3A/N: Hi all!
I was challenged to write something like this so I'm kind of nervous to post it.
I feel I took more historical liberties with this one than I usually do. Personally, I'm not totally happy with this piece but I am a perfectionist lol… I needed to take a break from writing chapter 2 of Before Dawn (which is gradually coming along but be warned it is dark and depressing… I give no promise of an upload date but it is not dead.)
The final chapter to Battlefield is coming along great and that should be up before the end of the year. (I can promise that yea!)
Please feel free to leave a review on your way out. They truly help and I appreciate them more than you will ever know. Thank you so much for your time in reading and reviewing.
I hope you enjoy and remember flames will always be used for firewood and candles. For those in the U.S. Happy Thanksgiving! To all my other awesome readers I hope you have a wonderful day!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with Disney's Pocahontas. I am well aware of the actual history. Disney and history own everything.
-…-
Everything had started out so well, that she would have sworn it would have ended with all going exactly to plan. Everyone would have enjoyed all her hard work and the naysayers would be proven wrong.
Pocahontas could not help her optimism as she and others had arranged and organized things so well in the cabin that she and John Smith shared one would hardly recognize the place.
According to her husband, negotiations had concluded with very few problems earlier that day.
The bread and food she had made for the small party of officials from England had turned out marvelously.
Her gown, though not as elaborate as the ones she'd worn in London had not only been complimented on by the ladies but some had even inquired as to her dressmaker.
And when she had replied that she and other village women had spent just a few days designing and sewing they had been nothing short of amazed.
The party mainly comprised of lesser nobles than those she had interacted with in London. However, Pocahontas always kept some clothes from England in case they would be needed. Her husband had even purchased fabric to have on hand.
However, she would be glad when they would travel onto the next place.
For she had accidently overheard some of the condescending remarks that a few of the people made about her. Though generally not a sensitive woman, Pocahontas had thought that these were the people she had made a good impression on. It caused her to doubt herself, for she wanted nothing more than to prove those wrong that'd misjudged her and her people.
It gave her more than sufficient reason to be uneasy, she knowing what they truly thought and yet the woman had to play hostess to a group of those who considered her a failure no matter how hard she tried.
No matter what she did, or would say, how she would dress or cook it would never be good enough for the majority of them. The last few days had reminded her why she had left England.
"Do you not think so, Pocahontas?"
Startled, Pocahontas lifted her head only to see Charles, one of the more vexing members of the party staring at her.
"I am sorry," she stated, "I did not hear the question."
"Oh," Charles leaned forward whilst raising his voice, "I asked you what you thought of the Spanish conflict?"
The easy chatter stopped as all eyes turned towards the two of them. The native could feel the heat rushing towards her face as she fought to keep her tone even.
"Well, I am aware England and Spain are not on good terms. I hope that a truce can be reached. What I mean is a more permanent one so as war."
His sudden laugh Interrupted her as he sat back smirking, "Perhaps if Smith weds a Spanish lady that could put an end to the conflict. I mean, it worked here!"
Under the table, Pocahontas clutched the fabric of her gown so tight that she feared it would tear. Although she was slightly mollified that not everyone had seemed amused, her cheeks felt as if they were on fire as she stood in what she hoped was a casual manner.
A woman with bright red hair and green eyes spoke, "Charles, now you stop that. I am certain Pocahontas is a fine wife."
"I am merely jesting," Charles derisively retorted as some of his friends nodded in agreement, "I suppose that is what I get for trying to discuss politics with her."
"I agree with my wife," Roger, Emma's husband cut in, "This wonderful meal alone… I would marry Pocahontas for her cooking."
Emma sweetly smiled, "I must admit it is true I am not the best at that task. Oh yes, we have servants but sometimes I just want to try new things. Well… Roger, darling you can tell all the story of."
If any good could be said about the travelers, Emma and Roger had taken to her homeland extremely well. Though grateful for her new friend diffusing the situation, Pocahontas needed to slip away. The facts that Charles and his associates had completely disrespected her and John in their own house, the spiteful remarks from before along with wanting so badly for all to go perfect she felt her composure waning.
The woman blinked as she saw her reason for leaving in the form of the empty teapot. Snatching up the object, the native quietly exited the room. Rubbing her eyes, Pocahontas stumbled against a closed door. Blinking in surprise, for she had somehow passed the fireplace the woman turned only to be blocked by her husband's form.
She met his concerned gaze, "Are you alright?"
"Of course," she replied then swallowed, "I was going."
"You were going to fix the tea and yet we don't keep any in our bedchamber."
He reached over her shoulder and opened the door, silently ushering her inside before softly shutting it. Taking the teapot from her hand, Smith placed it on a shelf before addressing his wife.
"Do not listen to Charles. The man is a fool and everyone knows it."
Pocahontas shook her head, "Not everyone is aware of that my husband and I am fine. I only made a wrong turn."
'Another careless move.' Pocahontas thought.
The native dropped her shoulders, whirling to face the mirror that sat on her dressing table. It was then she noted her expression. How her face looked tense and drawn along with a few strands of hair that had escaped the style she had worked on for what seemed like hours.
It was another failure to ad to her repertoire for that day. Seeing her husband's blue eyes watching her in the mirror, Pocahontas crossed towards her dressing table. Picking up a pin in order to fix her hair, she was aware of her husband's approach.
"There is nothing wrong with your hair."
"Strands of hair are not supposed to escape this style," she said through gritted teeth whilst trying to keep her tears at bay, "Or any hair design."
"Sweetheart."
"I am alright," she bit out in frustration as she struggled to fix the loose pieces. Wordlessly, John swatted her hands away before turning her to face him.
"My love, what is it?"
