A/N: hey people, this is the second one-shot in my kinda hiatus from Bones. I'm going back to writing that now, i just needed some time off due to the heavy themes in that story and well, i just needed something fluffy.

This is fluffy.

Important Information: Richard and Darcy are NOT COUSINS in this one. So no eww comments please. They're not related by blood in any shape or form.

Also this is a triad story. As in, three people. As in, yes that's a thing.

Soundtrack:

Can't Stop - Red Hot Chilli Peppers; The Manic -Amarante, Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

Disclaimer: Well this is pretty far from the original, but still: I don't own Austen (don't know why this needs repeating)

Facebook Friends

###

The first time it happens, it's a soirée at the Lucas' home on the Upper West Side and they're outside on the balcony, the spring air cool and crisp around them. He's close, so close, all messy dark hair and rich laughter and her blood's boiling, fuelled by the whiskey she's sneaked in in between champagne flutes and he hitches her legs up, wraps them around his waist, her back pressed against the stone wall, cold where her dress bares her back and the friction, the feeling of his hands moving over silk and lace and then under is too much and she's panting, gasping for air-

He thrusts two fingers inside her and the only sound that escapes her is a breathless, garbled scream -

###

"I think I did something stupid last night," Lizzie Bennet whined, throwing herself face down on Jane Bingley's pristine, pale grey couch, still clad in a black lace Valentino cocktail dress from last night, her wild hair spilling around her head like a gold brown halo, muttering inaudible things into Jane's handmade Indian pillows while her feet were jerking artfully in the air.

Her sister looked up, the 24 karat diamond engagement ring sparkling right next to her wedding ring in the morning light. "Why would you think that?" she asked lightly, lifting one perfectly arched eyebrow.

Lizzie started to wriggle at that point, gold-red curls falling into her face, brown eyes blinking tiredly. "Because he wants to be friends with me on Facebook!" she whined. "Facebook! Who does that?"

Jane blinked. "I assumed you rid yourself of that app months ago? Something about the loss of human contact and the meaninglessness and indiscrimination of friendships if I recall correctly."

"I did," Lizzie grumbled, spitting out a mouthful of hair. She looked like a maenad, Jane mused. All wildness and youth and with a certain energy about her that was buzzing and fizzing even when she rested. She smiled fondly.

"So how can he be friends with you on Facebook if you are not part of that community anymore?" Jane asked, amusement evident in her voice.

"Because Richard hijacked my phone last month at the Gibson's Charity Auction," Lizzie mumbled sacking back into the pillows for a moment before springing up like she'd just been electrocuted. "Oh my god! Richard! What have I done? I'm an awful, awful human being... strike that. I'm not even human, I'm a monster. God, Jane, what am I going to do?"
"Stop the dramatics for one. Because even though you're highly entertaining, you're also getting lipstick on my pillows," her sister said primly, reaching for the mobile in Lizzie's hand where the illustrious friend request was still flickering across the screen. "And you should accept that friend request, darling. It's the polite thing to do."

"But I can't do that," Lizzie scrambled to say, her lipstick a bit smeared around the corners of her mouth, her mascara painting light shadows under her eyes. "He's William Darcy. You don't just go and be friends with William Darcy. It's not feasible."

"Well, evidently he wants you to be," Jane said, her angelic face as youthful

"What? Feasible?" Lizzie snorted delicately, her feet wriggling daintily in the air.

"I wanted to say 'friends'," Jane offered, taking up her laptop again after placing Lizzie's mobile back into her sister's open palm. "Anyway, you should make yourself amenable to the situation, my dear, because as of today you're friends with the illusive Mr. Darcy."

Lizzie sprung up at those words, staring in horror at the mobile's screen where the words 'request accepted' seemed to dance mockingly. "Oh no," she cried out, panic creeping up her spine. "What have you done, Jane?"

###

She's in Vienna when she sees him again, sitting in a café, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black sunglasses obscuring his eyes and the small smirk that's dancing around the corners of his mouth unnerves her.

She runs.

She's already frustrated by the city. Everything's a bit too sweet, a bit too polished, leaving one with a sticky feeling between one's teeth and burning eyes, a slowly grating ache in the wires of one's brain while desperately trying to look past the surface. She tries to find the loose edges and lets herself be guided by the graffiti on the walls, takes photos of a stumbling group of drunk teens, giggling and laughing with one of them throwing up in the background, seeks out battered houses and traces mermaids in the Danube's blueish green water.

And then when she's struggling with that one photo shot in the middle of the pouring rain, he's suddenly there, holding up an umbrella over both their heads and smiling amusedly.

"Well, Miss Bennet. What a surprise to meet you here," he says, a smirk playing around his lips. "Here of all places."

###

It must have been a while later, hours perhaps or just minutes when he shook her awake by tugging on her bare foot, the one that was peeking out from under the blankets. Judging by the sunlight streaming in it was daytime, but bleary eyed and confused as she was, she couldn't think of a time or a place, let alone of a reason for being where she was in the first place.

"Do you have any preferences concerning formal attire?" Darcy asked, holding up a mobile with one hand and waiting for an answer with one raised eyebrow.

She glowered at him for a second before deciding that she apparently had had too much to drink last night and was still dreaming some alcohol induced lunacy.

"Elie Saab," she muttered, pushing some hair out of her face. "Pale blue lace dress from the 2012 Spring Collection. Because apparently this is a fairy-tale." She cracked an eye open. "Do I get three wishes? A Prince Charming? Because I'd exchange that all for a cup of coffee right now."

He laughed at that and the sound and movement lit up his whole face. Lizzie, still in her catatonic state, blamed her theoretical intoxication for what it did to her intestines.

"There's coffee here already," he said with a chuckle, shutting his phone with one hand after repeating her answer. "No need for bloodshed, Miss Bennet. It's quite difficult to get the stains out of the carpet and we wouldn't want to impose too much on the cleaning staff, do we? They do work a quite exhausting job, there's no need for additional trauma by asking them to clean up my dilacerated body."

"Don't tempt me", she grumbled, sitting up and righting the oversized grey Darthmouth shirt she'd apparently slept in, not quite missing the way Darcy's eyes dropped to her body and how his mouth slowly curved into a small smirk at the sight of the thin shirt clinging to whatever curves she had.

