Based on an anonymous ask: Trixie and Christopher and Shelagh and Patrick go on a weekend away together and stay in adjoining rooms, and let's just say... the walls are pretty thin... Can I give you a few prompts based on this? 'Trixie smirked at Shelagh, entered the bedroom, and smiled suggestively at Christopher.' 'My god... can you hear that Shelagh? Is that Trixie and Christopher?' 'How did you sleep then you two? That is if you got any...' I know they are dirty but I think it would be hilarious.
A/N 3 chapters, one for every line anon has given me! Those lines are underlined.
Trixie and Christopher were the last people Shelagh had expected to encounter on a weekend away with Patrick. In fact, she'd not expected to meet anyone familiar, since the hotel was miles and miles away from London, and quite isolated.
Yet here they are, Shelagh thought, placing her suitcase at her feet. It was a soft pink, and more expensive than she'd have liked, but Trixie had assured her it would last years. "I have the same one, sweetie," she'd said, and pushed Shelagh to the counter so she could purchase it.
"Well," Patrick said, shaking Christopher's hand and smiling, "I didn't know you two were going on a little holiday!"
Trixie blushed and smoothed a fold out of her azure dress. She wore diamond earrings that glistened like water in the soft hallway light. "We hoped that a weekend in a hotel would make us forget about work," she said, looking at Christopher from the corner of her eyes. "It seems we always get interrupted when we want to spend time together."
I know that feeling, Shelagh thought. She adored her children, but with a baby, a toddler, a teenager and two demanding jobs, she and Patrick hadn't been intimate in what felt like eons. As if reading her mind, Patrick slung an arm around her, his fingertips travelling over the small of her back before his hand reached her shoulder. She supressed a shiver. Naughty man.
"Fancy meeting you here, though," Christopher said.
"And adjoining rooms, too, " Patrick said, nodding to room 205 and 207.
"At least we won't have to be embarrassed when we have to go and tell our neighbours to keep it down. I overheard a guest saying that the walls are quite thin," Shelagh said.
"Oh, they are. We could hear everything our neighbours did yesterday." Trixie paused. "Maybe that'll make it more embarrassing," she continued, cocking an eyebrow, a smile playing around her perfectly painted lips.
Shelagh blushed, but didn't break eye contact. "I'm sure that what happens in this hotel can stay between these walls," she said.
Patrick leaned in to kiss her. "Or between the sheets," he whispered.
More blood shot to her cheeks, colouring them crimson. How he loves to tease me. She'd pay him back in full later, between those very sheets he was using against her now.
"I'm sure of it, Doctor Turner," Trixie said. She smirked at Shelagh, entered the bedroom, and smiled suggestively at Christopher.
Shelagh turned away, doing her best to forget that little smirk. She picked her suitcase from the floor and placed her hand on Patrick's arm as he fumbled with the lock on their room. It seemed to take forever before he managed to get the door open.
The room was spacious but cold. Shelagh turned on the lamps on the bedside tables, and placed her suitcase on the bed. The corners of the blankets weren't entirely straight. She supressed the urge to smooth them; the sheets would be rumpled in an hour or so, anyway.
She could hear Christopher and Trixie speak in the room next door, but their voices were muffled, and sounded only vaguely like them.
How quiet we must be if we don't want to disturb them.
Shelagh walked to the window and fingered the thick, velvety curtains. They were no match against the cold, which could easily slip into the room because of the thin glass and warped windowsills. as Shelagh closed the curtains a dead moth fell from between the red folds. She touched the fuzzy body with a fingertip, then shuddered.
"Cold, my love?" Patrick whispered. He stepped beside her and nuzzled her neck.
"Yes. This room is awfully draughty."
"It's because this side of the building faces the sea. Can you hear it?" They were both silent, listening to the faint murmur of waves falling over each other and breaking upon shingled coast. The wind roared around the hotel, throwing occasional droplets of rain against the windows like handfuls of pebbles.
"Sea wind. No wonder it's cold," Shelagh agreed.
"You didn't look cold in the hallway, though," Patrick said, kissing the pulse point underneath her ear.
"You're a beast. You know that, don't you?" She turned around so she could look at him.
He grinned, and draped his arms around her. "I do like to devour a pretty woman every now and again."
"I bet you do. That'll have to wait, though. We have to put our luggage away, and I'd like to take a bath. Besides…"
He placed a sloppy kiss on the corner of her mouth. One of his hands snaked underneath her skirt, stroking the strip of skin between her knickers and her stockings. "Are you sure, my love? I think you might have mixed up the order of things. I think you'll need a bath after I'm done with you," he whispered, hot breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.
She shivered against him. In retaliation, she took his face between her hands and kissed him hard, tilting her hips against him.
"If I'm a beast, then you're a temptress," he moaned between two kisses.
She pushed him on the bed. As she placed the bags on the ground, Patrick made short work of his clothes.
Shelagh put her glasses on the nightstand, took her hairclip out and shook her head, hair floating around her face.
"I don't tell you enough," Patrick said, voice thick.
"What?"
"That you're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."
She smiled, and pulled her dress over her head. "It's never too late to begin." He helped her undress further. Gooseflesh rippled over her arms and legs and breasts. Her nipples pebbled in the freezing air. She shivered, though from cold or want or both, she could not say.
Patrick rubbed her arms and grinned. "It really is cold here," he said.
She nodded, and buried herself under the blankets, then drew him on top of her. She could hardly imagine that he was cold; his skin burned with desire, as did his eyes.
He kissed her as he slid a hand between her legs.
