A/N: This was originally my challenge for the summer smut exchange, but I didn't manage to get it done for the deadline. And then series four happened and killed off my ability to write anything. But I didn't want to never finish it, so I chose Christmas as the target for getting it done. And I managed it. So Merry Christmas, Cobert fans. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.
For Those Summer Nights
The magazine has been sitting under a pile of newspapers for a few weeks now. Every now and then, when her husband isn't around, Cora takes it out to sneak a look at. The pictures are beautiful, showing nightclothes of flowing silk and pretty lace, available in any shade imaginable.
But they are also risqué. The magazine claims that they are for the modern woman. She is more forward thinking than many women of her age – Americans, sniffs Mama – but she is still uncertain. While she would like to buy one of these very much – just imaging the look on Robert's face if she stood in front of him in one of these makes her stomach flutter in wild anticipation – but at the same time she is rather shy about it. Robert's distaste for change and the modern world has been highlighted over and over again over the last few years, and the last thing that she wants to do is have him looking at her as if she is a creature from another world and not the woman that he loves.
So the magazine remains hidden, and her life goes on.
Until Robert's discovery.
He hadn't been meaning to pry. He hadn't even been looking for any clue as to what his birthday present from his wife was going to be this year. All he'd been doing was searching for his book, which he last remembers having in Cora's bedroom. That makes perfect sense to him, considering that they share the same bed. He remembers it being on his bedside table just a few nights earlier, but now it is no longer there. Which is irritating, because Cora is out having luncheon with his mama, and he has nothing to do. Settling down with his book would have whiled away the afternoon nicely. He blames Cora's new maid for this. She has the irksome habit of moving things that look out of place. Cora coos that her tidiness and efficiency is perfect, especially as she'd thought that O'Brien would be difficult to replace. Robert wouldn't mind if she would just leave his things alone. But when it extends to moving his things too, it becomes a problem. If Bates was around he'd ask him if the lady's maid had given it to him to put away, but Bates is currently enjoying his half-day off with Anna.
So now he is rooting through Cora's things in a vain attempt to find his book. He's already searched underneath her vanity, thinking that perhaps it could have been mistaken for one of her belongings, and now he's wondering if perhaps it could have been placed with Cora's rather impressive pile of magazines and newspapers. He doesn't really pay attention to most of them as he rifles through them. There a few loose cuttings about new hats and famous collections of jewellery, and one about Mary and Matthew's wedding. He gets a lump in his throat at that, and quickly pushes it to one side.
And that's when he sees it.
His hands pause at once over the magazine, and his eyes widen comically.
"What on earth…?" he mutters under his breath and, realising that he's speaking to no one, picks it up.
It's not something that he's seen Cora reading before, and he likes to think that he knows her tastes very well now after so many years of marriage. But the title is unfamiliar.
Not that he's paying much attention to that. His eyes are drawn to the cartoon man and woman on the front. Robert is no expert, but even in cartoon form, he can see that the woman's clothes are supposed to be very pretty.
And more than a little daring, given what the world has been used to.
Robert coughs aloud and glances about furtively, as if the people in the paintings that hang in the room actually know what he's thinking. Quickly, he flips the pages open, his eyes feasting on the display in front of him. Women modelling short nightdresses and shifts, not leaving much to the imagination. His eyes drift to the title. La Femme Chic. Well, that explains the risqué outfits.
He feels the front of his trousers tighten pointedly at the thought of Cora in some of these.
And then there's a creak outside the door, and he almost throws the magazine away in his haste to look nonchalant. The door opens, and Bates stands in the doorway, looking slightly suspicious but thankfully saying nothing.
"I thought you'd be in here, milord. Mr. Carson has just rung the dressing gong."
"Heavens, is that the time already?" he exclaims.
"It is, milord. Mr. Carson received word that her ladyship is on her way home now."
"Oh, yes," says Robert, deigning to stand up and pretending to be finding great interest in the pins laid out across Cora's dresser in the hope of hiding his problem from his valet, "very good."
There is a silence for a moment, and Robert realises that Bates is still staring at him. Feeling defensive, he swings around to face his old comrade, needing to explain himself even though the other man hasn't opened his mouth. "Anyway, I was just in here looking for my book. I don't suppose you've seen it?"
Cora hums as she removes her hat, strolling through the upstairs corridor towards her room. It had been a good luncheon with Mama. Ever since her Sybil's death – she swallows hard against the lump that fills her throat, for even now the rush of emotions takes her by surprise – she has been much more gentle and accommodating. Today, they had discussed Mary's depression worriedly, and Mama had laid out her newest schemes to get her granddaughter back out into the world. Cora remains unconvinced, but she has decided not to argue. Once Mama is mapping out an idea, it is futile trying to persuade her otherwise.
