Title: Anything
Author: Lynn Saunders
Summary: Bates actually reads that little book...
Date Completed: 2.28.15
Disclaimer: Oops, not mine. Sorry.
Feedback: It's what I live for. Find me at lynnsaundersfanfic at gmail or on tumblr.
Anything
by Lynn Saunders
The scandalous article, left forgotten in the cupboard drawer, falls to the floor as he sifts the contents, looking for an old letter. He's home, and it's late in the evening, the fire burning low on the hearth. She still hasn't returned from the main house tonight. He frowns down at the small book, remembering the shadow falling across her face when he spoke of it months ago in anger. In that moment, he realizes, he hurt her deeply. He stoops with a sigh, picking up the pamphlet, and as he returns it to the drawer, its thin pages fall open, bold lettering catching his eye. Sleep.
He is taken aback, and he brings the pages closer, reading as the author outlines the importance of good rest in relation to fulfilling lovemaking. Eyebrows furrowing, he turns the small book over in his hands and re-reads the cover, thinking he may be mistaken. The unassuming title stares back at him. He feels ashamed, not only that he judged Anna, but also that he spoke without fully understanding the book's purpose. His words come back to him, and he sighs with regret. These misunderstood pages appear to be more an outline of loving exploration and devotion than he ever considered. In the firelight, he crosses to his chair and starts from the beginning.
Dawn is breaking in the east, the sun blazing low on the horizon as fog creeps across the grass. Anna's breath puffs in the icy morning air, and she adjusts her scarf against the cold, blinking with bleary eyes as snow falls all around. Her husband squints into the early morning light as he walks in step beside her.
"What's the matter?" He's looking down at her now, distracted.
She squeezes his arm. "I'm only tired."
Sleep, he thinks. "Well, we can't have that."
They walk in companionable silence while he considers how much should be said. He frowns, remembering the book's words, thinking of Anna lamenting that she's never allowed to wake naturally, his pretty wife turning her face into the pillows in frustration as he rouses her in the quiet warmth of their cottage before the first light of day. She'd returned home the previous evening at almost midnight, shedding her clothes and crawling between the crisp sheets as he curled his body around hers, concerned. She's been overworked of late, he knows.
He can please her, has pleased her, but he wants her to be set free, to come together with spiraling desire and leave her sated, thoroughly loved. He would do anything to make her happy, but would she ask something like this of him? Anna, whose tender hands comfort those around her, carefully repair and make things new, placing everyone else first. Would she open to him her heart's desires, or fear the burden of her requests, deciding instead to remain silent?
"Come here." He pulls her gently into an alcove, his back to the wall, and kisses her before wrapping his arms around her tightly. The stone archway carves a haven from the snowfall, and they are cordoned off, secluded. In the spring, flowering vines will drape the recess in purple blooms, but now it is slate-gray and still.
"We need to get away," she says, cheek against his chest, his watch's metal chain cool beneath her fingertips. Her arms slip around his waist as he pulls her closer, wrapping the open edges of his overcoat around her so that they may share its warmth.
He brushes her hair from her forehead and kisses her softly there. "I believe I owe you an apology from some time ago."
She pulls back in his embrace so that she can see his eyes, and what she sees reflected back there, gentle and warm, alleviates any worry. "What is this secret, Mr. Bates?" she teases.
He decides it's best to come straight out with it. "That book... Lady Mary's book..."
She turns her face away and swallows hard, interrupting. "I told you before..." she sighs, stubborn tears welling up despite her.
"I know, Love. The fault is mine." He places his fingertips under her chin, turning her eyes up to meet his. "And I didn't fully understand the subject, just my own fear in that moment."
"You have nothing to worry about, you know?"
He shakes his head. "They weren't for you. I accepted it long ago, and I understand it's a private matter, but..." he hesitates, considering his wording. "I'm curious. Did you read it at all?"
Her cheeks flush in the winter air. "I read a chapter."
"So did I. More than a chapter." He chuckles at her incredulous stare. "It wasn't at all what I expected."
She smiles at that, nodding, unsure of what to say.
"It emphasized your need for rest, your need for..." He takes a deep breath and puffs it out. "Release. To be satisfied." His hands move to frame her waist. "If there's anything I can do to please you, to make your life better, even the smallest thing, I need to know. There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you."
Her eyes shine bright. "I don't doubt it."
He leans in close so that he may speak the word against her ear, so that the idea might hang heavy in the air between them. "Anything."
All day his words will play and tumble together in her mind, and she will let the images flood over her, salacious thoughts that make her face burn and quicken her heartbeat. For now, she reaches up to adjust his tie. "We best get on to breakfast, Mr. Bates." She smiles up at him, allowing her fingers to slide behind his neck as he pulls her up to meet his lips. She kisses her husband on tiptoe in the pure white light of the winter morning, and she can hear nothing but the sound of snow.
She peers at him over her cup of tea as he shuffles the deck and begins to deal. He's teaching her to play Spoil Five.
"I learned this game from my mother," he'd said, remembering the wood grain of the table top, the smell of baking bread, afternoon light through the kitchen window. It seemed a lifetime ago. "We really need another person, but you can learn this way."
