Chapter Text
The car rolls to a stop, the tires struggling within the thick layer of snow and ice piled up against the sidewalk. Elizabeth peers out and up, trying to take in as much of the hotel as she could, but the top of the window easily cuts off half the building. There’s a deep red canopy over the front door, leading out onto the sidewalk and straight to where their car sits now, idling as Ludociel speaks with the driver.
The building itself is something of a historical wonder, all thick columns and rounded windows covered by dark curtains. If she squints through the dark glass of the front door, she can just make out a large statue of a winged creature. Ludociel says something about the next time they’ll need the car and then he’s reaching for his door, bracing himself against the chill of the night. She scrambles to follow him, holding her thick black coat at the collar as she hunkers down, shivering against the winds dipping down the back of her neck.
Griamore, their kind-eyed driver, ducks out with them and leads them to the trunk. The frost immediately bites at Elizabeth’s cheeks and she feels them start to pinken, no doubt matching her nose. Her hair is forced from her thick beanie by the howling wind, and it whips across her face. Ludociel helps haul their bags from the trunk, handing her the matching pink set she brought, and lugging his own onto his shoulder. He tips Griamore handsomely for his help, wishes him the best, and starts trudging toward the front door of the hotel.
Elizabeth is right behind, her boots slipping on the ice that they definitely don’t have in the west coast, but then pauses when movement catches her attention.
Across the narrow street, one building stands out from the towering ones around it. In comparison, it’s small with only a few stories to it, and a bright sign sits over the door, piled high with snow. ‘The Boar Hat’ the sign proclaims and Elizabeth can only assume that the metal figurine next to the words is something of a pig wearing a very steeply pointed hat. The entire building is a deep red brick, but it’s clean outside save for a couple women smoking cigarettes, and alive with laughter and noise despite it being almost midnight. Her eyebrows furrow, trying to make out the small sign sitting in the front window, but then Ludociel shouts something from behind her and she snaps back around.
The hotel is hot, a roaring fire going at full aggression in the magnificent fireplace across from the front desk. The entire room is towering, the ceilings high with a wonderful chandelier dangling over the plush couches surrounding the fireplace. One wall is simply a bookshelf, stacked to the brim with worn-down novels, the spines clearly used. The rolling ladder attached to it makes her think of Beauty and the Beast. A dark rug sits under the couches as well, looking soft to the touch with intricate designs matching the artwork hung around the lobby.
But the thing that keeps Elizabeth’s eye is the winged statue she saw from the car. It’s not a creature, but a beautiful marble angel with a book open in her outstretched arms, her head tilted back with hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back. The head of the statue nearly touches the grand chandelier, just barely short enough to keep from hitting it. She only gets to marvel for a minute before she realizes Ludociel has left her side, and she scurries to catch up.
The lady at the desk is older, a pair of glasses gently perched on the end of her nose, and graying hair curling around her ears. “Good evening, I’m Hazel!” she greets, a wide smile on her wrinkled face. Elizabeth smiles back, but Ludociel only pulls out his wallet.
“We have two rooms,” he says distractedly, “for Ludociel Ark.”
“Oh,” she beams more if that’s possible, “the author? They told me another author was coming to stay and I just thought wow how lucky we are!” She starts typing on her computer, blissfully unaware of Ludociel’s snarky, impatient attitude and stature. Elizabeth would feel worse if she wasn’t the one stuck as his actual assistant. “Okay so I have two rooms, a king for Mr. Ark on the 7th floor for a view of the city, and another king on the 4th floor for...” she looks at Elizabeth then, requiring a name.
“Elizabeth,” she fills in, tucking her flyaway hair behind her ears, “Elizabeth Liones.”
Hazel hums to herself, “Beautiful girl,” she says to no one in particular, and Elizabeth flushes a deep pink. She types again and then opens a drawer beside her, rummaging around, barely glancing inside. “So we do require half the payment up front for stays longer than a week, and then the other half can be paid on your way out. I hope that’s alright.”
Ludociel shoves his card over the countertop, “I’ll just pay the whole price now. It took months to get these rooms, and I intend to hold them as long as I can.”
