked at the knot in the ribbon and peered into the bag. Beneath the red paper was a small box and a pocket-sized book. The book first piqued your curiosity- it was a collection of German poems. More often than not, Hans had his nose buried deep within it by the fire late at night or in a conference room before a meeting. You had asked him about it ages ago- he had said something about it being the only remaining artifact of his childhood. His mother would read it to him and his brother, and you knew it meant the world to him now that they had drifted apart.

The small box contained a dainty heart-shaped locket. A tiny gold dragon wrapped around the clasp, and in the middle sat a gorgeous green stone.

"This is beautiful, Hans."

"It's pure imperial jadeite. I picked it up last month while I had business to attend to in China. I was going to get you diamonds, but this had much more character. I saw it and immediately thought of you- I had to have it."

You wondered if he had stolen it or purchased it out of his own accord. If the stone was pure jadeite it was probably worth more money than you would ever come across in your entire life.

"I love it."

"One more thing-" Hans started, handing you a parchment envelope with a red "G" stamped on the seal, "but promise me you won't open it until Christmas."

"Okay..."

"Do you promise?"

"Of course."

"Please keep it in a safe place until then."

You slipped it into the bag with the book, tucking it into the corner of the counter behind the rosehip oil.

"Can you clasp this for me?" you asked, handing him the chain of the locket.

"Sure," he sighed.

Hans peered over your shoulder to watch your face in the mirror as his hands brushed the nape of your neck. You shivered under his touch, watching the locket fall to nestle perfectly framed in the dip between your collarbones. A hand snaked around your neck and with a small click the locket opened to reveal a miniature photograph of you and Hans. The picture had been taken mid-laugh; your eyes were sparkling and Hans was looking at you with hunger and admiration lit up across his face. Both of you were beaming and the photo perfectly captured your pure, unadulterated joy.

You looked up to meet his gaze in the reflection. His hand was still draped around your neck.

"I love you, Hans Gruber," you whispered.

His hand on your neck tightened around your throat as his other shoved your hip, swiveling you on your toes to face him.

"And I love you very much."

His lips crashed to yours in a searing kiss. You squirmed as he gripped your neck and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and snaking his arm around your back to grab your ass.

"Hans-" you moaned as he shoved you back into the counter, "I can't breathe," you croaked.

"Does it look like I care?" he spat, refocusing his vice grip to your jaw as he lifted you to sit on the cold countertop.

God, that's hot. Manhandle the fuck out of me, I don't care, I'm all yours.

He stopped suddenly, stepping back to look at you. His hand brushed your cheekbone.

"Actually, I do care," he whispered, eyeing you up and down as if assessing your body for damage.

"Hans, you know I like it rough. I'm totally okay with-"

He cut you off with a crisp slap across your face. You blushed, cheek stinging, as the rampant fire momentarily returned to his eyes. The fire was quickly doused, however.

"I will not be taking you on the bathing room counter for my last-" his voice caught in his throat.

Your stomach did a somersault as you realized what he meant.

"Hans, for the last time! This will not be your last 'anything'."

"I- I just have this gut feeling," he stammered, "and even if everything goes smoothly, I just- what if? Won't you humor me, darling? What if this were my last night with you? How would you spend it?"

"I don't know, Hans. But it's not-"

"What if we only had one last time?"

You really didn't want him to spiral into another anxiety episode. Curling your fingers into his hair, you looked deep into his eyes.

"Let's go to bed, love," you gave him a soft smile. Taking his hand in yours, you led him out of the bathroom and through the sitting area into the sleeping quarters of the penthouse suite.