"I could ask the same of you, Miss Bennet", he said lowly, his grey eyes several shades darker.
"But you don't", she said with a defiant lift of her chin. "Because it wouldn't be that much fun otherwise, would it?"

A smile spread across his lips, more genuine and less predatory this time and he leaned in, wrapping one short, honey-coloured strand of hair around his index finger, his hand brushing her chin.

"No", he mused, tracing the shades of red, brown and gold that were all present in that one curl. "It wouldn't be. After all, isn't temptation part of the package? We have to play this game correctly, Miss Bennet. Otherwise the world just might collapse around us."

"Seduction or destruction? You make it quite difficult to choose, Darcy. Though, I suppose in the end it won't be much of a difference." There was a certain bitterness in her voice, which she tried to conceal by reaching for the steaming cup of coffee on the small table next to the bed.

"That's the point of a fairy-tale though, isn't it? Endgame and outcome always so predictable that one wants to cry out in frustration." He smiled, his other hand, currently not occupied with playing with her hair, slowly moved up the curve of her bare legs, stopping only when it reached the hem of her improvised nightshirt. "Then why don't we enjoy the ride, Miss Bennet? We do have a ball to attend and as chance will have it, I do need someone to escort me. So will you please get dressed? It's considered quite impolite to turn up later than strictly fashionably late."

"How is dear Richard?" she asked with enough bite to make him look up from his mobile. "I haven't seen him ever since the Gibson event."

"Richard's in Asia", Darcy said succinctly, a strange look in his eyes. Lizzie narrowed her eyes a fraction.

"Don't they have Wi-Fi there, too?" she pointed out. "Long distance relationships are so tedious unless one has regular access to Skype, don't you think?"

Darcy's mouth quirked up in a wry sort of smile. "Speaking from experience, Miss Bennet?"

"No," she said, a piercing feeling in her chest. "Just pointing out the obvious."

###

She's in Milan when it happens again. The dry heat is taking place in her lungs and veins, drying her from the inside out until she's just sand and cells and boiling, boiling blood that threatens to spill – spill on those ochre coloured floors like a living, breathing organism taking up everything that she'd once been.

Her letters and calls to Jane become sparse and she keeps telling herself that she's not running, not fleeing from smirking faces in Vienna's alleyways, not losing glass shoes like the girl from that fairy-tale – dumb Cinderella, dumb, dumb, dumb Cinderella - she's just – not.

###

"Isn't this just a wonderful day?" a sudden voice right next to her asked pleasantly. When she looked up – shocked and with the ice cream spoon still in her mouth – she came face to face with one Richard Fitzwilliam, striking and brilliant and also wearing a bowler hat and carrying a cane with him.

"Tzzt, tzzt", he chided her, taking the spoon out of her gaping mouth and carefully shutting it. "We wouldn't want you to catch flies now, would we?"

She spluttered for a second longer, but then opted for the napkin he was offering her. "How do you do that?", she asked, blinking for a second and then began rearranging the stuff she'd scattered all over the small table in an attempt at dissuading the sudden nervousness that had crept up with the bout of guilt at the sight of her friend.

"What exactly?", he asked, leaning back in his chair and clanking the end of the cane against the stone floor of the small café they're sitting in, just off one of Milan's main shopping streets. "How to be so devilishly handsome? So blindingly charming?"

Lizzie snorted at that.

"Because I have to tell you, my dear, while you're quite lovely on any given day, rather enchanting I have to say, you're also looking a bit dishevelled right about now." He took a closer look at the short mess of curls she'd pinned on top of her head to relieve the heat and wrinkled his nose. "Is that a paint brush?" he asked. "And an IKEA pencil?"

She batted at his hands. "Not all of us looks like Sherlock Holmes meets Hugh Heffner meets Lucius bloody Malfoy on just every day of the week."

"Oh so you recognized the cane?" he asked, lifting the piece with the snake head in question and stroking it idly. "I thought I'd go for dark and mysterious today with some emphasis on a Mafia boss or the like."

"Richard, you're about as mysterious as a kick to the nuts", she informed him delicately, scratching at the melting walnut ice-cream with her spoon. "And just as dark", she added with a glance to his pale blond, gel glittering hair. "You had pink streaks in it last year for Christ's sake. It was all over the front pages."

"You still remember that?" he asked, smiling a knowing kind of smile that had her narrow her eyes marginally in suspicion.

"I did the photos", she said dryly, licking her spoon clean.

"Oh that you did." He leaned back, stretching and she tried not to let her eyes flicker towards the bared skin between the open collar buttons of his dress shirt. "And soo much more..."

"I keep forgetting", she said without batting an eye.

"I rather doubt that."

"Well, you're also the poster child for chronic narcissism so I wouldn't rely on your memories quite so much. Your perspective is rather skewed, don't you think?"

He chuckled, petting her head. She ignored the shivers running down her spine. It was summer in Italy for fuck's sake, she shouldn't have goose bumps.

"Speaking of perspective..." he trails off, picking up some of the photographs she'd scattered across the table. "What are you working on these days if you don't have the privilege of working with the most charming and beautiful man in the world?"

"Not much. I hear Clooney's calendar is pretty much packed ever since he got married."

He laughs at that, a soft, rumbling sound that makes something warm bloom in her chest. "You wound me", he said, teeth and hair sparkling in the sunlight. "But I see you found a new muse?" He held up the black and white shot she'd taken off Darcy at that café in Vienna. She hadn't meant to release the shutter when she'd found him through her camera's viewfinder, but the shock of seeing him had done the trick and it was actually quite a lovely picture – Darcy in a blinding white dress shirt, sunglasses and messy hair – it just did awful, awful things to her.

"It was an accident?" she said, coughing against the sudden dryness in her throat.

"Is that a question?" he countered, sounding amused. "He's still a bit bummed, you know? You've left him standing in the rain for the second time now after you went out with him twice in Vienna. He actually asked me if it was some British thing he's not getting or if you just don't like him."

"It's not -", she started, but then caught herself and bit sharply on her lower lip until she tasted blood. "I meant no offence."

"Hmm..." He was humming now. "You sure do remind me of your sister when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like the little aristocrat you are."

"I do not -"

"And as much as I adore Jane Bingley, the ice queen look is rather frightening on you", Richard interrupted her, stroking the back of her hand until the fury in her eyes diminished. "Freezes ones balls, you know? Not a pleasant feeling."