Elizabeth flushes when Hazel tells him how much it’ll be, but he waves her off with a roll of his eyes, his feet shifting back and forth impatiently. She’s wondered before how much Ludociel actually makes in a year, what with the three bestsellers he has out on the shelves, but she wouldn’t dare ask. She’s worked for the man for over three years, an assistant to an author who hasn’t been able to write more than a couple chapters in the past year, but she enjoys the job. Sometimes he’d actually ask for her opinion on an idea and sometimes he’d simply send her out on a coffee run or to do his laundry.
A graduated English major herself, she’s just trying to learn the ins and outs of being an author while she, too, struggles to find a story.
Hazel pulls two keys from the drawer she was rummaging within, both keys hanging on their own keychain that proclaims ‘Literary Angel Hightower.’ She hands the purple one to Elizabeth, telling her it’s best to go ahead and put it on her keychain so as not to lose it, which she does. “The elevators are behind you, straight down that hallway and past the door to the indoor pool area. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call down. The restaurant opens at 7 for breakfast and closes at 11 after dinner, but the last call is at 10 for room service. And, of course, if any book you see on our shelves or tables spark your interest, please take it and replace it once you’re done or you can come talk to me about purchasing it! Have a lovely stay Mr. Ark and Ms. Liones.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth smiles, grabbing hold of her luggage and following Ludociel’s quickly retreating back.
As soon as she catches up, he huffs a sharp breath, “After a 9 hour flight, a 2 hour layover, only 2 cups of cheap coffee, and the worst migraine on this planet, I’m going straight to bed. I suggest you do the same, Elizabeth.” The elevator is before them, him reaching forward to hit the button multiple times as if that’ll make it come any faster. “First thing in the morning, we’re going out to sightsee and hopefully that will give me some ideas...” he’s mostly talking to himself now, murmuring and tapping his foot.
The elevator dings, the doors opening to reveal dark wood paneling, dark carpet and golden fixtures, but she can’t tell if it’s made to look old to match the building or if it’s really just that old. “Do you need me to go get you anything for your headache? I think I saw a 24 hour convenience store down the street,” Elizabeth offers.
He looks at her blankly like her just suggesting the idea is too idiotic to even waste time thinking about, “No, I’m fine. Be downstairs by 7 sharp. This is you,” he gestures to the doors sliding open with a ding .
“Okay, goodnight, Mr. Ark!” she does her best to smile, grabbing her bags and starting down the hall. He grunts in response, the doors shutting behind her back.
She follows the signs along the deep red wallwork, the old oak floors barely squeaking under her heels as she passes many old pie safes and lovely tables all proudly proclaiming different books, held up by little statues. After the long hallway with the doors separated spaciously, she takes a right and on the corner is her own, facing the front of the hotel. She unlocks the door, turns on the light as she steps in, and stops to gape.
The curtains to her tall window are open, and a large bed covered with a thick comforter and more pillows than she could ever hope to need is shoved against the back wall, facing a large television. She catches a glimpse of a clawfoot tub in the bathroom to her right, but the window draws her forward. She drops her luggage on the plush couch beside the bed, and gets so close to the window, her nose touches the cold of the glass.
The street lights down below are still glowing, the beams glittering off the gathering snow, and she can see even more people gathered outside the bar across the street. They’re all laughing, clouds of smoke pillowing up from cigarettes and catching the lamp light, but they’re huddled close to try and keep the cold out. From her room, she can see over the roof of the Boar Hat and out toward the next street over, where more and more buildings are lit up by light streaming from high windows. She catches a glimpse of what she thinks must be a skating rink, or perhaps a pond that just froze over when the snow rolled in, surrounded by brighter lamps and trees that don’t even compare to the height of the buildings around the square.
But what interests her the most is what seems to be an entirely glass building on top of the bar. It has a dim shine to it, lit up from the inside, and Elizabeth swears she sees a short, stout figure running back and forth within the walls. Considering the cold of the city she’s experienced so far, she thinks a rooftop greenhouse is an absolutely genius idea.
Having traveled consistently with Ludociel, Elizabeth has been to a lot of cities. She’s stayed in a lot of hotels, eaten a lot of local cuisine, and been immersed in different cultures. This view, though, is unmatched by any other. Minutes pass before she gets a grip and finally steps back, turning with every intention to get ready for bed, but... Feeling the cold seeping through her stockings, she realizes that the one thing she really wants right now is a glass of wine.