She thinks that she'll have just enough time to change again if she hurries. Robert had murmured something about spending the afternoon in the library, and she smiles at the thought of joining him there, bringing down her sewing to sit with him, letting the silence wash over them until the others make it down for dinner.
The door to her bedroom is ajar, and an unconscious smile blossoms. Perhaps Robert is already waiting for her, ready to escort her back down.
Or escort her to the bed before entering the dining room.
Her change might be scandalously late after all.
But when she reaches the room, there is nobody there. She furrows her brow, slightly disappointed; Baxter must have forgotten to close it when she'd last been in. Never mind.
There is no reason to delay getting changed, so she tugs on the bell when she reaches her bed, and then begins to unpin her hat and her jewellery. She is just about to sit idly at her vanity when she sees it. The corner of her magazine is poking out from amongst her pile of books; the cream corner is unmistakable.
Her blood freezes. Oh God, who has been moving her things?
Baxter is the obvious choice, of course. She tidies in here regularly, and she could have been tidying the pile and accidentally dislodged it. It's the most reasonable explanation.
Because Robert is the only other person who enters her bedroom, and the idea of him finding the magazine is mortifying.
"You rang, milady?"
As if she knows that she's being thought about, Baxter has materialised in the doorway. Cora takes a deep breath and then smiles.
"Yes, I did. I'd like to get changed."
"Certainly, milady," Baxter says dutifully, and Cora watches her scurry about the room collecting the essentials. She plays with the neckline of her dress. She needs to know the truth.
"Baxter?" she asks. "Have you been tidying up in here?"
Baxter frowns. "Yes, milady. Earlier on."
Relief floods through her body.
"May I ask why, milady?"
Cora smiles. "Oh, I was just wondering if you'd disturbed my pile of magazines, that's all."
"But I haven't."
"Don't worry, Baxter, you don't need to lie. I don't mind. You're not going to be in trouble."
"But I'm not lying, milady. I never touched the pile. I thought it looked neat enough as it was."
The relief sours into sickening terror.
"Oh, never mind, then," she manages, but inside she's dying.
Robert has discovered the magazine.
Cora is quiet all through dinner, barely saying a word, pushing her food around her plate and barely looking at him at all.
None of the others notice – Mary is still too wrapped up in her own grief to notice anyone else, Edith is still buoyant from a good meeting with her editor in London, and Rose is sulking because they've all said that she can't attend the servants' dance down in the village.
It's rather worrying to Robert. Cora has been the steel backbone of the family for the last few months, holding everything together. He isn't sure what he'll do if she too is beginning to crumble.
Too many times in the past, he has averted his eyes and tried to pretend that everything is all right when it isn't. But he won't stand by that maxim any longer. He needs to speak to Cora.
Cora sinks back against her pillows and sighs, closing her eyes. Robert has still not made an appearance yet, and she is grateful for that. It gives her the opportunity to gather herself together. There might be a fight. She needs to be prepared for it.
The door clicks, and then Robert is standing there in the doorway. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he slips out of his dressing gown, throwing it over her chair and slipping into bed beside her. There is silence for a moment. Cora lowers her eyes to the bed spread, tracing her fingers along the patterns. Robert's gaze burns her.
"Cora, we need to talk," he says.
"I thought we might," she sighs. "I'm sorry."
This seems to catch him momentarily off-guard, for there is a pause before he asks his next question. "For what?"
"Don't play coy with me," she snaps. "I know that you found it."
There is another silence now, more awkward this time. Cora knows that Robert knows exactly what she's talking about. She takes a fortifying breath.
"The magazine was a mistake," she says. "I will dispose of it in the morning."
"What?"
Really, is he incapable of forming any other word? Cora huffs in aggravation, folding her arms across her chest. "You know very well what I'm talking about. I'm not going to spell it out for you. The magazine will be gone tomorrow, and we needn't talk about it again. I was just curious, that's all."
"My darling, you misunderstand me."
This time, it is Cora's turn to use the hated word. "What?"
There is a light blush in his cheeks, and it makes her heart jump in her chest.
"It was surprising to find there," he admits. "But I was very intrigued."
"Oh, really?" she says, and now her confidence is returning.
"Really," he confirms. "What was your reason for getting it?"
She reaches across and turns off the bedroom lamp, plunging them into darkness. In the lack of light, she moves closer, resting against his chest.