"I wouldn't know", she informed him primly, taking another spoon of her rapidly melting ice-cream.

"Well, for all that you possess none in the literal sense, you sure do love to deep-freeze dear Darcy's anatomy."

"I'm still not following", she declared crisply, picking up her photographs.

"Oh, we're doing the denial thing again?" Richard exclaimed, seemingly amused. "I see you're still running, princess, try not to lose too many shoes, will you?"

"I'm not -" She caught herself. "I do not run."

"Sure you don't", he laughed again and stood up. Bending down until his face hovered above hers, his fingers lifted her chin. "Because you didn't practically run out on the man at the ball once the clock stroke midnight. Nice touch of leaving the dress and shoes at the hotel, I must say. Gives it all a quite dramatic air, don't you agree?"

She gulped, her pulse doing a mad dance against her skin. "My apologies."

"Tut, tut", the man with the bowler hat said, his eyes sparkling. He was so close now that Lizzie could practically breathe him in and the scent made her head spin for a second. She curled her hands into fists, but before she could say something, he leaned in, pressing a kiss that tasted like coffee to her lips.

"See you in London", he said cheerfully and then he was gone.

###

She's at a nightclub in Singapore, dancing in between a writhing mess of sweating bodies and hoarse voices, colourful lights reflecting off their skin, the stroboscope playing games with her mind and she's drifting and diving, coming apart at the seams until it feels like the only thinking keeping her together is the oscillating mess around her.

He's there.

Her mind supplies her only with slow-motion shots of him moving towards her in the flashing light and she barely registers it, doesn't until he's right in front of her, a solid wall of lean, tense muscles, the quietly burning determination held within stands in such sharp contrast to the boiling mass of people around them it's striking. He guides her out of the crowd, pushes her back until her back hits the wall behind her and then he's kissing her, all sharp teeth and bruising hands on her hips where they dig into her flesh. And she retaliates, tugs on his hair until he lets out a hiss, bites his lip bloody when he presses in too hard and it's fighting, it's screaming for reinforcements since this is battle, this is combat and no one's surrendering, no one's winning, no one even bloody remembers who declared war first, but… it hurts – it fucking hurts.

And later, much later when she's clinging to him, sweat soaked and panting when he's pushing into her, his hair in his face, his eyes boring into hers – steely silver reminders of who exactly she's fucking – she embraces that small bit of pain in the back of her mind and it's the only anchor she has when she's falling apart with a cry at his hands.

###

She woke up with a strange sense of clarity and shadow lines drawn on the ceiling by the incoming light, the alcohol residue from last night heavy in her bones. She coughed.

There was a man lying next to her, his skin almost the same shade of caramel as her own, his black hair standing up in all directions. He looked like a boy when he slept.

There were exactly three basic rules her sister – her mother, really – had taught her when growing up. First, family is everything. Family is sacred. You don't ever betray family. Her sister's voice had been steely when telling her that, her usually delicate features hard in the pale light and the reference to her father had been thinly veiled and biting. There was a reason Lizzie had grown up in Jane's household after all.

The other one had been about the importance of appearances to honour the Bennet family and finally the last one had been the most difficult to comprehend. "Everybody has a motive," her sister had said, the first time she'd introduced her to society at her debutante ball. "Everybody wants something and it might not be the one thing they claim it to be." The undercurrent "trust no one outside of family" had been blatantly clear.

He had a tattoo.

She stared at the man next to her, the deep, sleepy breaths moving his ribcage, the black lines of what seemed to be a symbiosis of the old Fitzwilliam and Darcy crests drawn across it, the contented expression on his face, it all fascinated and confused her at the same time and she supressed the urge to just crawl into the promised warmth and go back to sleep.

"It's kinda creepy, you watching me sleep," she suddenly heard him mutter, his voice thick with sleep and he cracked an eye open. She blinked.

"What do you want?" she asked him, her brow furrowed. Her brain was already firing, gears turning and processing, her eyes flickering over his face, his body, the room they were in until they finally focused back on him.

"You coming back to sleep for one." He stretched out a hand, wrapping in around her knee and tried to tug her towards him. "Much more comfortable with you there…"

"Yes, because I so like to be abused as a teddy bear", she drawled, more thoughts chasing each other in her brain. Don't trust anyone outside family, her sisters words reverberated in her mind. Everyone has an agenda. You're a Bennet, no matter what people say, they will always want something from you.

His eyes opened again, intent flickering in the liquid silver, quickly assessing and evaluating and – "Oh for fuck's sake, 'Lizabeth, stop thinking!" He quickly grabbed and had her wrapped around him under the blankets in a split second. "I can hear your mind working from here", he grumbled, "and I'm currently in no condition to keep up with whatever little, paranoid conspiracy theory your brain has cooked up now, so can we please, please go back to sleep?"

"Not a morning person, Darcy?" she asked archly, despite being literally pressed against the man's chest. "And commonly this – no matter what you're trying to accomplish – it's called kidnapping, deprivation of liberty, inappropriate touching –"

"I think we did a lot more than inappropriate touching last night –"

"You're missing the point –"

"Are you making one?"

She pressed her cold toes against his thigh and he hissed. "Demanding woman", he growled, capturing her legs between his own, effectively rendering her motionless. "Will you be quiet now?"

"I think you got the wrong one if you desired silence", she mumbled against him, playing with the thought of biting that tantalizing bit of skin to get free.

"Good point", he said, his voice already trailing off into the realm of sleep. "What were we thinking?"

"Not at all as usual, I take it." She was warming up a bit, felt herself melting into him and she was only hanging on to that unravelling thread screaming danger, danger, danger by one, single finger.

"Indeed?" he said in that haughty, arrogant tone that had caught her attention ever since she'd first met him as Richard's date for dinner at the Bingley's New York home a few years ago. Sleep smoothed out its edges, but that and the hand creeping up her spine, had the frayed ends of her nerves buzzing like live wires. So much about going back to sleep. "And here I was thinking about going out for ice-cream later. At a reasonable hour of course."

"Ice-cream?" she repeated, bemused.

"Yes? Richard said you loved walnut ice-cream. Was he off with that assessment?" How the man can talk like a politician when not in possession of his full mental capacities was beyond her.

