Just (another) sex fic for these two. Oneshot.
Lying in bed, slowly wakening up, he realised suddenly that it made perfect sense; the fact that when he buried his face in her long, loose hair that it smelled distinctly of lavender, because she always looked so pretty in her pale purple dress. That had been it, really, what had finally broken down the last barrier of his self-restraint. It sounded foolish, but it was the realisation, that not only was she beautiful, but she was so, so pretty as well.
Months ago now, he had realised that he loved her for her kindness, her bravery, her cleverness, therefore no matter what she looked like, to him she was automatically graceful, beautiful. But yesterday, watching her across the sitting room at Crawley House, her real prettiness had struck him: the way her hair caught the light; the length of her light eyelashes flickering over her deep brown eyes; the artistry of the lines around her lips. Of course, he had already noticed that for her age she had a remarkably fine figure- ashamed as he was to admit it, it was the very first thing he had noticed about her. His initial assessment had not been wrong, he reflected.
He lifted his hands to rub his eyes; half-asleep, he was barely making sense even to himself. The only thing he could reasonably say was that yesterday, every fragment of Isobel Crawley's beauty had fallen into place in his mind, working in blissful cohesion, and, the moment Lady Grantham and the Dowager Countess had left the room, he had lost control and kissed her. Not the tentative chaste kisses they had been politely exchanging like nervous adolescents for the past few weeks, as he brought her little gifts and flowers to put in a vase in her office at the hospital. He had known she was wonderful, but not the depth to which that wonder ran.
Moving to sit beside her on the couch, he had kissed her with more passion than he'd known himself capable of, drawing her into his arms, cupping the small of her back to press her tightly against him. Latched his lips onto her earlobe, sucking tentatively around the small pearl earrings she wore, burying his nose for the first time in her hair and smelling its soft but unmistakable lavender smell.
He had kissed her enough, and passionately enough, to ensure that he hadn't left her house since then. Whispering softly in her ear, he had confessed that he loved her and she had smiled, drawing her fingers carefully along his face and told him that she loved him too, but neither had spoken about going upstairs together. They had simply done it. Matthew was away from home, staying in Manchester overnight on business, and he knew it made her bolder. He was very grateful for it. The only problem now was going to be somehow bringing himself to move his body away from hers at any point in the future.
Except, he realised, turning over to face her side of the bed, she was already gone. He sat up rather frantically; worry, startlement and a little hurt passing through him all at once. Perhaps she had... thought better of it. Thought better of them. She had said she loved him, but nevertheless... The fact remained that they were not married, and she didn't exactly strike him as the type who frequently brought men to her bed. Perhaps it had been too much, and she had thought better of it only when it was too late, and gone back home. But then, he thought, this was her home.
He sat up hurriedly, picking his shorts up and slipping them back on. He looked for his shirt but couldn't find it. Praying to the Lord above that it was too early for Molesley to be up yet, he stuck his head cautiously around the door into the corridor, trying to find any clue as to where she could be. His enquiries were answered by the sound of running water from behind the door across the corridor. He knocked softly on the door and entered.
He was greeted by the most breath-taking sight of his life. Isobel, her hair spilling over shoulders onto the white creases of the shirt he hadn't been able to find, open and exposing the white skin of her breasts, bending over to run herself a bath. He noted with some pleasure that while she had put his shirt on, she hadn't troubled with any of her undergarments. His shorts suddenly felt unconscionably tight. Hearing him close the door behind himself, she looked up at him, her eyes soft with tenderness, as she turned the tap off.
"You were still asleep," she told him, "I didn't want to wake you up. I was just going to have a bath and then slip back into bed with you."
He took a step closer to her.
"You mean you were going to have a bath without me?" he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
She opened her mouth to answer, but he covered her lips with his own before she could get a word out. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she submitted entirely to their pressure, her arms finding their way to his lower back so she could hold him to her, her breasts pressing delightfully against his chest.
"I thought you had thought better of me, you know," he told her quietly when they broke apart, "When I woke up and you weren't there. I was frightened for a moment."
She looked at him long and hard, compassion, love, unrestrainable care and affection pouring from her eyes.
"Never, Richard," she whispered, softly but distinctly, he knew he did not mistake her words, "I will never think better of you, or regret what happened last night. I have never... never, not like last night."
He smiled at the way she was apparently lost for words. He pressed his lips quickly back to hers, before slipping the shirt from her shoulders.
"I love you," he told her.
"I love you too. Now, would you care to take a bath with me?"
He smiled again at the way that even as she posed the question, her fingers slipped under the waistband of his short to push them down his legs, leaving him with little chance to answer. He wished that he could say that her authoritative nurse tone had no effect on him, but the shivers her low voice, slightly hoarse from excitement, rather contradicted that notion. He was just thinking that he was probably going to be completely incapable of working in the hospital with her ever again after this when she took advantage of the way she had ducked to floor to remove his shorts, and he felt her lips touch softly against his excitement. A quick look in her eyes told him that she had changed her mind about getting straight into the bath. He gasped and shuddered, sinking down to rest against the edge of the bath, his knees failing to support him. Her lips slipped over him and she took him into her mouth, grazing her teeth lightly over him.
"Oh, Isobel..."