"I was just looking at the pictures out of curiosity's sake," she says.
"Then I think you should amend that."
"How?"
"Buy something," he says, and his voice is most definitely husky now.
She shivers, her grin expanding. "Like what?"
"I don't mind," he says, pulling her down, closer. "Surprise me."
It's an agonising two weeks before the parcel arrives. It attracts some curious looks and a raised eyebrow from Edith, who is in the room when it is delivered, but Cora hopes that her nonchalant bustle more than makes up for the pink tinge that suddenly bursts into her cheeks. She thanks God that Mama is not present, for she is sure that she would have wanted to know every single detail about the contents. The colourful pink paper is certainly enough to pique interest – and, no doubt, would have piqued Mama's disdain, too.
Robert is out on the estate with Tom and Mary, and so Cora vows to keep it a secret until bed time.
He had wanted a surprise. Now it really will be one.
Cora has been acting a little odd all day, moving round the abbey with a spring in her step that he hasn't seen for a very long time. Robert furrows his eyebrows, but he can't think of anything that could have brought on his wife's good mood, beside Mary's continuing progress with pulling herself out of her dark depression. It's certainly a relief to the both of them, a huge weight off his shoulders.
He means to ask her about her high spirits, but he doesn't get a chance to all day. She takes a walk around the grounds with George while he sorts out some business with Branson. Once, he catches sight of her sitting on the bench outside, George in her arms, her head bent low to his as she explained something to him. His heart had swelled at the sight, transporting him back to the first months following Mary's birth, when she'd sat in that very same spot with her daughter cuddled close, telling her about the pretty flowers on the bushes.
Cora's smile at dinner is wide, and when she flashes it his way, he feels his knees weaken beneath the table. It's a blinding smile, one that still manages to take his breath away. He knows that he'll find out the reason for her good mood at some point in the next few hours.
He can hardly wait.
He dismisses Bates for the evening, his heart fluttering in anticipation of discovering exactly what has put Cora in such a good mood, and makes his way over to the door that connects his dressing room with Cora's. As he begins to twist the handle, however, he hears her call out.
"Don't come in!"
"What?" he frowns, even though she can't see him. "Aren't you ready yet?"
"No, not yet."
"But I heard Baxter walking away with Bates!"
There is embarrassment in her tone now, which only simmers his confusion further. "Yes, well, I told her that I can manage from now. Just stay where you are."
"Darling, I hardly see any reason for embarrassment. I've seen it all before. Several hundred times, if I recall correctly."
Even from here, he can hear her exasperated sigh. It's a warning sign, and he falls silently promptly, not wanting to risk bringing on her wrath when she's been in such a good mood all day.
"I'll just wait here, then," he offers rather pathetically. "Let me know when I can come in."
She sounds much brighter now. "Thank you, darling."
Several long minutes pass. Robert spends his time contemplating the grains of wood in the door. There are many patterns there that he's never noticed before.
Good God, she needs to hurry up. He's falling slowly into insanity.
Thankfully, barely a minute later, Cora's voice calls out for him. She sounds shyer now, and it only intrigues him further. Cautiously, he opens the door.
For a moment, he thinks that his heart has ceased to beat in his chest.
The room is bathed in candlelight. Shadows flicker across the walls, dancing like old lovers. The light cast out by them bathe her in gold, highlighting every one of her features. Even after all these years, Robert still thinks that she's perfect.
Cora stands in front of him wearing some kind of flimsy nightgown. It barely grazes the middle of her thighs, and dips seductively into her cleavage, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The straps are thin. Her arms are bare. It's the most becoming shade of red that he's ever seen in his life.
"My God," he says hoarsely.
"What do you think?" she asks nervously. At once, he is transported back to their wedding night, when he'd taken her to bed as a nervous young girl.
He swallows hard, feeling the blood rush from his brain to other parts of his body. "I think you look incredible."
She says nothing, but her smile is wide. Her confidence is back. As if in a trance, he takes a step towards her. She opens her arms, encouraging him to step into them. He sighs. It's like coming home after a long voyage.
For a moment, there is only the quiet of them breathing, the blood in their heads pounding in tandem.
And then, simultaneously, they move to kiss each other. Robert's head dips down as Cora's cranes up, and they move their mouths with the practised ease of lovers who have known each other for years. Robert's hands travel the length of Cora's body, his palms brushing against every dip and curve, and she lets out a muffled sound of contentment against his mouth, her own fingers curling in his hair. She rises up on her tiptoes to even the height difference – barely there at all – and pushes her body more flush against his. Now it's his turn to groan, his hands reaching her bottom and driving her against him. He's in no doubt that she'll be able to feel his arousal through his thin pyjama bottoms, but he feels no shame.