"You talked to Richard?" she asked, completely foregoing the question at hand.

"Of course, silly girl." He was nuzzling her neck now; she let him, her mind still buzzing with the information. "So… Ice-cream?" he asked and she nodded, something giddy bubbling up in her chest and she forced it down with thoughts of Richard and Jane's words in her head, yet couldn't help but smile.

###

They always want something from you.

It's raining in London and the city's dreary grey colour is depressing her right from the start. People are dark shadows behind blurred window panes and the limousine is moving quietly along the streets. She traces the lines, shuddering at the cold at thinks she can still taste the faint remains of walnut ice-cream on her lips. There's another car parked in front of the Bennet's London townhouse and she doesn't realized who it belongs until she's climbed the steps, greeted Herbert, the butler, and walked right into her father's study, that Richard Fitzwilliam has apparently been feeling melancholy about his British routs and has decided to honour his promise of seeing her in London by seeing her in the very same city at her father's house.

###

"Mr. Fitzwilliam?" she barely suppressed the curious, nearly panicked "What are you doing here?" and opted for the safer way out instead. Both men looked up, one of them blond and blinding in a way that made it hard for her to look at him sometimes, the other one greying, his skin, his hair, his eyes all covered in that chalk-like hue that was a feature of the ageing. She could barely remember a time when she'd been intimidated by the man, but she knew that she once covered in fear before him whenever Jane had brought her for an obligatory visit.

"Miss Bennet!" Richard cried out, rising to his feet to greet her. Her father looked on amused. "What a surprise to see you here!"

"In my father's house?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "I suppose I can grant you your astonishment at finding me in a place that bears the same name as I do, Mr Fitzwilliam, considering your obvious sincerity." She mocked the last word, kissed it with sneering lips and watched him take and bow to it.

"And what a lovely surprise it is" the blond man said, kissing her hand and smiling.

"Evidently."

They sat down in the thick leather chairs by the fire. The study still had a hole like feeling with its panelled walls and rows and rows of books and it felt like someone was lacing her into a corset.

"Mr Fitzwilliam here was just telling me about his recent travels, Elizabeth", her father said with a nod towards the gentlemen in question. He eyed her for a second, his eyes lingering on the side-cut she'd given herself before coming to London with something akin to distaste and shook his head. "Shanghai, Moscow and Milan, am I correct?"
"Yes, Sir", Richard said, inclining his head and Lizzie had to bite her lip to not break out in a smile at the obvious mock gesture. Her father didn't notice. "But I believe Darcy saw much more interesting places. New York, Vienna, Singapore… Did I miss something, darling?" he asked her from where he sat in the old armchair near the fire. His posture was the usual mix of arrogance and boredom that only children of the aristocracy could perform so well and in his crisp Oxford shirt, the vest and tailored trousers he certainly looked the part.

"I wouldn't dare presume the level of interest the relevant cities have evoked in Mr Darcy", she said, meeting Richard's eyes. "Travelling does all depend on the traveller's perspective, don't you agree?"

"Would it also be too presumptuous to ascertain your level of interest in the aforementioned subjects? I've heard my boyfriend's version but yours might shed some light on some of the finer points."

"Presumptuousness seems to be your modus operandi on any given day, Mr Fitzwilliam," she countered. "I would hate to relieve you of such an integral part of your personality."

They were both staring at each other; Lizzie glaring, Richard smirking. Her father frowned.

"Did you meet Mr Darcy when you were away doing your little… hobby?" he asked, his eyes flittering between her and their guest.

"Yes, and he even rescued me when I broke a nail", she simpered. "Imagine that! He's such a gentleman!"

"Are you gushing, Miss Bennet?" Richard muttered. "I thought I'd never see the day you'd fawn over somebody."

"I broke a nail, Mr Fitzwilliam. Surely you see the tragedy in that for a photographer. I couldn't even indulge in my little hobby…"

"You always had a flair for dramatics, Elizabeth", her father sniffed, reaching for the crystal tumbler with the amber coloured whiskey in it.

"You mean, I always had a flair for expressing my opinion", she corrected him, smiling a light smile that could be mistaken for being genuine if one missed the glint in her eyes. "Must be a family trait…" Her father looked up sharply and Lizzie chuckled, waving her hand lazily. "Not that part of the family."

"Darcy said he's quite impressed with your work, Miss Bennet," Richard interjected, looking amused. "And you surely know me to be one of your greatest admirers. I have to say Darcy was quite jealous when half of New York was after me when that magazine was published."

"I thought that was your life, Mr Fitzwilliam. But half New York on the run in pursuit of a piece of you seems a fairly educate guess of your living standards."

"Not that I wouldn't mind," the blond man drawled. "But do you really believe Darcy would put up with that? The man's so secretive and paranoid he even tries to keep his laptop passwords secret from himself."

"Well, I was wondering about those multiple personalities…"

"And neurotic, I tell you. Good Gracious, don't ever try questioning his choice in toothpaste, the man is damn peculiar about them and if you do that before 8 am, I can safely guarantee you a catastrophe, because the man is simply not a –"

"- morning person," Lizzie finished for him unthinkingly.

"Oh, and how would you know that?" Richard exclaimed, raising both eyebrows.

Lizzie simply glared at him. "I don't," she said. "It's a simple matter of deduction."

"Of course, Miss Bennet," Richard said, standing. "I hope you will excuse me, Mr Bennet. I've got a meeting and a lunch date at one so we will have to continue our chess game some other day."

Lizzie's father nodded his ascent, mumbling something in his whiskey glass.

"And Miss Bennet." He leaned down to kiss her hand. "Onto the next time."

And then he disappeared.

###

"Don't you have a lunch date to attend to?" she asks when he pulls her out of the rain and onto his lap in the limousine, the hands in the expensive leather gloves skimming her face and pushing back the wet strands of hair.

"Jealous, darling?" he asks, pulling her down for a kiss. "Rather an attractive look on you, I must say."

She bites him. "How is your dear boyfriend today?" She mocks the word with all the bitterness she has stored inside ever since sharing walnut ice-cream with William Darcy in Singapore. "Did he kiss you today? Kissed you like he kisses me?"