The gentleman in him told her that he ought to stop her, but he couldn't quite form the words in his mind, let alone say them out loud. Instead, one of his hands gripped the edge of the bath tightly, the other holding the back of her head as gently as possible. He let her go on for a while, moving her lips softly back and forward over him, before he sensed that resisting the temptation to thrust into her mouth was becoming too much.
"Isobel, stop, I …. Isobel!" he exclaimed loudly, as she brought her hand away from where it rested on his thighs to cup him, massaging him between her thumb and her index finger. He breathed heavily several times, clinging onto his control by the narrowest breadth. Then she swallowed, and he was done for. He could apologise to her later, all he could do now ride out the incredible waves of pleasure she had created for him.
When he finally regained the ability to think, she was still kneeling on the tiled floor, resting her head against his thigh, looking up at him, waiting for him to come back to her. Seeing his eyes return to her, she smiled in her soft way as he helped her to stand, and pulled her to his chest.
"Oh, my Isobel," he whispered, awe-struck, into her ear, "You didn't have to do that, you know."
She did not remove her arms from his neck, speaking back into his ear, her breath ghosting inside it deliciously.
"It's no more than you did for me," she replied.
"You certainly didn't have to..."
"What?" she asked him, leaning back to look at him now, "Swallow? Let you come?" Her boldness rather surprised him but was thrilling at the same time. She noticed the surprise in his face and smiled coyly at him, "In case it escaped your imagination, I rather enjoyed myself too. I felt myself getting-... well, excited."
He let out a groan, none too quietly.
"Oh, Isobel."
She loosened her arms, and stood back.
"We should get in before the water gets cold," she told him.
He thought about saying that her was absolutely no chance of things getting cold with her saying things like that, but she was already stepping into the bath, waiting for him to get in behind her. Leaning against the back of the bath, he drew her close to his chest; the warm water encircling them both and lapping at their skin when they moved. She rested her head and her damp hair beneath his chin and on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, silently, him still in wonder at her, trying to think if he'd ever met a woman quite like her before. He concluded that he probably hadn't.
"Isobel," he spoke finally, having decided to tell her in return what she had effectively already told him, "You are the best I've ever had. I don't just mean sex," he told her, thinking that it was probably his turn to be bold now, hoping he could do so without appearing too forward, "I mean just you, and your kindness, and your intelligence, and your beautiful, beautiful body. I wish I felt worthy of you."
She lay perfectly still, her head leaning back against his shoulder.
"I wish you did too," she finally replied, "Because there is no man on earth worthier than you. As far as I'm concerned, I'm yours, Richard."
Drawing his hands up from her waist to caress her breasts, her kissed her shoulder reverently, whispering the words he seemed to have said over and over again during the past night, but which he still wasn't tired of saying.
"I love you."
"Richard, as much as I'd like you to continue what you're doing to me, I fear we'll shrivel up if we stay in hear much longer. Will you wash my back for me?"
He nodded, letting go of her reluctantly, and she sat forwards to pick up the soap from beside the taps. She passed it to him and he instantly recognised it. It was the special lemon scented soap that he used at home. He had bought her a bar in a specialist shop in Ripon as one of the silly little presents he had bought to get her attention, on the pretence of her trying something new out. He rubbed her back with it, breathing in the heady scent of lemon. She seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was.
"You know, when you brought me that soap I thought you were trying to tell me that you didn't like the way I smell," she told him playfully.
He laughed.
"You smell wonderful," he told her, "Your hair always smells of lavender. And when you... get excited, then you smell even better."
He heard the gasp she tried to hide. Though she could be bold, he liked that he could also take her by surprise. Coating his hands thoroughly in soap, he reached around to touch her breasts again, cupping them in his hands, massaging them, kneading them thoroughly. Her breath quickened, but she did not moan out loud until he took her nipple between his finger and thumb and rolled it gently.
"I wasn't thinking of making you smell differently," he told her, "I was thinking of doing this to you."
"Richard," she whispered between shallow breaths, "Touch me."
His hand slipped to rest of her waist, stroking back and forward slowly.
"Here?"
"Lower."
His hand moved down her parted thighs, nearer the knee than the top.
"Here?"
Her back arched back against him in frustration.
"Richard, please. Touch me."
His hand moved slowly to rest over her centre, covering the damp curls possessively, but still not touching her as he knew she needed. She rolled her hips desperately, trying to find the contact she needed. It was thrilling to tease her like this, but when she took his hand in hers, forced it downwards and pressed his fingers firmly against her folds, the desperate keen she couldn't hold back made him think that it might not be a lot better for him and for her to oblige her with the release she needed. Carefully he slipped two fingers inside of her, moving them gently at first, but the erratic movements of her hips, the moans that grew into cries in the back of her throat compelled her to move faster and harder, until the speed of his fingers matched the bucking of her hips and the heaving of her chest. Her orgasm hit her hard, she stiffened against him, her thighs quivering frantically against his legs before she slumped against him.
By the time she had recovered, the water had finally gone cold. She got up first, bending over slowly and delightfully to reach for the towel, draw into tightly over her back and her breasts then get out of the bath.
They spoke at the same time.
"I'll go and get you a towel from the linen cupboard."
"Marry me."
She stood stock still for a second, her hand resting in her hair where she was drying it with the towel before she turned back to him. She was smiling softly.
End.
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