She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, Dear friends--a mammoth task.

-- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

She slept all afternoon. She slept through dinner; she slept through sunset. And throughout that time, all those many hours, he sat and held her, stroking her hair. Thanking the gods--both his and hers-- for this brief moment of happiness in a long life that had been so seriously lacking in it. He nodded off a few times, for a few minutes at a time, but woke at her slightest motion or murmur. He would keep her safe, even from the inside of her own mind, if need be.

Lyric began to wake at midnight. The dawn of a new day. It seemed fitting, somehow. She stretched, long and luxuriant, and he felt his body hardening again. He was finally in bed with her, something he’d dreamed of – fantasized about – on many long, cold nights walking the deck of the ship.

But this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured it. First he had been injured, and now she was. It was all a great cosmic joke by someone with a very bad sense of humor.

She leaned her head back until it touched his abdomen. She froze, as if only then realizing that she'd been asleep curled up next to him with her head in his lap.

"Dare?"

"I certainly hope I'm the only man in your bed." He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it fell woefully flat. He knew he could have no claim to her future; she deserved better than a pirate. He couldn’t even hope for a miracle, because he’d resolved to stop giving himself hope that he didn't deserve.

"I'm a pirate," he said, low and anguished. The words felt like they'd been ripped out of him, but he needed her to understand. He needed her to cast him aside, because he was becoming less and less sure he had the strength to leave her on his own.

She rolled over onto her side and looked up at him. Although, he supposed looked was the wrong word. Unless she could still see – but no. He’d taken the amethyst out of her hands when she'd fallen asleep and put it in the basket on her dresser.

Better to say, perhaps, that she turned her enormous copper-colored eyes toward his face and smiled.

But why his brain was quibbling about word choice, he had no damn clue.

"And I'm a painter," she said, yawning a little. Then she smiled. "It sounds like the title of a wonderful romance novel, doesn't it? The Painter and the Pirate. Ooh."

She shivered a little, still smiling. "That sounds like a book I would buy definitely buy."

"You don't understand," he said bleakly. "I've done bad things. I break rules. I step out of lines. I’m uncivilized. I'm selfish and self-centered, and you deserve better."

She blinked, but said nothing. Then she blinked again.

Then she started to laugh.

Frustration was making his gut hurt. "Why are you laughing?"

"I was just thinking: The Painter and the Wicked Pirate. Oh my gosh, that sounds way sexier. I would totally read that."

He closed his eyes and thudded the back of his head against the wall. Once, twice, a third time. Then he groaned, long and loud. "Listen to me. You don't understand –"

She sat up very suddenly and swung one leg over both of his so she was straddling him, which effectively put an end to any speech he’d been about to make. Then she put her hands on his shoulders, slid them up to the sides of his face, and held his head still.

He stared into her beautiful eyes and waited for whatever she wanted to say. She had his complete attention.

"You listen to me, Pirate. I understand everything. I understand the man that you are probably better than you do. I understand that you could been off pirating or wenching or robbing helpless widows and kittens, but instead you sat here with me for hours, to be sure I was all right." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his right cheek, and then his left.

He held perfectly still, as if to move would break the spell.

She kissed his nose again and then drew one finger down the length of it. "You have a wonderful nose. I'd love to paint you sometime. Would you let me?"

His head was spinning, and he didn't know what to answer first. "My nose? What are you talking about? Widows and kittens? I don't think you're taking me seriously.”

She made a funny little sound and then wiggled around on his lap, which drove all the blood in his body straight to his cock.

"You have a lovely nose. She moved her hands to the sides of his head again and shaped the outsides of his ears with her fingertips, which was possibly one of the most erotic things anyone had ever done to him.

Or else he was losing his damn mind.

"These are wonderful ears, too. You know, ears are so difficult to get right. So many people have ones that stick out in weird ways. You never think about an ear until you try to paint one, really," she said, as if confiding a great secret.

"I don't want to paint ears," he growled.

“I don't want to paint ears either,” she said, looking surprised. "I want to paint all the bits of your body that are underneath your clothes. With long, slow strokes of my paintbrush. Dipping into special colors; gemstone-infused colors. Getting the light exactly right in the blue of your eyes and the golden brown of your skin – I'm imagining you have tan skin, I couldn't really tell – the perfect rosy blush color for the length of your long, hard –"

"Stop," he roared.

Rather than being intimidated, though, she laughed at him. A gentle, teasing laugh; one that made him want to taste every inch of her body. She leaned forward again; wiggled a little bit, again.

He was almost certainly going to lose his mind trying to keep from taking advantage of this woman.

"Oh please, Dare. Please take advantage of me," she said with a little breathy moan.

"I said that out loud?" He was losing it.

"Or maybe – just maybe – I can be brave enough to take advantage of you." She leaned down and touched her mouth to his gently, the barest impression of lips. He held his breath, longing for and yet afraid of what she might do next.

But she leaned back a little and licked her lips.

"It's only… It's only that I've never actually seduced anyone before," she confessed. "I mean, I'm not a virgin. There were the mandatory college rumblings, but I've never – I don't – I'm probably not very good at this."

Suddenly, all her bravado seemed to drain away, and he was profoundly certain that he didn't want that to happen

"You’re on the right path,” he said hoarsely. “Try again. I dare you."

With that he put his hands on her hips and pulled her even closer until she was snug against his body, but then he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sat perfectly still. Waiting for a slightly wild creature to trust enough to touch him again.

For a long moment, she didn't move. And then tentatively, so tentatively, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. But this time, he was having none of that. He cupped the back of her head with one hand and deepened the kiss. Caressing, seducing, and tasting her mouth with his own. She moaned – or was that him?

It didn't matter. It was probably both of them. Kissing her was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. No simple matter of tongues and lips or even teeth; no sheer animal physiology and instinct. This was more – this was deeper. He felt like she was touching his soul.

Worse – he never wanted her to stop.

When she finally broke the kiss and pulled slightly away, gasping for air, he was panting, too.

"I have to have you, Lyric. You to know that, right?” He heard the husky growl in his voice, but he couldn't seem to help it. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to claim her. “Please say yes. Please, please say yes.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again, and then a smile of surpassing sweetness spread across her face.

"Dare? I need –"

"Anything," he promised fervently. "Anything. Anything for you."

"I need to paint."