"Bitch", he growls, but it sounds strangely affectionate. "Do you mean like I kiss you?" He tugs off his gloves and then his hands are hiking up her skirt until she's straddling him, pushing her hips into his and they both groan at the contact. "Or like you kissing me?"

She pulls at his hair, sucks on the soft skin of his neck until he's bucking into her, his hands travelling up paths under her dress and energy's pulsing up and down the notches of her spine. She feels electrified, the air humid around them and his right hand is bypassing the edge of her stockings, teasing along the lace of her panties and she pushes her tongue deeper into his mouth, willing, wanting – oh above all she wants – and it's consuming, singeing her like moth to flame and she pulls back.

"What do you think about putting a nice… little 'A' on my chest?" she murmurs, her eyes a bit glazed, a slightly manic look in them. "In fire… engine red. Would label my newest hobby so … so nicely, don't you agree?"

Richard, looking flushed and with a heated look in his eyes, let his fingers wander under the lace and her soft gasp at the contact made him grin. "I hate to stand in the way of any… creativity regarding… fashion, but you do not seem to possess quite the… the self-sacrificing qualities of a Hester… Hester Prynne to pull that off."

"Oh but it would fit people's expectations so abso- absolute- … absolutely wonderfully," she manages to get out, closing her eyes for a second when he pushes first one, then two fingers inside her. "A girl fooling around with two men…. Oh she must be a fallen one indeed. Can you imagine my father's….face when the wild genes finally… finally strike? It would confirm every theory he's ever had about those…those 'exotic ones'."

"Didn't keep him from fucking one though, did it?" Richard asks, colour rising in his cheeks while he watches her slowly come apart. She's coiled tighter than a spiral spring and he sees her muscles trembling, shaking slightly and the way she bites her lips – oh… "And can you imagine the resulting bloodbath should someone dare insinuate the like? Your sister is bloody… bloody fucking terrifying on any given day, I wouldn't want to anger her…"

Her lashes flutter. "Do you really want to talk about my sister right now?" she asks, pushing her own hand down his pants, stroking him until his breath comes as irregular as her own.
"No," he gasps. "But Darcy and I… we aren't – aren't just…. just pretty to look at, you know? If anyone dares to lay a finger on you… they won't have any left… to point them at you." He pushes his own deeper inside her as if to prove a point and she feels it crawling up her spine, the prickling, itching feeling and she keens a bit, gasps, feels it crawling higher and higher until –

"We'd eviscerate them", he hisses and she falls. She's shuddering, crying, drowning and her forehead drops against his, her mouth sucking in the air between them and he's panting just as hard, squeezes her hand still grasping his cock and then he stills, pushes up once, neck arched, teeth biting into her shoulder.

They cry out and catch each other.

###

"Impressive", Darcy said from behind her and she smiled despite it all. "Is that Vienna?" he continued, closing the distance between them until he lightly pressed against her, pulling her towards him until he could rest his chin on top of her head. "Bloody hell, woman, what did you do to Café Sacher?"

"Gave it some depth", she pouted, lifting her chin a bit in defiance. "It did annoy me."

"And your response is to metaphorically lay open its bones?" he questioned, sounding amused. "The rip-offs are very… strategically placed," he then said and the deep chuckled reverberated all throughout his body.

"It's like a good peep-show," Lizzie said satisfied, watching the layered picture of a colourful summer day showing one of Vienna's main streets above another shot of the very same spot only this time at night and in black and white. Huge pieces were ripped off the first one, showing the black and white photograph beneath like an obscene kind of bone structure.

"Yes, it certainly favours the badly smelling scented body oils and cheap costumes," the man behind her drawls until she pinched his arm.

"Gracious, woman," he yelped. "Were you always this violent?"

"Oh," she said in mock surprise. "Did no one tell you? I grew up with savages."

"Yes, and I'm three-quarter German and French", Darcy drawled. "Right off the boat and all that. We're quite the international pair, you know?"

She snorted. "You Americans have really strange expressions."

"Says the British aristocrat. Without a hint of sarcasm even," he acted surprised and she bit on her lip in an attempt not to smile.

"Well, you do have a type, you know?" The retort tasted like acid on her tongue.

"If you mean pushy, demanding people with a side dish of crazy then yes, I do." He pressed a kiss on her hair and sighed. "I can hear your mind working again."

"There's some excellent medication to help with the hallucinations, you know?"

"Does it also help with the paranoia?" he countered, his thumbs tracing the line from her waist to her hips.

"Insofar as it helps with your delusions regarding other people's state of mind." She frowned, lacing her fingers with his to stop his hands from disappearing under the fabric of her skirt. "Public, Darcy. They're reporters here. Try to act your age, why don't you?"

"Don't tell me you've grown afraid of mindless parasites?" He sounded amused, pressing a kiss on the juncture between neck and shoulder.

"Collins is here," she informed him. "And from what I know of the little rat he'll turn this into something equivalent of a marriage proposal."

"He's concluding that from a little bit of groping? Gracious, that man's mind is jumping quickly", Darcy said, completely disregarding the problem at hand.

"Darcy…"

"Hmm? He should have seen us in Singapore then. Or you in Richard's car last week." His voice dropped at that. "He said you looked so deliciously captivating when you came. Tell me, is it the same expression you wore when I was fucking you? When you came apart underneath me?" She shivered. "Or is it a different one for each of us? Because then I really want to watch –"

"Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet may I congratulate you on –" The little rat with the greasy hair and the watery eyes had approached them with a lewd smile on his face.

"No," Lizzie cut him off, but he wasn't looking at her but at Darcy who was ignoring him with his usual arrogance.

"Quite the fortunate match, Mr Darcy. Combining the Bennet and Bingley fortune with the Darcy Empire… Oh, I dare say Lady Catherine will be pleased with your decision. You two will have such beautiful babies –"

"Is he forgetting Richard now?" Lizzie asked dryly.

"I dare say he is."

"- and of course the Darcy genes will prevail and relativize whatever unfortunate heritage Miss Bennet's mother has brought into the family… Blood will always prevail, Lady Catherine says and I dare say she's –"

"Is he insulting my supposed fiancé now?" Darcy asked with a smirk, still ignoring the fawning Collins who was still caught up in his monologue.

"He's using the word "fortunate" way too much for my liking", Lizzie muttered. "Not the most intelligent of men."

"I take it he hasn't yet met your sister?"

