AC Syndicate: Isolated Files [OS]

Good Morning [Alternative]

(chapter image by myself)

Attention, this following short-story is the same plot as the previous one. Here, we are with the bourgeois version of Victoria, and she is the one who wakes up first. I wish you a good (re)reading.

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The day dawned on the shining city that was London, whose factory chimneys were already belching smoke as black as coal. The capital of England was painted an orange colour, with a slight touch of pink on the thick clouds that covered the sky. In the boulevards and streets still in darkness, the first carriages and carioles began to be pulled. Every shopkeeper opened their stalls and groceries while the children who distributed newspapers cleared their throats to warm up their voices to shout the day's headlines. The reality of life was simply taking its course again, after a few hours of respite and dreams.

In the City, the sun's rays, still orange despite the golden hues, penetrated a bedroom with burgundy tapestry and amber floral patterns. As they touched the edge of a large bed whose coverings matched the colour of the walls and the caramel brown wood of the furniture, a man turned to the woman he was sleeping with and sighed after a deep breath. Under the sheets, his arm passed over the waist of the woman who accompanied him into the world of dreams, then he held her tenderly against him. The lovely brunette he had cuddled moved her head slowly, keeping her eyes closed. Despite her sleep, she had felt the tender gesture and unconsciously smiled slightly, giving him a serene look. They were now both sleeping in spoonfuls, their slow, even breathing perfectly synchronised. A breathing harmony.

A few moments later, the darkness of the night began to disappear in the room, now illuminated by a golden light, gently caressing the face of the dark-haired man whose chest was no longer covered by the sheets. He turned to lie on his back, one hand between his head and the pillow, while the young woman slept on her side, facing him. She opened slowly, allowing the daylight to illuminate her brown irises. She blinked to adjust to the brightness of the room and to better wake up. Making sure to cover her chest, the brunette sat up for a moment and looked around to see where she was. She took a deep breath and slowly expelled the air from her lungs. She then lifted her arm and bent her elbow to massage the back of her neck, under her brown hair, before yawning. A sigh from her bedmate, still in the dream world, caught her attention. She lay half on her side, elbow deep in the mattress, and looked at him. She smiled tenderly.

The sun partly illuminated the young man's brown hair, giving lighter reflections to some of his locks. He was sleeping soundly. It had to be said that last night had been rather agitated and passionate. The brunette's smile widened a little while the tenderness in her eyes intensified. Her memory replayed the superposition of their hearts as well as the melody of the sighs of desire. As she rested her eyes on his bare upper chest, tattooed with a peregrine falcon, her hands remembered that they had redrawn and caressed the animal embedded in his skin. Despite the tingling that began to invade her bent arm, she rested the top of her head in the palm of her hand and continued to gaze dreamily at the dark-haired man. She bit her lower lip as she found him so attractive, even asleep. She detailed every part of his face, preventing him from stopping biting his lips. She found him so handsome, so perfect.

In his sleep, the young man who had brought her up to a climax turned his head towards the window that let in the daylight and swallowed before exhaling and continuing on his way alone into dreamland. It was getting harder and harder for her to resist, although she managed to stop biting her lower lip. With his free hand, he couldn't help but run the tip of his index finger over the vertical scar that almost cut the jawline in half. The sleeping brunette lifted his chin and turned his head towards her, thinking in his sleep that his lover's touch was a discomfort, or a mere sensation caused by his deep rest. She stopped her gesture, not wishing to annoy the sleeping brunette any further. But she wasn't going to let it happen. She wanted to watch over him, to take care of him.

She ran her fingers through his hair, almost combing it back, and gently. Her palm gently touched his cheek as her fingers sank into his brown locks. She remembered then that she had done the same thing that night when he had clutched her neck and she had sealed her lips to his. The memory of that intense exchange was accompanied by the young man's sigh of well being, enjoying the lady's fingers venturing into his messy hair after stroking his bearded cheek. Despite his sleep, he knew it was his lover taking care of him. It was instinctive.

Seeing the smile this provoked, the heiress continued. She even decided to give in to temptation: she slid her fingertips down her lover's neck, until she reached his chest. The fingers followed one of the lines of the collarbone until they reached the tattooed pectoral, which she caressed with her whole hand. The invisible trace left by this tender gesture gently awakened the Assassin's sense of touch. He loved to feel on his skin the delicacy of the middle-class woman he loved. As for her, she appreciated seeing him in this state. She then placed her hand on her lover's cheek, and leaned a little more on him, making sure he smelled the intoxicating scent of jasmine, to delicately place her lips on his. It was time to return to reality, to their loving bubble. The young man let her do so before responding in the same way to this kiss, provoked by the delicate flowery perfume of the brunette. She interrupted the exchange and watched him open her hazel eyes. Without saying anything, he gazed at her, his face serene. With a big smile, she said to him in a soft voice:

"Good morning, Mister Frye."

"Good morning, Miss Reid."