She unpacks her bags messily, really only pulling out the dresses that needed to be hung, and digging to the bottom for the one scarf she remembered to pack. Ludociel had warned her they’d be arriving just in time for peak snow in December, but she insisted that it couldn’t be that bad. She was wrong, of course. Elizabeth changes out of her airplane clothes, searching through her bag to grab her well-worn black turtleneck sweater dress, some white leggings, and the white scarf. She yanks her beanie back on, grabs her wallet and keys, and makes her way back to the first floor with her mission in mind.
Wine may be the only thing that could cut through the time difference and hopefully help her get some sleep.
Hazel is gone from the front desk when she passes through, pushing open the heavy front doors and immediately being whipped by the wind again. She shuffles her way across the street after checking for cars and ignores the looks from the people standing out front. In truth, Elizabeth is a sore thumb in the city, clearly not built for the cold, and standing out in her white leggings while everyone gathered outside wore mostly black or other dark colors. She had learned long ago not to take the stares to heart, and strolling past wandering eyes was nothing new.
The sign she couldn’t read from the hotel is a simple flier, declaring some annual bar competition with two beer mugs clinking. She would read it if the people weren’t directly in front of the window, trying to sit on the sliver of brick sticking out underneath. The doors open with a jingle, but no one turns to stare like she expected. It isn’t exactly packed, but the space itself is taken up by old round tables and matching round stools. A few scattered groups crowd the tables, and some are just piled high with abandoned glasses, no waitress in sight, making the space feel tighter despite the relatively high ceilings.
She’s grateful for the break from the cold, wondering how she’ll ever make it here for the next month or so if the weather keeps up like this. There’s a few people sitting at the actual bar stretching across the left side of the building, two men behind it chatting with the customers, and she heads that way. She’s only halfway through squeezing between the tables when she feels eyes on her. She looks up, almost tripping on a stool, and makes eye contact with the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen.
The rest of the man is nothing to blink at. A head of wild blonde locks, obviously finger brushed, and a deep green vest over a wrinkled white button up that falls open at the fourth button, showing off part of his chest. His arms flex as he cleans a glass, but he’s definitely not focusing on his work, just watching her come closer. His mouth is plump, lips already spread into a handsome smile by the time she makes it to a stool. He’s about her height, maybe only an inch or so shorter, and her cheeks fill with a hot blush as soon as he slides over to her, elbows resting on the bartop.
“Yo,” he grins, “you’re new.”
Elizabeth smiles back, reaching up to instinctively brush falling strands of her hair behind her ear. “You’re observative,” she notes, “I’m Elizabeth.”
He repeats her name, smacking his lips once as if really getting a feel for it on his tongue. “Fitting,” he says, “and what can I do for you tonight, Miss Elizabeth?”
“White wine, please, whatever you recommend.”
“I know just the bottle,” he winks and turns, walking farther down the bar.
In his absence, she shifts in her seat, growing too warm and deciding to shed her coat, folding it over the empty seat directly to her left. Her beanie and scarf quickly follow, her hair falling over her shoulders, and she idly rubs her hands down her thighs as she waits. There’s a tall, skinny woman moving through the tables now, a dish bucket on her hip as a man with obscenely bright pink hair talks to her, motioning with his hands. She laughs at something, her shoulders shaking as she answers him, carelessly throwing a couple empty beer bottles in her bucket, and then moving onto the next table. There’s a tall man with hair similar to her own standing behind the bar, a tight red shirt stretching over obvious muscles, and equally tight red pants hanging low on his hips as he fixes a drink for a pretty blonde sitting across from him.
She blinks and the blonde man is in front of her again, sliding a tall glass of wine filled to the brim to her, that same devilishly handsome smile on his face. “Try this,” he insists.
Elizabeth takes the glass and lifts it, taking a sip and savoring the surprisingly sweet taste. It’s practically identical to her favorite California wine, and she closes her eyes with a satisfied sigh. “This is perfect, thank you,” she’s surprised when she opens her eyes and realizes that the man’s eyes are still on her. He’s looking over her intensely, appreciating the curve of her breasts under her tight sweater dress, and lingering on the way her hand curls around the stem of her glass.