"She announced quite a distaste for common vermin and recommended a good exterminator when the subject came up."

Darcy chuckled. "Are you planning on taking her up on the offer?"

"I'd do the job myself", Lizzie said watching out of the corner of her eye how Collins talked himself into a rant about blood purity and sullied family lines. "But I so hate to get my hands dirty. I already broke a nail when indulging in my little hobby, you know?" She held up the supposed injured finger and he pressed a quick kiss on it that had Collins close to hyperventilating.

"Get that kiss someplace else and he'll likely suffer a heart attack", she commented, arching a brow at the man's condition.

"Oh, but we're in public, darling", Darcy said with mock reproach. "I can't quite kiss you where I want to kiss you right here unless you want to indulge in your exhibitionist streak again."

"Again?" she asked with a smile.

"You traumatized the driver, sweetheart," the dark-haired man drawled. "Told me you were quite the screamer." Collins next to them was gurgling at the words and they both turned to him, watching him like they'd watch bugs crawling beneath their feet – with mild curiosity and barely concealed disdain.

"And here I thought we'd pulled up the privacy screen," Lizzie sighed, taking a champagne flute from one of the waiters hired for the gallery opening.

"There's always next time, darling," he smirked and she wanted to hit him for making her heart clench so painfully.

"I suppose," she said and his eyes narrowed for a split second before they brightened into a smile again and he pulled out a heavy, cream-coloured envelope with a red seal from his jacket pocket.

"May I invite you to the annual Darcy and Fitzwilliam Ball, Miss Bennet? It's on the first weekend of September."

"That's in less than a week, Darcy," Lizzie said with a frown. Collins gasped for air.

"That's the event of the season, Miss Bennet! Surely you realise that you cannot possibly refuse Mr Darcy-"

"Quit patronizing me, Collins," she snapped, breaking the seal. "I grew up under Jane Bingley's care. Surely you wouldn't insinuate that her education has been lacking in any way?"

The rat-like man scrambled to assure her to the contrary and Darcy chuckled at the man's desperate attempts to assuage a family member of one of the most influential women in society.

"I will see you there, Miss Bennet," he announced with a kiss and a bow and then disappeared within the crowd of people in the New Yorker gallery.

###

She's standing on top of the stairs leading down to huge ballroom, beautifully decorated with autumnal leaves and candles and stares at the scene below her. Jane and Charlie are already there and her sister had eyed the emerald green, backless Valentino dress she wore with a perfectly arched eyebrow and a slight smile around her lips.

She's nervous. She feels like thirteen again, not like the woman who's engaged in various sexual acts with both men downstairs and wishes she could reduce the whole evening to some closet shenanigans and missing panties. She can't. This is something bigger, reminds her of family-introducing, family-approving kind of events and she's not sure who's watching who and whose opinion matters.

Another step downstairs and she discovers the both of them. They're standing close, they're smiling, whispering. They look happy.

It feels like someone clasped a hand around her heart and is squeezing it dry.

She remembers the feeling from the endless days she'd spent hiding under desks from her father's drunken rants and her nannies upturned noses and scathing remarks about bastards up until Jane had stormed in one day, furious and beautiful and had taken her right out of that hell hole. Remembers it from her debutante ball, the stares, the whispers about the Bennet-bastard and her unfortunate heritage. Remembers the tears of frustration when her hair just wouldn't let her look like the rest of them and Jane's steely expression when she asked her if she really wanted to look like the rest of the brainless brigade and if so if they should operate her into a zombie or if she wanted to let the bleach do the job.

She watches them kiss. Casual, affectionate, as if it's something they've done a hundred times and are sure to do it a thousand times over again. Richard's laughing and Darcy's eyes are twinkling, his mouth curved up in an amused smile. Their hands are laced together.

She turns around and flees.

###

"Do you think she's awake yet?"
"When you talk just a tad louder then yes, sure… It's not like you were that quiet to begin with."

"I'd poke her, you know. But she looks so adorable when she sleeps…"

"I know." Lizzie heard someone chuckle.

"I still think it's not fair that you had her in a bed, while I was left with scarring poor Lester for life."

"You wanted to gamble for the privilege," the other voice said amused. "And it's not my problem when she asked to be dropped off at the airport afterwards."

"At least she didn't run from me."

"She did run from both of us", he was corrected and she felt someone moving on the bed in response. "We practically saw her doing it."

"She's a quick little thing, isn't she?" The voice was affectionate and quite close to her ear. "What did you think set her off? The glitter? The candles?"

"All of it combined?" the other man – she decided it was a man – asked sarcastically. "I told you, you were overdoing it with the matching suits and the string quartet."

"I just wanted to do the grand gesture thing", the voice next to her said petulantly and she had the sudden image of pouting lips and glittering hair in mind. Her mouth involuntarily curved into a smile. "I thought girls were supposed to like that?"

"Did you really think Lizzie would like that?" the other man – dark hair and sharp, angular features came to mind – asked.

"Shit", the voice next to her cursed and then there were fingers pushing back hair from her face and drawing lazy circles over her cheekbones. "It's been a while since I tried wooing girls."

"You can say that", the other person drawled, but there was something in that tone, perhaps the warmth or the apparent fondness that made Lizzie's stomach flip.

"It's not like you regret it, right?" the voice next to her muttered and she realised it seemed to be a kind of inside joke when the other man responded with laughter.

"Drunk dialling you after that company party to tell you that your arse looked gorgeous in that suit? No, I don't think so."

"You sure did the next morning", the voice closest to her announced smugly. "Not that I let you wallow for long."

"But he's so cute when he's sulking", Lizzie muttered sleepily, blinking open her eyes. Her announcement seemed to have startled her guests, because it was eerily quiet for a few minutes.

"And how long have you been awake exactly?" someone asked amusedly and then Richard's face was towering over hers and she realized that he'd taken up residence on her bed and was resting quite comfortably on one of the many pillows the king sized hotel bed provided.

"I'd ask you both what you were doing here", she yawned with a nod towards Darcy who was standing by the huge windows overlooking Alexandria, the golden light casting a halo around his tall frame. "But I'd just feel stupid for asking the same question over and over again with no different results."

"The very definition of madness," Richard nodded sagely.

Lizzie snorted, wrapping the thin blanket tighter around her. "You're one to talk."

