Author's Notes: This chapter has been greatly edited and has finally been betad. All the thanks in the world go to Ariadne, one of the world's best beta readers, for all her help, thoughts, and suggestions.

Bury My Lovely

Chapter 1

If I had a dollar for every time
I repented the sin and commit the same crime
I'd be sitting on top of the world today
– 'God Help Me' by Emilie Autumn

Susan sat at her dressing table, eyes closed as warm lips traced their way down her neck. She'd closed her eyes when she heard the tread on the carpet behind her. There was no need to turn. Few people could have got in here without her knowing about it and by now she knew the sound of his footsteps.

Damn, and the week had been going so well. Everything had been settling down again into a pattern she could control and direct; exactly the way she liked it. She should have known it wouldn't last. After all, telling him to stay away was utterly pointless. It didn't matter what she said, he always came back to throw her life into turmoil once again.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed as hands rose to lightly grip her upper arms, willing herself not to react. A hint of tongue and the light grazing of teeth against the place where shoulder and neck met, however, caused a shiver to run through her despite her attempts to suppress it.

It was at times like these that she found herself missing Imp and Lobsang; missed them both with a strength of longing that shocked her and brought a guilty flush to her cheeks. It wasn't the missing, but the reason for it that made her uncomfortable. Because it wasn't for their own sakes that her mind flew to them just now and they both deserved better from her than that. Just the same, the past was a much safer place to be than the present at moments like these.

Imp had been a gentleman in every way, nervous even to hold her hand when they'd walked together. He'd played his harp for her, sitting by the floral clock in Genua. He had even written a song just for her. She could no longer remember the tune, only the warm feeling made up of pleasure and a slight hint embarrassment that had filled her when he'd played it. So many silly things tug at the heart when you're sixteen and for the first time in your life a pretty boy smiles at you in that way.

She hadn't known what to expect when he'd first kissed her. Her sensible mind telling her that it wasn't going to be what it was in poems, and she'd been right. Still, there had been a sweetness to it that had made her heart flutter all the same. No, it hadn't moved the Disc or stolen her breath. She'd been the one to steal another, though, her shyness fading in light of the surprise that though it hadn't been all the writers had claimed it would be, it was still exactly what it should have been. Imp had smiled at her still shy and fascinated and just as pleased. He had taken the third.

Summer flowers and first loves never last. Susan didn't regret a minute of it, though.

Nor did she regret her time with Lobsang, different as it was. It had never more than stolen moments and never could be. They both knew that from the start, the impossibility of it all as much a part of the attraction as his lovely eyes. Stolen chocolate flavoured kisses, hiding in a closet for the Gods' sakes. Trying not to laugh too loud for fear that the class of children bent over their papers in the other room would hear.

What was really important, though, was that he had understood what no one else ever could. He knew what it was like, being human and yet not – to be caught forever between the mortal and immortal worlds. But whereas Susan had always turned to the mortal world, fighting to maintain that in her that which was human and to reject what was not, Lobsang had turned to the immortal one. That, perhaps, had been part of the fascination as well. They could each see in the other reflections of the path that they themselves had not taken.

She regretted nothing. Just the same, she had known when she and Lobsang had said goodbye for the last time that that would be an end to it.

Susan had been educated in a school that taught girls to be sensible. As proper young ladies they had two choices in life. They could marry and be sensible runners of households for their husbands or they could choose a life that was their own. Granted, there weren't many options available to a known lady who didn't want to marry but they did exist.

Even in choosing the second of these paths, Susan had had to know just what it was that she was turning her back on. She was nothing if not practical and she certainly knew better than to spurn the dish untasted, as it were. And that dish was sweet. Imp's shy smiles and Losing's anything but innocent kisses had told her everything she needed to know. Yes, it truly was lovely. There was a thrill to it and she certainly liked the feeling of being held in a man's arms. On the other hand, they had also showed her that her choice was a sound one.

Sweet and nice and thrilling... and though she smiled at the memories, she'd tucked them away in her heart firm in the knowledge that lovely though it was it was not the road for her. She could turn her back on it, content that she knew what she was leaving behind.

If only she truly had.

Her hands clenched around the brush in her lap as a breath escaped from between her lips. Oh, she missed them – for all the wrong reasons. As sweet as their kisses were, as nice as it felt to be held by them, she'd always remained separate from it. Their kisses hadn't burned and they hadn't left her unsteady and more than a little frightened by her own reaction to them.

She'd still been Susan when their lips parted – her mind still clear and her body still her own.

"What are you doing here, Jonathan?" Her voice sounded more breathless than she would have liked. As the lips disappeared from her neck she opened her eyes and forced herself to meet the mismatched gaze in the mirror.

