A/N: This is just a small, fluffy fanfiction that I have written for dear Lauren's birthday. She deserves every bit of it and much, much more. Lauren, if you read this, well, I am so grateful to have met you, and I simply wish we will stay friends for a very long time.
Reviews are, as always, very appreciated.
Thank you, and I love you all!
Disclaimer: Quite obviously, I do not own these characters, and cry myself to sleep every night over this terrible fact.
Note: This is rated 'M' for a reason; contains femslash and slightly descriptive scenes. Read at your own risk!
I Have Died Every Day Waiting For You
You never expected her to be gone for quite so long. After Lady Sybil had passed away, she had seemed so utterly distraught that you had been amongst the first to suggest her a journey of some sort; something to take her mind off this terrible event. She had looked at you with pale, blue, intrigued eyes, which lately always seemed to glisten with ghostly tears. How you wished you could simply have kissed them away.
'Do you really think so, dear O'Brien?' she had replied after a while, and you had only nodded, your hand lingering for a little too long against her nape, before settling on top of her shoulder, dusting the velvety fabric lightly. For the first time in weeks, she hadn't looked quite so hopeless anymore.
Of course, Lord Grantham had instantly disagreed with the very idea, arguing that now was, more than ever, the time for their family to stay close; that soothing one another would be the only decent way to grieve Lady Sybil. In other circumstances, you might have agreed. But when her ladyship had told you, her voice strangled with sobs and whimpers, how Robert had contributed to the accident, you knew that the little respect you still had maintained for the man over the years, was now close to nonexistent.
Yet, you knew perfectly well you were no more worthy yourself. You can still, today, clearly hear the terrible gasp of pain echoing from the bathroom, so long ago and still so very vivid; the blood between the countess' trembling limbs still stains your nightmares.
'Will you come?' she had asked one morning as you were occupied straightening the little, silver tiara in her hair. 'Will you accompany me to America, O'Brien?' How dearly you had wanted to accept, then. How wonderful it might have been, spending a few, forbidden days far from the chaos of Downton, far from Thomas, and far from all the black gowns and armbands.
You could have held her hand there, throughout the tears and the grief, and maybe you might even have talked together, her head against your shoulder, in the intimacy of Cora's childhood bedroom. You knew for a fact that you did not deserve any of this; still; you had been desperately craving for it.
However, you never had had the chance. Somehow, his lordship had made it clear to Mr. Carson that he requested the whole household to be present at Downton, despite her ladyship's journey. It was utterly ridiculous, of course; how helpful could you possibly have been here, when your only duty had always been tending to her ladyship's every need?
Deep down, and no matter how silly it might have sounded, you knew it was merely a consequence of his lordship's jealousy. He might have had no idea of the feelings you harbored for Cora, but you were the only one she still allowed into her chamber. He had lost this privilege with his youngest daughter, and now, it always seemed that his eyes were a little darker and colder every time he looked at you.
You expected the countess to be gone for little less than a month. How wrong you were. Weeks and weeks go by, and there is still no sign of Cora. You begin to doubt that she will ever come back at all. This fear quickly grows insufferable; you cannot accept it could possibly have been the last time you would have seen her. No, this just wouldn't do.
One day, you get the wildest idea. Of course, this would mean risking everything and probably even losing your job altogether. Yet, it has become clearer over the weeks, that you will not stay very much longer at Downton anyway, as her ladyship is no longer here to protect you from Lord Grantham's lack of sympathy. Now that the decision to keep you is up to him, you could as well begin packing your suitcase and bags already.
You decide to do it just a few days before Christmas Eve. Perhaps Cora will show a little more gentleness when she will necessarily have to dismiss you. Even if she doesn't soften, you fancy the very idea of offering her a little piece of love on this occasion. Nobody should ever feel lonesome or unloved on Christmas, and you know that better than anyone.
You chose a simple, cream-coloured paper with a matching envelope, and it is with a shaky hand that you trace the words upon the paper. By the end of the note, a few tears are running freely upon your cheeks; you do not wipe them, deciding that they are a bittersweet proof of the vividness and utter realness of your love.
'Your ladyship,
I do hope you will receive this note before Christmas, as it seems I will not have the pleasure of wishing it directly to you this year. I hope you feel a little better now, milady, and that you take pleasure in your American life.
It seems that here, in Downton, things have become dimmer in your absence. The whole household misses you terribly; I miss you terribly. The most, perhaps.