She moaned, and curved her spine.
"You must be quiet if you don't want Trixie and Christopher to know what we're doing," Patrick whispered in her ear, fingers working their magic.
"They won't. The wind…"
"Do you think a little winter storm can drown out your lovely voice? No, if you don't want our neighbours to hear us, you must be quiet, darling."
"You're making it very hard," Shelagh confessed.
"Am I?" he smirked, twisting his fingers in a way that always drove her a little mad with need.
She pressed her mouth against his shoulder to still the moans he drew from her.
"I do love it when you blush," he said, kissing her cheek.
"Patrick, please. I want you," she whimpered. She spread her legs and folded them around him.
Never one to deny her anything, he obliged. They both groaned with pleasure, then stilled and waited, listening for sounds from the other room.
Trixie said something, causing Christopher to laugh. Their voices continued in soft murmurs, lulling like the sea.
Maybe they were already talking. God knows I wasn't paying attention.
"Do you think they heard us?" Patrick whispered, kissing the tip of Shelagh's nose.
"I don't know," she said, and rocked her hips. She forgot to listen after that.
They made love slowly, languorously. They took delight in the time they had for the other now. It stretched and stretched in front of them as if it would not end. There were no children that needed them, no patients to tend to. There was only this, and this was bliss.
So much time for Patrick, so much time for myself, feels almost decadent.
Shelagh had to place a hand over Patrick's mouth to muffle his cry as he came undone, just as she had to place her mouth against his shoulder to still her own sounds.
He rolled them on their sides, and kissed her face. "I can't remember the last time we did it like this," he murmured. "It seems as if we must always make love quickly."
"That's part of the reason why I wanted us to come away," Shelagh confessed.
Patrick smiled, and drew circles on her arm. They listened to the wind roar for a little while. The rain fell more regularly now, every drop bursting apart against the unrelenting glass and stone of the hotel.
Shelagh propped herself up on her elbows. "I'm going to brush my teeth and change into my nightgown."
"No bath?"
"Do you think we're done already?"
Patrick groaned, and rubbed his eyes. "They don't tell you this when you marry a younger wife," he said.
"Is that a complaint?" Shelagh asked, slipping out of bed.
"Quite the opposite." He stretched, causing his joints to pop. "Shall I go and get us a bottle of wine?"
"We're not that decadent yet, surely?" she asked, pulling her nightgown over her head. The fabric was cool as it slithered over her skin. She shivered again.
"I do need something to eat if we're going in for multiple rounds, and I suspect you might like some food, too." Patrick put his shirt on.
"In that case I'll brush my teeth later." Shelagh sat down on the bed again, hugging Patrick from behind. He touched the hand she'd pressed over his heart, stroking her knuckles.
"Do you think the children are all right?" she whispered.
"Of course they are. We've left them in the capable hands of several midwives. If they can't handle them, no one can."
Shelagh kissed his neck, his ear. "You make them sound like little monsters."
"They have a beast for a father…" Patrick grinned.
"Hm." She kissed his temple, smoothed his hair, then let him go. He dressed quickly, gave her a soft kiss, then left the room.
Shelagh pulled the blankets around her, letting her head droop against the pillow. She was delightfully drowsy, but desire still coiled in her belly. She wanted Patrick next to her, touching her.
I always want him.
She flipped on her belly, and drew the novel she was reading from her purse. She pushed her glasses back on her nose. She could read a few pages before he came back. It would help her forget the dull ache of desire unsated.
She'd finished three pages when the lights flickered. Shelagh put the book away and frowned. The wind was still roaring outside, throwing rain against the hotel in furious handfuls. At a particular vicious gust, the lights flickered again, then died.
"Oh no," she murmured. She put her book away, then tried to find her way to the door. She tripped over her suitcase and cursed very softly, pushing the pink monster out of the way, against the wall. She touched the walls with spread hands till she located the door. The handle was startlingly cold. She opened the door on a crack and peered into the hallway. All was darkness. "Patrick?" No answer.
The cold nestled in her bare feet, rippling over her skin. I'll slip back into bed, and when I hear something, I'll go to the door to help Patrick get back in here, she thought.
In room 205, everything was quiet. Maybe Trixie and Christopher had already fallen asleep, and hadn't noticed that there was no electricity.
Shelagh sighed contently when a pocket of warmth trapped by the covers enveloped her like a lover's embrace. She put her glasses away, curled up, and stared at the door. Her eyes were slowly getting used to the darkness. A strip of moonlight fell through a gap in the curtains, flickering in and out of existence as clouds travelled in front of it.
She thought about the little corpse of the moth on the windowsill. If she asked for an empty matchbox at the reception, she could take it back home, and give it to Timothy. It was not as pretty as the dead butterfly he'd given her, but he'd be interested in it regardless. He was such a darling boy.
Almost a grown man now, she thought, a little sadly. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to recall his face when he'd still been a lanky child with a scraped arm and ill-matched clothes. How had time slipped away so fast? He was so much taller than she was nowadays, and no longer pale and sad.
Like Patrick is no longer sad, she thought, and smiled a little. She wiggled out of her nightgown, folding it neatly and placing it on the nightstand. She wanted to be ready for when he got back. How I love him.
She must've slept a bit, then, because when she woke, it was because Patrick got into bed next to her.
"Hm," she said, and slung her arm around him, pressing her mouth against his. "So you've found your way back. I hope you brought some food, you beast," she whispered.
Very softly, the person next to her said, "Shit."
Shelagh grew cold and afraid.
That doesn't sound like Patrick.