Jonathan smiled warmly at her. His boyishly good-looking face glowed in the light of the candles on her dressing table, a light that made his blonde curls look almost golden. The angelic effect, as always, was marred by the glass eye, a shock of darkness against his fair skin. It wasn't until you looked into his remaining eye, though, with its tiny pupal and mad glint that the illusion was completely shattered.

"I missed you," he said simply.

"Did you," she responded in her flattest tones. She carefully placed her hair brush back on her dressing table, pleased that she managed to keep both voice and hands perfectly steady. "Well, I've had a rather long day and..."

"...and you would really rather that I didn't bother you," he finished in a sing-song voice. She glanced back up at his reflection in the mirror where he was gazing at her with that slightly puzzled expression he always wore when he was trying to figure her out. "Really, Susan I've never understood why you keeping saying that kind of thing when it isn't at all how you actually feel."

For a moment she considered trying to hit him with the brush, or possibly something heavier. There was no point to it though. He'd catch her hand before she could manage it and likely find it amusing, which always made her even more angry. She was fast, but Jonathan was faster. She was strong, but he was stronger. The only thing she did have was that she understood him better than he understood her. The shattered pieces of his admittedly brilliant mind had a very hard time making sense of the workings of a more orderly one. Which only served to make it that much worse when, at times like these, he had her bang to rights on something she'd rather he didn't know.

That was part of the whole problem though. From the first moment she'd met Jonathan Teatime he'd known the important things, the things she most wanted to hide even from herself.

The first time their eyes had met her pulse had raced, shocking her to her core. And that he had known, damn him. They hadn't been able to take their eyes off of one another, caught in a battle of wills both with each other and with the unexpected electricity that sparked between them. It was so strong and so sudden... She'd had no idea before that moment that such a thing was even possible.

It had been almost obscene that she should first feel that kind of heat in a place built of children's beliefs. The pure white of the Tooth Fairy's castle and the knowledge of the confused and innocent spectator to the confrontation in poor Banjo had only served to make her blood pound harder. It was also then that she'd first discovered just why sex and violence are so inextricably linked in the human mind. She'd found that she could channel her desire to touch him into a desire to hit. She'd never actually tried to kill anyone before. That strange Hogswatch night, though, she had honestly tried to kill Jonathan. For a time she'd even believed that she'd succeeded. The fact that he'd tried to kill her first wasn't much of a consolation since she had no desire to lower herself to playground logic.

She'd felt dirty when it was over and distinctly uncomfortable with the rage that had driven her actions rather than the cool calm she was familiar with. Susan was always composed, always in control. But Jonathan could reach into her and strip away that calm. That he enjoyed doing so just added insult to injury.

Just when she'd begun to come to terms with herself as someone capable of murder, he'd come looking, too intrigued by her and by what had sparked between them to stay away. And as much as she'd wanted to she couldn't throw him back out of her life.

She told him to stay away and revelled in it when he came. She told him she didn't want him and loved it when he proved her wrong. She wanted to hate him and hated herself for not being able to manage it.

"Really, Jonathan," she said stiffly, standing and turning to him to give him her coldest look. "I'm not interested in whatever games you're playing just at the moment. And I've told you more than once that I dislike it when you break into my house in the middle of the night."

He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her, a small smile of honest amusement that annoyed her no end.

"I don't play games with you, Susan," he said lightly.

"Oh don't you," she snorted.

He giggled, that awful giggle that reminded her just how far Jonathan's perception of reality was from hers. What, exactly, did it say about her that the only man she'd ever truly lusted after was mad as a spoon?

"With you, I've always been perfectly honest," he insisted.

Susan opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when he moved. She'd never known anyone who could move as fast as Jonathan. One moment he was close, the next he was pressing up against her, his hands sliding around her hips to hold her while his mouth covered hers.

He was right, damn him. In his own way he was always honest with her and there was nothing more honest then this. His hands seemed to burn her skin through the plain cotton of her sensible nightdress. His mouth was too warm against her own, teeth nipping at her lips before his tongue delved deeper. Here and now there were no games, just the lust that neither of them could escape from no matter how much Susan wished they could.

If only she could convince him that this wasn't a good idea... But this heat had been between them from that first moment. What was the point in pretending it wasn't there when they both knew it was? What was the point in refusing themselves something they both wanted so very much? From his shattered perceptions Jonathan had built a rational world and her disgust was illogical from where he stood.

If only he could understand the horror she felt when she watched herself at times like these – kissing him back as she rapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to press into her so she could feel the coolness of his waistcoat buttons warming between them. She shouldn't be acting like this, shouldn't want him, shouldn't allow him to pull her into this time and time again. She wanted to hate him for making her feel like this, wanted to hate him even more as one of his hands slipped between them to cup her breast, forcing a half-gasp from her.