With one last sigh, Cora pulls away from him. He takes the opportunity to breathe deeply, moving to nuzzle against her.
"You look incredible," he whispers against her neck, and she tilts her head to the side with a hum of appreciation as he begins to shower the skin there with gentle nips.
"Thank you, dear," she murmurs, tracing her hands down his front.
"No, I mean it," he says sincerely, keeping her at bay. "I'm not one for modern values, but if this is going to be the fashion…"
"You lecherous old man," she teases, but she's grinning in delight at his compliments. "You don't think I'm too old to be parading round in something like this?"
"Most definitely not," he growls. "You're still as flawless as you always have been. And I can't believe my good fortune that you're all mine."
"Always yours," she promises, and her words carry the weight of the years that have tried them, right from the very beginning. But there is no sorrow or guilt that accompanies them, just the pure, simple facts.
Robert lifts his head, pushing an errant curl behind her ear. "And you know that I'm yours."
"Yes," she breathes in confirmation, then begins to tug him backwards. "Now, come on."
He grins, allowing her to pull him over to the bed. He knows that there will be no finesse tonight, no loving caresses or gentleness, just the pure heat of a lust that has been searing for weeks. But he can't bring himself to care. It has been a long time since they made love in such a way, like the young married couple that they had once been. There's something so exciting about that.
Cora's hands move to his pyjama top, tugging frantically at the buttons. He grins and sits up just slightly, allowing her more access. He waits patiently by while she undoes the entire row, then shrugs it from his shoulders and flings it blindly somewhere into the room. Her hands are on his body at once, roving over him. He feels every minute tremble of her fingers, her palms slicking with sweat. He catches her hand and raises it to his lips, pressing kisses against her knuckles.
"Now you," he says huskily. "I love this nightgown very much, but I would much prefer to see what's under it too."
She pushes him away a little, and he hunches back on his haunches reluctantly, wanting to undress her himself but realising from the look in his eye that she just won't allow it. She wants to tease him.
And tease him she does, dragging the silky material up the length of her body as if she has all the time in the world. A single inch of skin is revealed with each torturously slow movement, creamy, unmarred. He supresses the urge to pant like some kind of wild animal, his fevered gaze drinking up each centimetre of new territory offered to him.
His breath catches when he realises that she is wearing absolutely nothing under that gown, and his core temperature increases by almost a hundred degrees.
Her legs are still toned and shapely, her stomach flat even after the three children and the toll of the years. Her breasts are small, her nipples are as perky as ever. He can't wait to sink his mouth onto one, tasting that hard nub. Still, he forces himself to meet her eye first, not wanting her to think him completely lecherous. There are lines around her eyes now, a testimony of the hard years that they have faced, but she is still beautiful to him, more so now than she ever was in her youth because of the things that they have faced and the way that they have emerged stronger than ever.
"I love you," he tells her, suddenly overcome by emotion and rather embarrassed by it. She hooks her fingers into his hair and brings him closer, brushing her mouth over his cheek.
"I love you too," she says, her eyes dark and sincere.
He does move to kiss her then, his hands roaming up and down her naked sides with a fervent kind of desire that sets her skin on fire. Her own hands struggle down to the waistband on his pyjama bottoms, pushing insistently at them. He muffles a grunt against her neck as she manages to drive them down to his knees before getting stuck. He's reluctant to pull away from her and break the delicious contact that he has with her upper body, but the throbbing in his lower half is becoming quite difficult to ignore, so he concedes defeat and wriggles himself out of his bottoms, kicking them out onto the floor. Once that has been accomplished, he swoops back on top of her, catching her mouth in a searing kiss.
She bucks up against him desperately when his fingers brush against her hip. He does it again, and the bucking is even more pronounced. He's curious; she only ever does that when she is feeling particularly aroused. Could it be that she is ready for him even without him touching her intimately?
Curiously, his fingers trace lower over her heated flesh, questing through the hairs on her sex. He reaches his destination, and groans aloud. Somehow, she is ready for him, all wet heat that coats his fingers like a fine morning mist. Is this situation really so exciting to her? He can barely fathom it. So he doesn't waste any more time trying to, moving his fingers in the feverish pattern that he knows she enjoys so much, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that hides away. Cora gives a ragged sigh, and he raises his head to press his mouth over her nipple, suckling the hard peak into his mouth. Her hands rise up to his hair, running through it in a continual pattern that somehow pushes his own arousal higher. The wetness beneath his fingertips intensifies, almost a flood now. Her cries are growing louder and louder. He has never known her to begin the ascent to the pinnacle of her pleasure so quickly before. He shifts his position just slightly, his fingers moving lower over her, tracing out the edges of her sex with feather-light touches before taking the plunge and easing into her opening.