His tongue flicks over his top lip before he says, “If you don’t mind the company, I’d love to cater to you. I don’t think they’re here to tip,” he jerks his thumb obviously to the right of them to indicate the loud group at the end, “so I’ll let Ban deal with it.”
Although her original plan was just to get a glass of wine, check her and Ludociel’s emails, and then head to bed, she finds herself too intrigued to say no. “Sure...” she realizes with a flush she hadn’t caught the man’s name.
“I’m Meliodas,” he says with a boyish grin. “I own this fine establishment. What brings you here, Elizabeth?”
“Wine,” she teases, “and work, I suppose.” She takes a long sip, eyes flitting across the wracks of alcohol on the wall opposite to her. Meliodas unabashedly watches her every move, his eyes darkening when her hair slips from her shoulder showing off the pale skin just above the collar of her dress, under her jaw. “I’m the assistant for an author and we’re here trying to get inspiration.”
He nods like he totally understands and says seriously, “Yes this bar does tend to ‘inspire’ people... Usually to do things like call their ex, or pole dance on that lamp outside, but I’m sure someone will write a book soon, too.”
She laughs, glass halfway back up to her mouth again, and has to pause before she can take a sip. “I’m sure they will.” Her eyes fall to the brick fireplace against the back wall of the bar, and the rustic lighting, bright enough to see the room without squinting. She notes the heavenly smell wafting out of the kitchen, reminding her of her grandma’s house, and the joke “Wanted” posters surrounding a dart board. “Your bar reminds me of a book a friend of mine wrote about a clubhouse, as in the setting itself... This is better, though, and probably a lot cooler to get drunk in.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she looks down and realizes that she definitely had that entire glass of wine and she may be a little tipsy.
She’s blushing fiercely at the bar, debating on the best way to excuse herself when he says, “You really think so? I thought I was being original.” He smiles that smile and she doesn’t know whether to blame him or the wine for the heat in her face. “How about another glass before you go? On the house, of course.” He reaches out a hand, clearly in an offering that says ‘hey stay another minute.’
Elizabeth can’t find any good reason as to why she should say no, so she says, “Sure, ok.” He pours the wine and hands her the bottle when she asks what it is.
“I can’t pronounce it,” he explains flippantly. Neither can she, honestly, but she pretends like she can, nodding and humming. He’s watching her with a cocked eyebrow, watching her lips move as she attempts to sound out what may be French, and laughs. “You have no idea, huh?”
“None,” she admits, and hands the bottle back.
He shrugs, “Sometimes the best drinks are the ones we can’t understand. That’s why I ordered it.”
She raises her eyebrows, “You bought a bottle-”
“Two cases,” he corrects.
“You bought two cases of this wine, without knowing what it is or what’s in it, based on the fact that you couldn’t say it?”
“Well, I’m sure it’s grapes. But, essentially, yes you’re right.”
Elizabeth laughs again, “Sound business decisions.”
He grins, leaning across the bar, getting a bit closer to her as she takes another long sip, “It got you to stick around for another glass, didn’t it? I’d say it’s the best business decision I’ve ever made.”
The wine burns going down, but when it hits her stomach, her entire body lights up with it. She tells herself it’s the wine and not the way this man is looking at her as if ready to eat her up, all dark eyes and little glances at her chest and hands. Her head feels a little light, but she’s grateful to focus on anything else. “How old are you?” she asks, “How do you own a bar?”
He chuckles, “27, to answer the first question, and it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” she says too eagerly, “Since I’m jet lagged and all.”
He backs up a bit, becoming interested in another glass to polish. “Maybe some other time,” he averts. “Where are you from? If I had to guess, I’d say west coast,” he sets down the glass, satisfied, and reaches out to gently take a strand of her hair. “Otherwise how would you get your hair this light?” Under his breath, she thinks he murmurs ‘soft,’ and wonders if that was just an excuse to touch her.
“Maybe it’s dyed.”
“Your eyebrows match too well. Trust me, I’ve seen enough dye jobs to tell the difference.”
She relents, “This is just my hair. It was darker but over the years, California sun exposure did its job. I went to college there, but I grew up in Arizona until I was about ten.” He hums like he’s accepting this and mulling it over, popping the cork on the wine again and she watches, a little horrified, as her glass is filled. “What- what about you?”