As it seems we are unlikely to ever see each other again, milady, there is something I have to confess. Something I have been burning to tell you for so long.
I love you, milady. It feels like I have done so, since the very day I met you. At first, I believed these foreign feelings were merely admiration for you; I was wrong. It was love. It is love, still today, after fifteen years. I know it is wrong for me to feel this way towards you, and even worse to reveal it now, but I could not go on without you knowing.
I love you so deeply, so completely, that it seems I can hardly breathe. And you have made me happy, milady. Happier than I ever dreamt of being, or deserved to be. I am so grateful, so thankful for you, Cora, and I will probably love you until my very last breath.
Sarah O'Brien.'
You cry yourself to sleep, that night. The tears are passionate, both due to despair and happiness, and each and every of them is entirely for Cora.
She comes back on the very night of Christmas. You are leaning against the cold, brick wall, trying to take a drag on your cigarette, but the biting December wind makes it a very complicated task. Suddenly, you notice a slender figure in the shadow, wrapped in what resembles a brown fur coat. Once she is close enough for you to distinguish her face, it seems that your heart stops altogether; your fag falls upon the floor.
She seems dishevelled, breathless, and it occurs to you that she seems to have walked the entire way up to the mansion. Yet, with her tangled hair and flushed cheeks, in the pale moonlight, she looks more breath-taking than ever before.
'O'Brien?' she asks uncertainly, tilting her head to the side to better see you.
'M'lady?' you say in a whisper, your voice stuck in your throat.
All of the sudden, she grabs your wrist tightly, before pulling you towards her with such strength that your bodies all but collide together, forcing her ladyship to take a step back. Before you even have time to process anything, she cups your cheeks with gloved hands, and suddenly, her lips are crashing upon yours, full of passion, urgency and despair.
One of her hands entangles itself in your hair, almost pulling it free, as you return her kiss with even more fervour, more hunger, your eyes fluttering shut and your hands curling around the fabric covering her waist. At the moment where your tongues brush together for the very first time, it feels as if you are shattering from sheer ecstasy.
'You came back,' you say, once your faces are eventually forced apart, your bodies still tightly entangled as they would be in a mad and marvellous dream.
'I had to,' she breathes against the skin of your cheekbone. 'For I love you so very much, and have done so for so long already.'
Her confession, so gorgeously raw and crystal clear, is enough to recreate instantly the urgent press of your lips on hers. After longue minutes of utter abandon and sheer rapture, she mutters something against your lips.
'I will be waiting for you, Sarah.'
She disappears within the house as discreetly as a shadow, and yet it seems that her smile lingers for a few seconds in the foggy December air.
Velvety, pale flesh appears, inch after inch, between the lace, silk and ribbons, your whispers and moans full of desperate eagerness smothered by the rustle of sheets and cloth. Each and every of your nerves seems ablaze, and you are surprised not to see any burn mark in the wake of Cora's tantalizing mouth upon your skin.
Cora shivers in delight as you trace the shape of her supple breast with the very tip your fingers, before dropping tentative kisses against the hardened peak of flesh, thus drawing frenzy mewls from her. She retaliates by running her own hand along your side, slowing down upon your hip, before repeatedly brushing against your inner thigh, desperately narrowing your throbbing centre.
When her fingers eventually stroke the glistening flesh, you cannot repress a throaty groan, and you lose yourself within her hesitant, yet utterly erotic touch. Soon, you shatter against her utterly, your whole body shaken by spasms, as you mutter her name against her shoulder repeatedly, like a spell, your fingers digging slightly within her soft, sweet skin.
She arches to the very extreme against your touch, the sensation of your breath against her slick folds seemingly driving her to the very edge of pleasure. Her taste is just like her; bittersweet and utterly delightful. She chants your name with a breathless voice, her hands entangled within your hair, scratching against your scalp in a most exquisite way.
'I love you!' she cries into the air as her walls clench around your tongue, and when you kiss her passionately in response, you still taste of her. Just the movements of her lips against yours are enough for your head to begin spinning again, and you cling onto her desperately, refusing to ever break your intimate embrace.
You lull her to sleep with words of love and promises of eternity, and as you eventually drift into sleep yourself, the last thing you feel is how she presses a swift kiss against your heart, marking you hers forever after.
A/N: Thank you all so much for reading this!
You are all gorgeous and lovely.
Wil~