Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or its characters andd I certainly won't earn any money with this scribbling. I think you should know that ;-)
Thanks to Gemenied, my beta and small genius :-)
Stolen Time
1. The pact
London, 1923
He watched her intensely as she rolled up the silk stocking until it covered most of her leg, while a little part of the soft skin of her upper thigh remained uncovered. His fascination with this sensual sight of her was unmatched by anything he knew, even after all those years of knowing her. He would never tell her, but he suspected she only wore these delicate garments for him. She only used them, because she knew he desired her and she dressed right next to him ever so slowly, because she knew what it did to him when he could watch her.
He let his fingertips reach out and touched the luxurious material. She was too practical and unpretentious to buy them for her own pleasure. She rarely spent money for herself. She cared much more for others and their needs than for herself. The thought that she was only (hopefully only) doing this for him caused his throat to tighten and aroused him – again.
In all the years they had worked together, he had never dreamt of being close to her like this or even stealing a glance at her naked legs. And now she was not only closer to him than he had ever imagined, no, he had also seen, felt, tasted, loved much more of her than just her naked legs. Not even one hour ago, those beautiful legs had been wrapped around his hips where they had pushed and demanded from him to give her more, to give her something no other man ever could.
But their time was almost over.
The last few hours they had spent locked away in this small hotel room in the London. They did so only one night every year. It was always the last night, before the family left again for Downton. It had become a ritual, a painful, sensational tradition that should never have been initiated in the first place.
It was an unholy bond they had created over the years. A pact that would cost them everything once they had to face the One that had created them. But while he watched her so close next to him, one foot on the bed next to his thigh, one leg standing steadily on the ground, he couldn't care less about the 'after', about kingdom come, because every time he made love to her, he was close to heaven and bound to burn in the depth of hell at the same time. Thanks to her, he knew it all. Heat and cold, perdition and peace.
Unable to resist the temptation he wrapped his hand around her leg and moved closer. He felt how she tensed and held her breath, waited for him to proceed. He obliged, caressed her soft lower leg and moved up until his hand came to rest in the hollow of her knee.
She closed her eyes, as he placed kiss after kiss on the silky material of her stocking and kept caressing her with soft squeezes. His lips moved softly over her kneecap and then up over her thigh.
"Please...," she mumbled. "Don't."
He knew she had to go, knew he couldn't keep her around for much longer, but he wanted her to hate their parting as much as he did. He had always had the impression that she never took leaving him as hard as he did. She never seemed overly heartbroken or devastated to go back to her farm. He always suffered her loss, as if he would never be happy again. Maybe it was, because she was stronger, less romantic, and less lost in the dying world he still called his.
Whatever it was, he wanted her to feel more of what he felt.
"Didn't you get enough?" she asked, a little breathless as she tried to remove her leg, but with gentle pressure he kept her in place.
"No." He continued to kiss her leg. A part of him scolded himself for not being a gentleman, for taking what wasn't his. For being so weak. What they did was unworthy, rotten and beyond redemption. It gave them one night every year. And the one night that she spent in his bed meant almost another year of self-torture and the certainty that he would die a sinner.
The world, in which they lived, was simple and so was his faith. He sinned and he would pay for it.
If he had a choice, any choice to change it, he would do so. But there was no choice. He was stuck with the choice he had made and every time he returned to Downton, after the season was over, he asked himself, whether Downton and his life in service for the Granthams was worth it, and the answer was always the same.
As long as Elsie Burns returned to her home, Charles Carson would return to his. As long as this was their deal, their pact, everything they did in this room once a year, was what it was.
Stolen time.