He corks the bottle, setting it to the side so he can work on another glass. “Not much to tell. I’ve been here for as long as I can remember. My father owned a big company, always traveled, and eventually I got this place and never looked for anything else.”
“I admire that,” she practically whispers over her wine, “but I’m still looking for a reason to stay where I am now. I like my job and I love my friends, but otherwise... It's hard to tell whether I’m happy there or living through the motions. We’ve been traveling for the last year now trying to get some inspiration, and every place we go to has its own charms. Sometimes, California doesn’t compare.” She hopes her cheeks aren’t as red as they feel, her mouth shooting off without her even stopping to think. Her sister Margaret always did tell her she talks too much when she’s drinking, but the way Meliodas is looking at her, like he genuinely wants to hear every word, she tries not to overthink it.
“So you’re an author too?”
Her third glass is easily disappearing, but the wine tastes more like sweet juice than alcohol, so she can’t be blamed. “I wouldn’t say that,” she mumbles. “I’ve only been out of school for a few years, and haven’t managed to write anything since I got out. Everything comes down to a forgotten ending, too many loose ends, or a plot I just can’t fall in love with.” She runs her hands back through her hair, “Not to mention the curse of writer's block that sometimes sticks around for weeks at a time.” She looks at him, intrigued, “How’d you guess? I could just be an assistant.”
“It’s my super power,” he jokes, shrugging, “Or maybe you just look the part. Then again, you also look the part of a princess or regal goddess so that doesn’t mean much.”
Her third glass of wine is gone in a flash and she’s pretty sure he’s hitting on her, and she is completely fine with it. The more the wine settles delicately in her empty stomach, the hungrier her eyes get as she takes in his sharp collar bones and strong jaw. He’s looking back at her, openly checking her out as much as he can with the bar blocking off her lower half, his smile playing on his lips. She feels her thighs getting hot, and decides that it’s probably time for her to get back to the hotel. She’s sure it’s past one now and Ludociel, a frequent traveler, almost never gets jet lag, which means she can’t either. She knows she’s going to be miserable tomorrow.
She picks up her wallet and pulls out her credit card for Meliodas to take, but he shakes his head. “I already told you, it’s on the house.”
She gapes at him, shoving the card back in her wallet, “But how can I tip you otherwise? Your service has been more than satisfactory.”
“Oh really? Maybe I can get a raise,” he jokes, and she laughs way too loudly but it only makes his grin spread. “Let me walk you back to your hotel as payment,” he insists, throwing the rag from his shoulder to the counter and then he’s beside her. She hadn’t even seen it when he hopped the expanse of the bar top, but his hand is light on her arm now, not pressuring her.
She’s already standing up and sliding on her coat, at least pretending to be against the idea, but honestly she wouldn’t mind the help in her wobbly heeled boots. “You don’t have to,” her arms break into goosebumps as Meliodas’ hands deftly button up her long coat from the bottom up, his nose very close to being between her legs. She can’t tell if she’s imagining the deep breath he inhales and exhales shakily, his fingers dancing up her waist, barely teasing her.
“Yes, I do,” he finally answers, wrapping her scarf over her shoulders. “I got you drunk, it’s only right for me to make sure you get back to where you came from, safely. Although, you could always stay for another...” he trails off when she shakes her head, giggling as she just shoves her hat, wallet and keys into the deep pockets of her jacket.
“I do not need another.”
“Yes, Princess.”
His breath is hot on her neck, so hot that she can’t tell if the wine is warming her anymore or if it’s him. His hand is heavy on her shoulder, leaning behind her to say something to the other man behind the bar. She feels the hand trail down her back, putting pressure right above her ass to gently guide her to the front door where he grabs his own coat off a rack on the way out. Elizabeth is instantly forced to sober up enough to brace herself against the wind, feeling her cheeks sting, but Meliodas is already moving. His thumb traces circles on her back, all the while moving them across the street, pulling her around the lamp directly in front of the hotel, and then opening the door for her.
When she feels his hand leaving her, she latches onto his wrist and pulls him inside. The lobby is empty, but the fireplace is still blazing, and Elizabeth falls prey to her liquid courage.