She couldn't though. She couldn't because for all that he was a killer, not just an Assassin, and that he was homicidally insane – he honestly meant no harm in this. He didn't see why she told him to go away when he knew for a fact that she wanted him there as much as he wanted to be there. He pressed his advantage, not because he felt her rejections to be meaningless but because he knew that she longed for this, enjoyed the feeling of being pushed past her own logical objections to the place where instinct took over. How he knew these things Susan didn't think she'd ever know. Her desires were apparently an open book to him when most people the world would be surprised to learn she even had any.

Jonathan abandoned her mouth, returning once again to her neck where he nipped and sucked while the hand not at her breast began to grasp the fabric of her nightdress, pulling it up so he could get to the flesh beneath it. The small part of her brain still functioning noted that she'd have to wear one of her high-necked gowns tomorrow to cover the marks. She hated that that knowledge caused a flood of moisture in places a proper lady wasn't supposed to know exited.

She'd chosen to turn her back on men and lust and all the mess that was physical interaction. But Jonathan had pulled her back in it. He'd pressed her in a way no other man could since he was the only one she'd ever met that made her feel as he did.

And so she was here once again, being pulled back away from the dressing table and toward her bed. Finding herself so far gone as to actually be helping to undo the buttons on his shirt as he pulled off his waistcoat. She allowed herself to be pulled onto the bed and didn't fight as one of his hands slid under her gown to seek out the places only he had ever touched. All the while he murmured her name against her skin; whispered words about how soft she felt, how wonderful she smelled, how he loved it when she made those soft, little sounds.

She's had men say sweet things in her ear before. She was a duchess after all and there were plenty of men out there who had tried to turn her head because of it. The things Jonathan said were different. He didn't say these things because he thought she wanted to hear them or because he thought he was expected to say them. He said them merely because it was what he was thinking at that moment. She hated knowing that. It rendered the soft murmurs at times like these real in a way she was unused to, having been raised amid all the pretence of an aristocratic family. She hated that she liked the things he said to her, that they made her heart ache and made her reach out for him, pulling him more firmly against her.

Biting her lip she managed to hold back a gasp as he pressed inside of her, but a tiny sound in her throat did escape and Jonathan's sigh was not quite loud enough to drown it out.

At least he wasn't being adventurous tonight. Sometimes he showed up with a particularly mischievous grin that meant he'd been reading again and had found something that he thought would be ever so much fun to try. Usually, his experiments required a greater amount of participation from Susan than this, though, than lying back allowing him to do as he pleased. And she hated not him but herself for that. She wanted him, was willing to lie with him, but she didn't want to have to admit it. She wanted him to do this, to pull her into it in spite of her objections, to move his hands over her until she could blame her body for giving in, absolving her mind and reason from any culpability. It was cowardice, she knew. Something she had no patience for usually. But the alternative – admitting to herself – to him – that she did want him every bit as much as he wanted her… No, she couldn't face that.

For now though she allowed things to be as they were; hating both him and herself for it. She arched her back gasping as Jonathan sped up, moving strongly inside her. His face was flushed and his eyes wide, sweat plastering his golden curls to his skin. He always looked faintly surprised when they made love. He'd told her the first time that he hadn't expected to enjoy it as much as he had. Like Susan, he'd written off the desires of the flesh as silly and not worth the trouble. Like her, he hadn't expected it to be so powerful, to be able to sweep all thought away and leave nothing but emotion and instinct behind. Unlike her though, he found no shame in giving himself over to it. To him, it was an unexpected gift and to be savoured as such.

She hated too the way he looked at her, amazement and wonder and admiration. He looked dazzled by her and she hated the way that made her feel. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers so she wouldn't have to look at his expression. He kissed her back warmly.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours or perhaps hours contracted into minutes. Susan lost all track of the passage of time as they moved together. Sometimes they shifted slightly as a leg grew stiff from being in one position too long, seeking comfort and a better angle. In these minutia she took comfort. These were the things the poets never talked about in the 'lists of love', the mundane realities in what increasingly felt like an unreal world.

Nothing lasts forever though and soon frantic motion over-took rhythm as the wave began to crest. Susan's nails bit into Jonathan's shoulders as she fought to maintain some control in the face of the inevitable loss of it. He groaned, moving faster, the broken quality in his whispers telling her it wouldn't be long now. She wanted this but didn't want to give him everything, wanted desperately to hold something of herself back... So, she bit her lip trying deny the building pleasure. But he cried out as he began, almost a sob of breath and for reasons she couldn't have explained it shot through her like a knife, wrenching her over the precipice as well.

Coming down she was conscious only of the delicious languor throughout her body, the warmth and slide of Jonathan's limbs tangled with her own as they got comfortable... for that little while there was no condemnation or uncertainty. Rational or not, right or not – this was what felt right. And for these wonderful moments before her rational mind reasserted itself she was content. It was a fact she'd hate herself, and him, all the more for in the morning.

Feedback? Please? Gets down on her knees and gets.