He narrowed his eyes at her, the blue-green colour dancing happily in them and poked her nose. "Why do I put up with you again? You're always mean to me."
"Well, you keep stalking me", she pointed out, blinking up at him with sleep-induced vulnerability. Richard looked startled for a moment, shooting a quick glance over to Darcy who remained mute.

"That I do", the man with the glitter gel in his hair said, his voice and eyes softening a bit. "And you keep running, darling. Tell me, isn't the pattern repetitive enough for you to imagine breaking it?"

"Isn't that the point of games, though?" she asked, bile rising in her throat and felt the numbness of sleep leaving her bones. "Repeat matches?"

"Repeat – "Richard stumbled on the word, perplexed for a second before his face brightened in understanding. "You think this is a game?" he asked and at her small, defiant nod he groaned. "Darcy, what utter rubbish have you been telling the girl?"

The man near the window frowned. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" He eyed Lizzie and there was an emotion in his eyes that she couldn't place.

"You told her we were playing a game, didn't you? Got her all caught up in that idea, right?"

"Well, we are conducting one if I'm not misinformed," Darcy said tersely. "It wasn't my idea but you were insistent on having fun during the courting."

"During the what?" Lizzie exclaimed, but was interrupted by Richard who placed a finger on her mouth.

"Well, it was quite entertaining", he huffed. "But Darcy, love, you told the poor girl that we were toying with her and she just got up and ran with the idea."

"She did what?" The dark-haired man was scowling at her. "Are you aware that when you're thinking you become quite dangerous to public safety, you stupid, silly woman?" He was cursing under his breath and Lizzie, a bit taken aback by his outburst, felt a smile tugging at her lips.

"Language, Darcy", she mumbled, burying her face deeper into the pillow. Richard chuckled, pulling her towards him until she laid half on top of him while Darcy was so startled by her retort that he stopped dead in his tracks before faltering. He sighed and ran his hands over his face.

"Yes, Darcy", Richard teased, his hands stroking her back which was only covered by the thin cotton shirt she was wearing. "Stop insulting your lady love. Don't you have any manners?"

"I unlearned them all unfortunately," Darcy said dryly. "You're a horrid influence, Richard."

"I'm a darling", the blonde man declared. "I taught you how to breathe." He leaned in to Lizzie and stage-whispered "He'd asphyxiate on all that emotional chaos that's going on in his brain otherwise."

"I can hear you, Richard…."

"And he calls us the crazy ones", Lizzie mock-complained, looking at Darcy reproachfully.

Richard nodded gravely. "It's a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I'm afraid. Our dear Darcy is rather fond of projecting his issues instead of drinking tea with them."

"How peculiar", Lizzie mumbled, the scent of Richard's clothes lulling her back to sleep. "Why do you keep him then?"

"He gives good head", Richard said, shrugging and Lizzie laughed. "That's about the only reason I put up with his neuroses to be honest."

"Neuroses", Darcy huffed. "I'm not the one filling up the bathroom with thousands of different lotions and shampoos and little miracle waters and get all huffy if even one of them is missing. Imagine a grown-up man shrieking like a little girl because some obscure bottle necessary to get that 'extra sparkle' in his hair is missing."

"You both seem awfully peculiar about body hygiene", Lizzie said. "Sounds quite Freudian to me."

Both men shuddered. "Oh please", Richard said pleadingly. "Let's not go there. We haven't even had breakfast yet."

"Darcy snorted. "I'm sure she'll need some real food in her before you can get your breakfast, Richard."
"You could always tie me over," the other man smiled lasciviously, laughing louder when Darcy rolled his eyes with a quietly muttered "prat".

"Am I missing something?" Lizzie asked, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

"Definitely, you public safety hazard", Darcy said with a small smile and Lizzie narrowed her eyes.

"You know that pet name doesn't really count as a compliment, right?"

"Tut, tut. Play nice, children", Richard chided both of them before looking at Lizzie. "You see", Richard said, his hand wandering up to her neck to play with her hair there. "A few months ago I discovered that my dear boyfriend here-", he pointed at Darcy, "is quite obsessed with this pretty photographer who I personally think is the most adorable thing under the whole bloody sun. Some awkwardness and misunderstandings later, well… we came up with a plan."

"The game," Lizzie supplied, causing Richard to frown.

"It wasn't a game, darling", he said, shaking his head. "It was supposed to entertaining, yes, but we weren't toying with you."

"Then why-"

"Ssht…" He fixed her with a glance, compelling her to listen. "We didn't want to spring it all on to you all at once so we thought wooing you separately might do the trick."

"Also, Richard has quite the competitive streak", Darcy sighed, his silver eyes focused on her with a certain fondness in them that had her throat constrict a bit. "I wanted to lay it all open and put the cards on the table, but the prat insisted on it being a good story to tell the grand-kids later."

"Grand-kids?" Lizzie echoed. "Are congratulations in order?"

Richard let out a groan. "I can't believe this! Do we really need to this the plebeian way? I thought all those wordplays had finally caught on, but no – You're both being deliberately obtuse. I bet, if left to your own devices you two would do nothing but scream at each other the first time you tried to confess your feelings because you'd misunderstand each other all the time!" He wrapped his arm around Lizzie's waist and dragged her up until she was straddling him. "Elizabeth Bennet – Bingley, really, for all that your sister acts like your mother…"

"You've spoken to Jane?" Lizzie asked, surprised.
"Of course I did." He looked offended as if she'd somehow doubted his honour or something. "I do like my bits intact, thank you very much." He blinked. "Back to the topic at hand." He pressed her palm against his cheek. "Lovely, lovely girl," he muttered. "We've chased you half across the globe, faced your dragon of a sister, put up with all sorts of heartbreak-" She snorted lightly, but he remained serious. "Would you consider belonging to us? Being ours? Would you take on this handsome, intelligent creature and his pathetic boyfriend-" Darcy barked out a laugh at that, but it sounded rather choked. "He gives good head, I promise."

"I don't think I've got the necessary equipment to enjoy that," she chortled.

"The equivalent for girls then," Richard said dismissively, before looking at her with puppy eyes again. "So are you taking us on? With heart and soul and all the little neuroses?"