"Robert," she gasps, her hand moving to grip at his forearm.
"Shh," he says, pressing a kiss against her cheek. "Relax."
She does so, her back arching as she pushes herself further into his touch, and he moves his lips to her neck, an area that is so sensitive. She gasps and writhes more earnestly, her eyes fluttering closed and her breathy cries growing louder. He is thankful that their room is so far away from their daughters'.
She's so slick to the touch that it's almost overwhelming. The searing heat engulfs him completely, and he moans his approval as he slowly begins to draw his fingers in and out, finding the appropriate rhythm and playing her body to it. Her fingernails bite into his shoulders as she rolls her hips in answer to the sensations rising up inside her, and he presses a kiss against the corner of her mouth, easing his fingers as deep as he can get them. There is no need to spend long teasing her, for the bucking of her hips lets him know that she is perilously close to coming undone in his arms. Frantically, he withdraws his fingers from her, taking a moment to appreciate the way that they glisten with her need, before fumbling to take a hold of himself. In an instant, Cora's hands fall to assist him.
His head rocks back as her hands close confidently around him, tugging at him in that exquisite way of hers. Her fingers dance in the way that she's learned that he enjoys, teasing at his tip and massaging at his sac between the long, hard strokes she gives his length. He throbs hotly in her palm, his hips pushing down towards hers, yearning for completion. She takes the time to kiss at his chest as she pleasures him, and he can barely keep focused on her face, her blue eyes half-lidded, the most delicious smile playing across her mouth.
"Cora," he chokes. "Cora, I need you."
She pauses in her ministrations, and he grunts in frustration that she's stopped, but his ardour is reignited in the next moment with her whisper.
"Take me, then."
It's one of the most erotic things he's ever heard.
Desperately, he pulls away from her, and she parts her thighs wider beneath him, more room to accommodate his body. He sinks back down on top of her, blindly seeking out her wet warmth. With a drawn-out groan, he sinks into her, engulfed by the heat and the wetness. He holds still for a moment, giving them both time to adjust to the incredible sensations. Cora's hands sweep in a long arc over his back, and then he can resist the urge to move no longer.
Her gasps are music to his ears as he rocks into her, a symphony that rises and rises towards the crescendo of the song. Her hands fly over him, never stopping for a moment. He adds his own harmony of sounds to hers, grunting gently as he moves within her. The friction between them is unbelievable. She feels incredible, pulling him in further, surrounding him. He can tell that she's building towards her end, a huge relief for him; he knows he won't be lasting much longer. Frenziedly, he moves his hand between them, rubbing low at her at the little spot that never fails to undo her; in the next moment, her head careens backwards as she cries out his name, fingernails biting into his skin. He shudders at the sensation, moaning lowly. He rocks against her thrice more, his own end rushing through his body.
After a suspended moment, he sinks down on top of her, breathing heavily, shivering from the sudden chill that has encapsulated his body. Cora's arms move around him, holding him close to her, and he burrows his head under her chin, matching his breathing to hers. She rests her chin against his sweaty hair, occasionally dropping kisses into it. Presently, he pulls away from her, and she lets him, rolling onto her side to face him as he draws the covers up over them to preserve their warmth.
"Well," she begins regretfully. "All that trouble over that lingerie, and you didn't even take your time to enjoy it."
They stay silent for a moment, then burst into simultaneous laughs. Robert runs his hand down her back, sticky with the sweat that is just starting to cool. She looks up at him with that bright look in her eyes, the one that he's grown so accustomed to over the years, dancing with just the hint of mischief.
"Honestly," she laments. "Was it really worth it?"
"Of course it was worth it," he says.
"You barely got to see me in it before it was off."
"And your point is? There's nothing stopping you from putting it on again…and again…and again…" With each word, Robert punctuates it with a kiss, moving lower over her neck to her collar. Cora squirms, pushing him back.
"Behave," she chastises. "I'm supposed to be meeting your mama tomorrow, and I'll be in no fit state to do so if you carry on like this. You've had your fill."
Robert grins wickedly at that, immediately swinging himself on top of her.
"And how do you know that?" he purrs, sweeping his hands pointedly down her body.
"Robert, really. Stop it."
"Make me," he murmurs, sliding lower.
Despite herself, her head rocks back.
She doesn't make him stop.
Fin