A/N: This is in answer to a chelsie anon prompt on tumblr. The prompt was: Charles had never been comfortable with Lady Cora. After all, *she*, was an *American*. She brought her rough accent and brash ways, along with this perverse tradition of sitting down to table, family & staff, *together*. Thanksgiving she called it, a time to give thanks for a plentiful harvest, hmph! The only thing plentiful in this house lately, was tragedy, and he said as much to Elsie over a quiet glass of sherry as they sat together in her parlor to discuss the planning. What happens next?
Elsie shook her head. Charles Carson was the most exasperating man she'd ever met. So how had she fallen so deeply in love with him?
Putting down her glass, she stood and walked to the door, locking it. "Put down your glass, Charles," she whispered, watching him, waiting for him to do as asked.
Charles blinked in surprise. Elsie never used his given name. Still a bit startled by the turn of events, he did as she said, gasping went the lights when out. "Mrs. Hughes, what are you doing?"
Elsie didn't answer just simply began to undress, easily removing piece after piece until she was wearing nothing.
Straining to hear, Charles heard the rustle of fabric and swallowed. "Mrs. Hughes?"
Again Elsie didn't answer. Instead she moved to where she knew Charles was, no need for light to see the way. Feeling her knees bump his, she gently used one to nudge them apart. Moving between his parted thighs, she ran a hand over his shoulder, down his arm to clasp his hand. Turning it palm up, she pressed it against her, moving up until she could cup it around her breast.
"El," Charles stuttered then tried again. "Elsie, what?" It was all he could manage.
"I'm giving you something to be thankful for, Mr. Carson," she answered, letting her tongue roll over the r's in his name, feeling his reaction in the grip of his hand. Guiding his hand, she kneaded her breast, her head falling back as she enjoyed the sensation. She'd become so accustomed to her own hand, that the feel of a larger, stronger hand was nearly overwhelming her senses.
Charles could do nothing but sit and swallow hard and fast, his heart nearly beating out of his chest, his trousers growing tighter as his arousal strained against the confines of the black material. It had been a long time since his hands had touched the silken flesh of a woman. He'd given up visiting the Widow Langley in London during the season when he'd realized he was in love with Downton's housekeeper – his housekeeper. He moaned at the feel of Elsie's fingers guiding his to pinch and roll the taut nipple that had been pressing against the palm of his hand.
Elsie hummed her pleasure as she moved his hand to her other breast, repeating the actions before guiding his hand down over her ribs, going slowly over the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the curve of her buttocks so that he would remember what each of the things she knew he admired felt like. Widening her stance, she drew his hand down lower, using her fingers to guide his as she moved them over the sensitive flesh between her thighs.
Charles' heart seemed to stop beating in his chest as his senses registered the warm, wetness on the pads of his fingers. He knew that if Elsie hadn't been guiding his hand, he wouldn't be able to move. He was paralyzed by the knowledge that he was touching the woman he loved more intimately that he'd ever dreamed of. Finally taking a deep breath, he shook his head. No, that wasn't quite accurate. He was touching Elsie as intimately as he'd dreamed of, just not as he would have ever dared in reality.
Pushing his finger between her wet folds, Elsie bit her lip to keep from crying out. Their joined fingers were stretching her more than she was used to and she trembled as she guided them in and out, in and out, her free hand reaching out to brace herself on his shoulder. Her climax was growing closer, her legs feeling like they were going to buckle under her.
Charles felt Elsie's thumb guiding his in small circles around what he knew was a bundle of nerves that sent women over the edge when stimulated. Which is what happened to Elsie only moments later. He felt her inner muscles clutching at their thrusting fingers, her warm breath puffing across his face as her forehead bumped against his, a whimper escaping her lips.
Taking a deep breath, Elsie stood up, pressing a kiss to his head before moving back to where she'd left her clothes. Dressing in the dark nearly as easily as she'd undressed, she finished with the last button, slipped on the last shoe. "Close your eyes, Mr. Carson," she whispered, not wanting to blind him with the lights as she flipped the switch. Staring across the room at the man she loved, she smiled when his eyes slowly fluttered open.
Charles stared at Elsie, his heart still beating wildly at the thought of what she'd just done. His eyes moved over her figure, his hand remembering what the soft curves that filled out her dress felt like. Looking back up at her, his breath caught at how beautiful she was, the flush of passion still evident on her face and neck. "Why?" he managed to ask, his voice rough with his arousal.
"To give you something to be thankful for." She winked at him as she turned the lock and gripped the doorknob, preparing to leave. "And, if you play nice for Lady Grantham's Thanksgiving," she paused.
"Yes?" he nudged her.
Elsie dropped her voice and finished, "I'll be waiting in your room…with the lights on."