“Do you...” she trails off, breaking eye contact as Meliodas stomps his boots off and takes a look around.
He stops as soon as she starts talking but when she clearly has no mind to continue, he says, “Do I...?”
“Want to come up?”
She’s asked a man to stay the night maybe a total of three times in her life, but those situations were completely different. Drinks helped, yes, but Meliodas was a need she wouldn’t be able to soon forget. Her fingertips itched to get on his exposed skin, to splay her hands across his chest, and to kiss him like perhaps she’ll drown otherwise. Or maybe it’s the wine and the throbbing between her legs telling her to get him to her room immediately. Either way, Elizabeth asks with complete certainty, her hand still wrapped around his wrist as though he may try to run otherwise.
Meliodas steps closer, gently grabbing both of her hands and pulling them out palms-up in front of him. He hums, using the rough tips of his fingers to run from hers, down, tickling the inside of her wrists. She shivers. “I don’t think,” he continues his path up her arms, across her shoulders with a teasing touch, “that would be the smartest idea.” His hands trail down her shoulders, down her chest, and she gasps when he gently takes both her breasts in his hands. He squeezes appreciatively, his pupils blown, and then rubs his thumbs over both her hardening nipples through her dress.
“Why not?” she practically whimpers.
“Early morning,” he says it like a curse, “and because I got you drunk, which I shouldn’t have. Perhaps one glass less would’ve been okay for me to sweep you upstairs, but I just had to give you another so you’d stay.”
Her head falls back a little as his fingers dance from her breasts to curve under them, weighing them in his hands, and then moving down. He shifts over her hips, and then he’s patting her down, sliding his hands around her back and finding her ass. She gasps sharply as he grips her ass much like how he grabbed her chest, with a gentle touch yet his eyes look hungry for more. Hearing her keys jingle, his hand snakes in her coat pocket and pulls them out to hand to her, something else flashing in her view but she’s too distracted to ask. He leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then shifting to press another under her ear. She sighs, stretching her neck out to give him space to work with.
But he’s pulling back, “Not tonight, angel, but perhaps... soon.” He flashes the card he’d found in her pocket with a sly smirk, an old business card with Ludociel’s information on the front and hers on the back. His eyes roam over her once more, his hand pressing into her lower back again, and he leads her across the lobby to the elevator. He hits the button, and she realizes her time to act is dwindling. She moves before she can lose her nerve.
She places her hand against his chest and kisses him, gently putting her mouth over his and holding him in place by the collar of his shirt. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, opening his mouth to respond to her tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. She tastes like wine and peppermint but smells like vanilla, her body is warm and curvy under his hands. He’s intoxicated with her, drowning in her sweet lips as they fold with his, her soft moaning encouraging him to gently push her back against the wall by the elevator. His hands cup her face, their lips finding an easy, almost familiar, rhythm.
She breaks the fiercest kiss of her life to take a deep breath and he finds her neck, ignoring the strip of turtleneck sweater in favor of nipping at the exposed skin he’d seen under her jaw, sucking a bruise there. Elizabeth sighs, exposing her neck to him more, but he’s gone. When she catches her bearings, it’s only long enough for her to realize he’s on his knees, pushing underneath her dress and pressing his nose against the 2 thin layers, breathing in her sex. His hands are on the back of her upper thighs underneath her dress, and he’s kneading the muscle there.
A part of her thinks she should definitely panic, but the other part is absolutely loving his deep breaths, drinking her in like he’s dehydrated and she’s the last bit of water for miles. She feels it before he does, her slick slit as she parts her thighs a bit more, giving him the space to get his head farther up her dress. Until the elevator dings and he groans, sliding his hands off her ass and running them up her sides as he stands again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to...” she murmurs, embarrassed despite it all.
He looks to actually be fighting himself, “I want you to be sober when you ask me that.” He kisses her again, unable to help himself, diving into her just a bit more before he has to let her go. “Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he tucks wild hair behind her ear and then turns, strolling out of the hotel.
Elizabeth leans like a sack of potatoes against the wall of the elevator, her heart still thudding like crazy, and she pushes her face into her hands as the doors shut. What the hell did she just do? And why was it so good ?