A/N: Hey guys, Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah and all that! It's boxing day in Australia, which gave me an extra bit of time to try and finish this. I've tried some new things with this, the most obvious (to me) is that I'm switching third-person limited between our two characters (hopefully smoothly). I know it's short and a bit different to how I'd normally write smut, but I really hope you all will enjoy it. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

Be Still

Sinking deeper into the plush cushions of the lounge chair, Elizabeth smiled behind her glass of whisky. She watched from her position as Stevie and Alison discussed the particulars of a decoration that belonged on the on the Christmas tree. "See, the vertical lines of the lights make the tree appear taller. Just like patterns on a dress! You wouldn't wear horizontal lines for obvious reasons." Ali concluded with confidence. Stevie, however, was not convinced, and apparently preferred the more traditional arrangement of lights and tinsel that wrapped around the circumference of the thick pine tree. She couldn't work out why, on Christmas eve, they were still considering the decoration, given that the tree had been up for over two weeks. But still, she enjoyed the presence of her daughters having a seemingly civil discussion for a time. The smell of fresh pine leaves filled her nose pleasantly, mingling with the oaky taste of alcohol on her breath. Swirling the amber liquid and enjoying the way it glittered against the fairy lights, she wondered when Henry would be home.

"Mom, is Dad going to be home soon?" Stevie broke her thoughts, startling her and momentarily wondering if their daughter could read her mind. She flushed a little and hoped not.

"Soon, baby. But it's getting pretty late. Why don't you and Ali go up to bed?"

Stevie nodded, moving to give her mother a quick embrace. "Yeah I'm pretty tired. Night." Alison followed suit, kissing her mother goodnight and following her older sister up the stairs. She wondered when their children had become so willing to embrace the suggestion of sleep, not that she was complaining.

The house was suddenly quiet, but dimmed and warm with the glow of decorative lights and the kitchen. She poured the remainder of her drink down her throat, enjoying the full feeling as it warmed her belly. She knew exactly when her husband would be home, for she had plans for him. Elizabeth felt a pang of nervousness in her stomach as she thought about what she wanted to do. Henry always took care of her, in many more ways than physical, though he definitely set the unmatched standard in that department. It was also the first night that he'd had to work the 24th, usually having the day to themselves. With her Dutch-courage sufficiently topped up, she quickly checked the time and made for the bedroom.

Turning to and fro in front of the mirror, she watched herself in the thin, silky slip. It was bright red with a plunging neckline that almost met her breast-bone. The neck was lined with a retrospectively slightly ridiculous white faux fur, which clearly cemented its relation to the season. Running her hands tentatively town the smooth satin, the fabric stopped just below the apex of her thighs. She steeled herself. You can do this. Puckering her lips, she inspected the rich, matte red lipstick that she'd done an expert job in applying. Oh yeah, I can do this.

Tapping her nails absently against the armrest of the chair, she listened intently to the quiet sounds of Henry ascending the stairs. Her heart drummed rapidly, and she swore it was audible in the stillness of the room. She'd left a dim light on, indicating to him that she was still awake. As he pushed the door open gently, she suddenly went still, holding a full breath and awaiting his attention.

"Hey babe, sorry I'm so late," he said, moving towards the wardrobe and starting on the buttons of his cotton drill. "We had a development with the asset, and I just had to follow it—" the words died in his throat as he turned, finally seeing her for the first time since arriving home.

The beat of her heart thrummed loudly in her ears, and she hadn't heard a word of what he'd said. His jaw hung open as he took her in, and she struggled to maintain her composure as his eyes so obviously raked her appearance – a slow, languorous journey that begun with her eyes, and lingered at the space above her navel. She adjusted her legs, swinging one lean knee over the other and revealing the dangerously tall stilettos that garnished her feet. Keeping her eyes low, she hoped he couldn't see the way her hands trembled. The noticeable constriction of space in his trousers gave her the gumption she needed. Standing up tall, she sauntered over to her husband, sashaying her hips and holding his shocked stare.

"Merry Christmas, baby." She whispered against his lips, letting the hand on his chest loosen his tie on its journey towards his belly. With a softness that betrayed her anxiety, she drew her tongue across his bottom lip before indulging him in a sweet kiss, immediately rewarded a sound quite like a growl, the vibration reaching her fingertips as they slid lower.

"What is this?" He enquired with a smirk, tracing the slippery silk with his fingers. He moved to pull her in for another kiss, but she broke away, putting a little room between them.

"I've got a confession, Henry." She started sweetly.