This afternoon the large house is quiet, without visitors, and the staff is milling about, waiting for the dinner service. She started playing cards with him after her attack, when intimacy was slow to bloom anew. Now, she is becoming a skilled player, giving him a run for his money on a regular basis.
He sees the changes within her, more pronounced back then but still present, guarded and careful, less trusting of anyone but him. He recognized the ways she withdrew from him, shied to his touch. He gave her space with a watchful eye and patiently waited as her desire warmed and grew, his passiveness the benefit of age and experience. In his youth, he might have turned her from him with anxious eagerness. That, he suspects, is the difference in a mature love, one that grows, through peaks and valleys, survives trial by fire only to arise again like a phoenix before taking flight.
His first experience with love was abrupt and fleeting, and the thrill wore off soon, Vera scorning him as he withdrew into alcohol and his own misery. Anna was like a breath of air, his light in the dark, and their coming together was a spark of a white hot flame that didn't die out suddenly, but moved and arced, dancing along his heart strings until he was consumed with it. She saved him, and he is forever indebted to her.
She plays a hand skillfully, and he smiles.
"Why are you smiling?" she asks, rearranging her cards.
He leans back in the chair, both eyebrows raised in response, and she shoots him a look of mock-disapproval.
"I booked us for the train, to London," he says casually. "We need to open the house, and God knows we need the break."
She stares at him, touched. "When?"
"Tomorrow."
"But..." She begins to protest, but he stills her, hand against hers on the solid tabletop.
"You said this is what you need, and everything is arranged."
Steam from the train puffs onto the station platform as they exit and walk to the stairs together. A car is waiting for them at the station entrance. He holds her hand as she steps up into the vehicle before settling beside her.
She leans against him. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing," he answers, a suspicious gleam in his eyes as he presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist.
The house is warm and clean, and no chores remain. A maid bustles about in the small sitting room, greeting her as Mrs. Bates as they arrive. A fire is lit, and baskets of food await on the kitchen table.
"I thought we'd take a picnic this afternoon."
"You did all this?"
"I arranged it, yes." He removes his hat, hanging it on the hall tree. "We have friends all over."
She hugs her husband close in the entryway. "Thank you."
He must tend to one article of business before they dine, so she decides to browse the local storefronts until a thunderstorm threatens, sending her back to the warm hearth. She has laid the food and a blanket out before the fire when he arrives, soaked to the bone from the rain. Rivulets run from the brim of his hat, dripping rainwater over his shoulders, and he curses softly in the doorway, laughing. She fetches a towel and helps him out of his coat, standing him in front of the fire to drip dry.
"So much for not having to tidy up," he says with a wry smile.
She unbuttons his waistcoat as he removes his cufflinks. "We can still have our picnic inside," she says, slipping his braces over his shoulders, the straps falling loose at his sides, "though you don't seem to be dressed for the occasion."
"Hmm... I think we should both attend in a similar state." He catches her hand in his, pulling her close. Rainwater dampens the front of her dress as he stoops to kiss her neck, and she shivers despite the warmth from the fire.
"How can we remedy that, Mr. Bates?"
His fingers have already started unhooking and unfastening, easing her out of her clothes. "I suppose it's fortunate that you and I undress other people for a living," he says, lips lingering against her collarbone, before stopping dead in his tracks as he uncovers the delicate cream silk at her neckline. He traces her chemise with the backs of his fingers, skimming the rise of her breasts and following the delicate material down to her thighs, letting the black lace at the hem slide between his thumb and forefinger.
She works the knot out of his tie. "I thought you might like it."
"You would be right."
He smooths the material over her hips, reaching down to caress her bum with both hands before gliding his fingers up the curve of her back. The silken straps slip from her shoulders as he gathers her to him, lips marking the skin he uncovers until she is completely bared before him.
She begins to shiver again, and goosebumps prick her arms as she nuzzles closer to him. "Are you cold, Love?" he asks, soothing his large hands across her back.
"Yes."
His eyes soften with concern. "Come here." He settles her close to the fire, and she leans into the warm glow as he retrieves two quilts. He quickly sheds the rest of his soaked clothing before settling beside her, pulling the blankets up around them to block out the chill. They lie on their sides, her back pressed against his chest, and drift in the firelight as his lips trail across the back of her neck.
"There is something."
He makes a questioning hum against her shoulder blade.
"There is something you can do. For me."
He rises onto his elbow behind her so that he can see her face, fingertips skimming her cheekbone. "Anything."
She covers his large hand with her smaller one, guiding his rough fingers across her breastbone, lowering her eyes as she slides their hands down past her navel. His breath catches as he imagines her fingers trailing down her belly to pleasure herself with thoughts of his touch tangling in her mind.
"Show me," he gasps against her neck as he moves into place behind her, securing her in his embrace, left arm cushioning her head as she guides the fingers of his dominant hand down to slip between her legs. She presses her body back against him and turns her face into his arm, breath puffing in time with his fingers as he learns her favorite rhythm. Her nerves run hot and cold, and she is floating, free-falling. She is loved.
An end.
- Written in response to prompts from annambates and handy-for-the-bus after my post about Married Love on Tumblr. The full text of the book is available online for free, but stupid FF will not let me post the link. At any rate, I strongly recommend everyone read this book.
- Also written in response to terriejane's photo prompt #7 on Tumblr. Anna's chemise is the one in the photo.