"Little?" she whispered, her lips ghosting over his. He snorted, causing her to smile. "You're not playing anymore, are you?" she asked, her voice more vulnerable than she cared to admit. "This is not some half-forgotten dream the next morning, right?"

He smiled at her, his hands wrapping around her face. "It's morning, darling. In case you forgot."

"I didn't." She pressed her lips against his, once, twice and then slipped her tongue in his mouth when he let out a soft groan.

"So you're accepting us?" he asked, eyes imploring and pupils dilated.

"Yes," she whispered, feeling like her stomach was doing summersaults. His answering smile was blinding.

"Then go, be a good girl and put the poor guy over there out of his misery, okay? He took all your disappearing acts quite to heart and the bastard has been moping ever since you left us at the ball."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, casting a glance at Darcy who, his expression inscrutable, was still standing in front of the window bathed in sunlight. She crawled towards him on the bed and reached for him once she sat on the edge. "I didn't want to hurt you." She took his hands – long elegant fingers, the veins clearly visible and kissed each knuckle before looking up. There was a vulnerable kind of hope in the silver eyes that made her heart clench. His fingers closed around her hands, kissing them before pulling her up until she kneeled on the bed and he leaned down to kiss her.

"You're wearing my shirt", he said when they came back up for air with a soft gasp, fingering the soft material of the Darthmouth-shirt she'd worn to sleep most nights ever since Vienna. "Looks much better on you than on Richard."

She laughed, the bubbly feeling inside her chest making her feel giddy while Richard gasped in mock-outrage.

"I adore you", she blurted out, watching them banter back and forth and she nearly wanted to bit her tongue off when they both stared at her.

"The feeling is entirely mutual, you beautiful, impossible woman," Richard then said, tugging on her small toes until she giggled. Darcy just sighed, pressing another kiss to her smiling lips.

"You and thinking, darling", he said, "is a very dangerous combination."

###

They're sitting on the huge king sized bed that evening, Lizzie leaning against Darcy with Richard's head in her lap, her fingers slowly combing through his hair, the glitter staining her fingers while they're watching some black and white film on TV. There's a variety of take-away food in brightly coloured containers to their feet and their lips are a bit sticky from the walnut ice-cream they'd ordered from room-service earlier.

She still feels a bit high, her mind working overtime and it's not quite real, not yet, not now, she's still processing, grasping –

Richard's hand that's been drawing circles on her knee so far is moving higher and there's a split second of tense silence when everybody's holding their breath until Lizzie turns Richard's head around, leans down and presses her lips – ice-cream sticky and red-wine stained lips – to his, feels Darcy parting her hair at the nape of her neck and pressing soft kisses down her spine. They're moving, unsure at first but they're getting into rhythm, limbs and mouths and hands all strangely coordinated in this newfound exploration and they're all laughing lightly, shaking off the nervousness and Lizzie feels herself getting lost in this and she realizes – a sudden, yet undramatic realisation – that that's okay, that she can take this one step at a time, that when she falls there's always someone to catch her –

###

"I think I did something stupid", Lizzie Bennet announced in much the same fashion as she did so many months ago, stumbling into the Bingley's apartment dishevelled, her lips a bit too red and her cheeks a bit too flushed and flopped down, face first onto the cushions on Jane's couch.

Her sister looked up from her laptop screen, raising one perfectly sculptured eyebrow at her. The pearls she was wearing gave off a soft glow in the autumnal morning light and she looked ethereal and effortlessly ageless. "What makes you think that?" she asked, watching her sister – her daughter, really – struggle internally with something until she gave up and sighs.

"I met Darcy and Richard in Alexandria", she finally muttered and Jane had to suppress a smile.

"I'm aware", she simply said. "Although I really have to scold you for leaving the ball so early just to run away like a scared, little rabbit."

Lizzie looked up, warm brown eyes blinking confusedly. "How do you know about Alexandria?"

"Did you really think you could keep something like that from me?" She chuckled lightly, watching her wild and colourful and oh so confused sister struggle with the information.

"But this is awful!" the girl cried out. "People are going to kill me for this, literally skin me alive. DeBourgh will call an assassin to poison me with some painful, slow-acting concoction and Collins will likely suffocate on his Porridge when he gets wind of this."

"So you're worried about what the fools and sycophants have to say? Believe me, they can't afford shunning three of their most prominent members without going bankrupt in less than three months. It's more likely that you're introducing a new fashion and everybody's part of a triad next month."

"But just think about what father is going to-"

"Listen to me and listen to me well," Jane interrupted her rant, her voice low and her expression fierce. "Your father is and will always be Charles Bingley, do you understand me? The only reason I didn't let him adopt you was because I want that man", she spit the word out with a viciousness and fury that she only felt when that tattering, old fool was mentioned, "to turn around in his cold grave when you claim your rightful inheritance and let me assure you, my dear, you will. I made sure that the will is fool proof and none of his bouts of racist anger will change any part of it. "

Lizzie blinked, overwhelmed by her sister's outburst and Jane's expression changed into something much softer. "I raised you," she said. "Charlie and Aunt Caroline raised you. You're ours. You belong to us. And we don't ever abandon family."
"I know." Lizzie's voice was quiet, but there was a strange light in her eyes.

"Good," Jane said, leaning back. "So go and find your boyfriends, they're probably worried sick about you by now."

Lizzie didn't say anything at first, but then Jane feels her pressing a kiss against her cheek, a whispered "Thank you" in her ear and she smiled.

"Oh and darling," she added, right before Lizzie disappeared through the doorway. "Take Hill with you to keep away the masses. Apparently, your lovely companions thought it fitting to make your relationship official on Facebook." Her smile widened, her eyes twinkling. "Congratulations, Elizabeth, you're now officially in a relationship with William Darcy and Richard Fitzwilliam."

She heard the answering shriek and the subsequent, bloodier-by-the-second murder threats even through the closed door. She snorted delicately

"And you thought it wasn't even feasible to be friends with him…"

###

A/N: as I said, I'm going back to Bones now, but I can't make any promises about update schedules. In the meantime you check out the other one shot i wrote, it's called "Barefoot" and has highly confused Darcy meeting a very confusing Eli Bennet (yes, it's a guy) at the same time there's a bloodthirsty Jane, texts between Darcy and Charlie and Darcy and Caroline being bitchy friends.

much love, teddy