Logging on to Facebook this morning was a treat. To find Phyllis (but no Jim - boooo) discussing the proposal and how they might address their new status in S6 was an absolute delight. But to hear her jokingly refer to Mr. Carson as "Charlie?" Ahhh, it was too distracting.
Below is a oneshot ficlet I wrote in the margins of my class notes throughout the day. I regret nothing. Please see my author page for my legal disclaimer.
Timing note: We're now into the world beyond S5, whatever that may be.
The housekeeper is sleeping soundly on her left side, the pale and growing sunlight highlights the dip of her waist and small jut of her hip. The Abbey is quiet where she sleeps, only the faint sound of breathing can be heard.
In an instant, the shrill sound of an alarm goes off and her eyes fly open. She's not yet used to the banshee call, but she is more than happy to be using it, nevertheless.
The sheets rustle with the jagged movements of limbs reacting to the abrupt interruption to blissful silence. Her progress is a bit impeded as she turns off the treacherous machination on an ordinary morning at Downton Abbey.
A bare, strong arm is draped across her hip and she smiles to herself as she feels it gently stir.
The butler rouses slightly, moving to rest some of his weight on his left elbow. His hair is mussed, looking more unkempt than even while in the throes of the Spanish flu.
Sighing, the Scottish housekeeper turns to rest on her stomach, reclining and relishing the view of him above her. She takes particular solace in how his large hand keeps to resting gently on her stomach.
His voice is graveled, uttering, "Good morning, Missus."
The missus has a burr to her voice when she responds with a "good morning." He never tires of hearing it, especially in this proximity.
Even tired, she looks quite blissful as he, wide and bleary-eyed, tries to wake up.
It is now just barely daybreak, and they both had a long, satisfying night. But their day will be long and the butler is not prepared for it.
He laments in a comically grumpy tone, "Why do we get up this early?"
"My my," she responds. She goads lightly, reminding him of his preference for solemnity and order in the mornings. "I knew you didn't like high spirits at breakfast, but I never would've expected you to be so reluctant to begin the day and our duties."
He pauses, narrowing his eyes at her obvious delight.
Oh, but he loves her and their easy way they have despite a rough patch here and there. Married life has made these two creatures of habit adapt, sometimes with unwelcome friction. And sometimes delightful friction. He remembers their heated evening and he stirs at the thought.
"I've only recently begun to feel this way," he remarks. A knowing glance into her clear, blue eyes tells her the exact reason he is so reluctant to emerge from their bed.
She cups his cheek at his confession and he responds in kind, lowering slightly to snatch a reverent, gentle kiss.
His eyes are now alert, she observes from her close proximity. They're becoming darker and, however alluring they may be, succumbing to their wiles won't do for their tight schedule this morning.
His elbow now protesting, he shifts to get more comfortable on their double bed. Before he can react, she quickly slides out from the sheets and stands, stretching like a cat.
Over her shoulder, she brightly remarks "Come along, Mister. They'll be waiting for us." They've used mister and missus for decades to address each other, but each takes on a meaning neither expected when they finally exchanged vows a few weeks before.
He groans comically behind her, turning to rest on his stomach. Burrowing in the bedclothes, he inhales deeply of her pillow. Her scent, the one he first smelled when they finally danced together, is something that overjoys him each time he rests his head near her pillow. His eyes close in bliss.
He doesn't appear to be coming along anytime soon.
He doesn't see her place her hands on her hips, making her nightgown catch on her hips and strain on her breasts - more's the pity.
But he does feel the bed lower slightly as she sits down, bending towards him so that her long, plaited hair tickles his skin.
Her breath warms his neck, his ear, and she appraises him. He doesn't budge. In fact, he begins to snore in comic, artificial fashion.
He hears her near-silent chuckle, the air exhaling from her nostrils at a jagged pace. Yet he still continues his ruse.
She ventures closer now, her lips caressing the prominent lobe of his ear. It makes him shudder involuntarily.
Her voice is a low whisper as her Scottish lilt implores him.
"Come along, Charlie."
It's been a whole two weeks of married life and a few more weeks of being betrothed. She's waited and waited to finally call him that endearing, informal name.
She pulls back slightly, waiting for him to stir, to say or do anything. She's soon rewarded with an eye that pops open, taking her in from an odd angle that amuses her to no end.
Before she knows what's coming, Elsie Carson is caught in the encapsulating embrace of her unexpectedly playful husband. Tormenting and delighting with an onslaught of tickling fingers, his chuckle is music to her ears even as she breathlessly begs for a reprieve.
In their tussling, he gains the upper hand, twisting her to rest beneath him and he can't ignore her charms any longer.
His kiss is met with laughter that fades into a burgeoning need. Her soft moan is almost his undoing, and he savors her chewed lip that tormented him for years, tastes the tongue that singed and soothed him as they managed their professional lives. His hands palm and softly grip all that her wretched corset will soon subsume for the day even while his internal sense of time keeps an alarm ringing loudly in his mind.
Their lips smack apart loudly in their quiet room, and he takes momentary pleasure in seeing her flushed cheeks and eyes closed in gratification.
But he doesn't linger long. Instead, he departs from the bed quickly, securing his robe in hand.
He doesn't see her eyes open in a daze, upturned and slowly turning brighter as the sun rises outside.
She hears his efficient steps towards their en-suite before his mirthful voice calls out to her.
"Come along, Elsie Carson. You'll miss your breakfast if you lounge about all day."
Her arms, which had rested above her head in wonder, now hit the bed near her hips with a muffled thud. Her laughter is a sound sweeter than any songbird returning for the spring.
She soon joins him for their morning ablutions, managing to arrive in the Servant's Hall without an eyebrow raised at their rushed entrance.
Cheekiness and appetites notwithstanding, it is already a perfect day for Charlie and Elsie Carson.
FIN.
Since this is my first "present tense" story, I'd appreciate any comments you might have. If there's a glaring error, please do let me know in a PM!
Thank you for reading and any comments you might leave.
