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Yours, Ichabod: Letters of Love and Lust between the Captain and the Lieutenant

Chapter Text

When I pledge myself to you, Abbie, it is in the unabashed manner the Morning gives itself: eagerly, with perfect Release.

When I assure you I am Yours, it is in the wild manner the Night is Yours: entirely, without a Trace of Reserve.

Yours,

Ichabod.


 

I would have achieved much more in my Research today, I am certain, were it not for the blissfully recurrent Memory of your thighs.

Yours,

Ichabod.


 

From the first time its Sweetness passed my lips, I earnestly believed nothing could taste so Ambrosial as Chocolate. Yet in this, I am the happy fool, for now I know that to taste Chocolate, salted with sweat from your Skin, is to sup on the food of the Gods. 

Yours, 

Ichabod.


 

I fear, Abbie, that my startled cough did not aptly convey my Delight when you discovered the Rigidness concealed within my coat and, wrapping your delicate Fingers around me, you whispered, “Dibs.”

However, were you to seek out my humble Cottage these several hours later, I would vigorously confirm your sweet Dibs and, as you have so charmingly modeled, stake Dibs of my own.

Yours,

Ichabod.


 

This morning, I recalled with great Fondness the first time I lowered my Head between your Silken Thighs. You started in alarm, questioning how I knew about that. 

I did grin, rakishly, I hope, and brought my Face toward your hidden Treasure. “My dearest Miss Mills,” I said, pausing to lap at your gathering Dew, “there is nothing new under the Sun.”

Should you wish discover more Old tricks together, please call ‘round once your Duties have concluded.

Yours,

Ichabod. 


If you awaken and find these lines, be not Alarmed by my absence. I have merely Ventured Forth in this last hour of night on a Quest to discover the treat you crave Most of all. (I suspect, in light of your reaction to the delectably messy Chocolate Donut Caper, that you favor instead the Apple Fritter.)

Do not doubt that I shall return before the sunrise, for no sight in the Heavens nor on this rich, fine Earth rivals the swell of your Breast, kissed by dawn’s glow.  

Yours,

Ichabod.


 

There is a Journey too glorious to be charted on any map. It begins with the flowing rivers of Your hair, and eases Southward, through beautiful ridges and split canyons. It joyously passes through luminous brown Hills, each Summitted with a precious Peak. South, and south again, ‘cross smooth, rippling plains to the truest of Paradises: a secret Cavern, where true Bliss resides.

Should it be Agreeable, I wish to traverse this Blessed terrain—perhaps Several times—upon Our next meeting.

Yours, 

Ichabod. 


 

:)

A.M.

Miss Mills,

I find myself Delighted with the Parting Gift which accompanied your missive, as red and fragrant as any Rose. But surely you had need of your Undergarments today?

Yours,

Ichabod.


 

In the throes of sweet Release you Wilted upon my chest, your skin glistening with Exertion in the morning Light. You pressed a Kiss just over my heart and paused to feel it flutter against your Mouth.

Even in this Age of Wonders, nothing but my Poor Mind may record this perfect Moment. And so I revisit it again and yet again, my Breath catching once more at the Suggestion of your Lips upon my skin.

Yours,

Ichabod.


 

For you have Minerva’s cunning Mind,

And Diana’s wild spirit.

For you are Endowed with the bountiful compassion of Ceres,

And the bountiful Joys of Venus.

For, like Vesta, you are my Home.

But above all these Celestial gifts, my Goddess,

I treasure you for your own Radiant Heart.

 

Yours, Ichabod.