The genuine concern in his voice accompanied by his gentle gaze and her tears broke free, spilling down her cheeks as he took her in his arms. In no time he had pulled out the bench to her dressing table, setting her down and kneeling so as he could fully look at her.
"Pocahontas," he softly continued, "Has something happened? If this is in regards to what Charles has said I swear to you I will go and demand satisfaction. I was about to say something when Emma spoke."
"No, no… Let us go back to the party. They will be wondering about us."
John shrugged, "Roger and Emma are keeping everyone entertained with Emma's various cooking mishaps."
As if to prove he was speaking the truth said woman's boisterous voice filtered through the door, "I did not realize it took so long to boil!"
A tiny smile lit her countenance as John Smith cupped her cheek, "Please tell me what is wrong. This is not like you."
Choking down a sob she began, "Everything, everything started out so well when they first arrived. It was sometime today when I overheard some things… Just, the people I thought we were getting on with so well are the ones who said and."
His lips silently touched hers, his gentle hand stroking her cheek as he pulled away.
"Remember how we talked of my baptism and the name Rebecca they want to give me whenever it happens? Anne asked why it had not taken place and I replied that we just have not gotten around to it. When I left the room, Anne said in this contemptuous tone, looks as if John Smith has already picked up the heathen ways. Then Alice said we should do it so as… So as I can get a real name and…"
She was crying now, forcing herself to take deep breaths as John held her.
"I love you," he whispered as he began rubbing her back, "Pocahontas, it does not matter."
The native sniffed, "I am making you look bad."
John Smith frowned, placing his fingers to her lips, "First of all, do not ever think or say that again. Secondly, you have done nothing wrong and have been an absolute delight to my friends and the majority of these officials."
He cupped her face as he continued, "You know you will never please everyone."
"I know, I know, I realize that… I mean, I expected this in London. I cannot say why I thought this would be any different."
"Do not listen to them. I realize they hurt your feelings and."
"Not just me," her tone growing in conviction as she spoke, "this impacts you as well. For when we got married it provided."
"Yes, when we married. I recognize the official reasons for our union written on parchment but they do not define mine. They do not define you and they sure as hell do not define us."
His cerulean gaze bore into her dark eyes, willing her to see his own conviction. Embracing her once more, John Smith deeply kissed her if only to drive the point home. Momentarily stunned at his words, she could do nothing but cling to him as he pulled away only long enough to kiss her jaw line.
"You are so tense and I promise that all your worry is for naught."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Trust me," he began whilst he kissed her cheek prior to his mouth softly tracing her neck, "Trust me…"
She gasped as he gently suckled on her collarbone, his fingertips tracing the outline of her mouth before he raised his head and claimed it in a searing kiss. Pure heat shot through her as he tightened his hold, his free hand traveling down towards her décolletage. The native gasped as his hand slipped under the bodice of her gown, he massaging her as they kissed.
Everything in her screamed that with the party just on the other side of the door, this activity was not appropriate. What if someone got curious and looked for them? They were the hosts after all.
Yet as he firmly grasped her against his hard chest whilst teasing her breast, the woman became achingly aware she could not protest. He knew her so intimately, was so familiar with her body and soul that she found herself unable to resist. She had felt as if the tension had been building for eons and as she recalled his words of affirmation a shudder of need went through her.
When he squeezed her Pocahontas moaned into his passionate kiss as she arched against him, fire coursing through her body whilst her hips subconsciously shifted forward.
The native princess nearly cried allowed as her husband withdrew his hand from fondling her breast as he pulled away his voice thick with desire, "I have something better for you."
Whilst one arm anchored her to him, his other hand wandered over her waist, down her leg and then under the layers of fabric as he petted the inside of her thigh. Cursing the dress, John Smith let her go as he used both hands to bunch the material.
"Wait," the woman opened her eyes as she embraced him, "Hold me… Please…"
She needed his embrace, his assurance and steadfast presence in that moment. In one swift motion she was on the floor beside him, his mouth covering her shriek of surprise.
And when his hand finally found what he'd been seeking, John Smith buried his face in her neck. There was no need for finesse as he touched her, the woman grasping handfuls of his golden hair as he moved.
"I love you," he said his tone full of passion, "You are mine… Love you so much…"
She whimpered his name as her arms clutched him to her whilst her nails dug into his clothed back. Her body felt taught as a bowstring as he became more attentive, his mouth nipping the swell of her breast as he increased his pace. It amazed her, the thrill of it all. Reminiscent of their meeting and the clandestine rendezvouses that had followed.
The floor was unforgiving as he laid half on top of her form. It only seemed to heighten the pleasure as her body clenched and her mouth opened in a silent exclamation of release. Awash in bliss, her husband slowed his touch yet did not pull away. Trembling and unable to speak, Pocahontas sagged against him. The only sound in the room being their labored breaths.
It was not long enough when she heard Emma's laugh filter through the door.
"Soon as they leave," he growled at her ear, "I will not only take all those bloody pins out of your hair but I will."
Interrupting him with a lingering kiss to his mouth an impish grin lit her eyes, "You will take me then?"
She could not hide her smirk as he gasped, her heart thundering as his smoldering gaze swept over her body. As quickly and quietly as he could, John Smith moved away to keep from doing just that.
A tremulous breath escaped her swollen lips as the native allowed a satisfied smile to bloom on her face.
She gradually sat up as she met his eyes, "Thank you."
It took her a moment to stand, Pocahontas leaning on her dressing table for support as she rearranged her dress. After hurriedly fixing her hair and checking to make certain all looked presentable, the princess turned away from the mirror.
"I really must go now and fix the tea. I have tarried to long."
"You definitely seem more relaxed," John commented as Pocahontas picked up the teapot and carefully approached the bedchamber door.
"Like I said," and she spun in order to indulge in a languid kiss, "Thank you."
-…-End of, "The Art of Diversion."-…-…-