He grinned again, quickly catching on. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Oh my god. Come on, Adams, you can do this. "I've been a very bad girl." skilled fingers pushed the shirt from his shoulders, and she raked her nails through the fine dusting of hair on his chest.

"Oh?" He rasped, trying to control his breathing, hands resting quietly on her waist.

"I've been very lonely today. I was thinking about you all day. Thinking about your voice, your lips…" she leaned in closer to whisper something that made him flush to the tips of his ears. "I just couldn't stop myself, baby." Turning them, she pushed him back to sit in the chair she'd previously occupied, enjoying the bewildered expression on his face.

Before he could respond, she dropped to her knees before him, glancing up through heavy, hooded eyes. Her hands shook a little as she made quick of his fly, and he wriggled his hips in aid of the removal. Elizabeth didn't consider herself a seductress per-se, but one thing was certain, that she knew her husbands personal brand by heart.

His own heart raced as she lowered her head before him, the ends of her loose hair tickled the sensitive flesh of his exposed thighs. Everything was suddenly swimmingly warm and pleasant, yet hot as the sun. Flashes of golden hair danced in his view and tangled between his fingertips. Her gentle movements wafting the familiar scent of her perfume - daintily floral, with a hint of coconut. What was it called? oh god. The swell of her breasts rest comfortably between soft white tufts of synthetic fur. Henry wanted to strip her and bury himself there, suckle at her chest and then dissolve into her body infinitely. Eyes as sharp as blue steel, she stared through him, piercing through the soft, malleable hazel of his own. His mind a strangled mess of ideas, unable to form a coherent string under her inexorable power - blood red lips. red. soft, firm, securely around… And then she stopped.

"What are you doing?!" He panted, sucking in shallow bursts of air and struggling to focus on the red seductress before him. She grinned wickedly, but her neck was flushed and nipples stood clearly through the sheer fabric. Ignoring his question, she crawled into his lap and balanced her cool palms against his damp, warm chest.

"When you're not here, sometimes I find myself… wanting." She uttered the last word, the gravelly harshness betraying her confidence - she'd been drinking, that, and her taste of course gave her away. The ache between his legs redoubled. "When you're not here, Henry, I have to…" She paused, swallowing thickly and slipping her hand under the gown. "take things into my own hands."

His mouth was dry from hanging wide open, and he swallowed air in a quick gulp. Oh god. "Show me." He said in a clipped tone. "Show me how you touch yourself." He covered the hand that rest upon his heart and guided it to her stray hand disappeared between her thighs, and she whimpered quietly. He was silent for a long time, his eyes never leaving her body, tracing the small, incremental undulations of her body against her willing hand. His own need was forgotten temporarily. "You're so beautiful." He whispered.

Heat radiated from her skin and warmed his, cool against the still night. Her voice shook, giving away her collected demeanour. "I imagine it's… y-you. When I… When I'm…"

He tugged backwards on the golden silk between his fingers, pulling her head back and exposing her elegant neck, making the tendons stand and the drop of sweat roll down her pink skin. She made a sound like a grunt, and he found a similar noise escaping himself. "But it's not me, is it." He hissed, leaning forward to touch his mouth to the point of her neck where her pulse raced.

"No…" She said, barely above a whisper.

The pressure built unrelentingly inside of Henry, continuing to expand yet never equalising. A single drop of moisture landed between his legs, and the air cracked. He gripped her wrists, pinning them to the armrests beside him, and she yelped helplessly. "Touching what's mine when I'm not here? You're right, you have been…" He stood suddenly, lifting her effortlessly and slamming her into the wall beside them.

The sudden jarring sent a tremor through her taught muscles, and she arched tightly against him with a guttural sound. She heard herself begging, but not the words spoken. Warmth pressed between her spread thighs and parted her sensitive tissues, slippery and engorged with need. A half sob escaped her before he silenced it with his kiss. A groping hand captured her breast and squeezed it painfully, and the harshness of his movements left her clinging for an anchor. She'd needed him for a time, and the solid fullness between her was more than enough to fulfil the basal desire. She asked for it harder and he did. He pushed her to the brink, barely aware that the sounds tearing through her could both be pain or ecstasy. He knew which, though. When she convulsed and fell heavy in his arms, he pulled her heaving form away. She felt the plush softness of the bed beneath her as she panted for sanity.

She was dimly aware of the touch of lips against her flushed skin. Henry was whispering and placing marks were he pleased. She didn't need the light to know that he was still primed for more. "Now that you're tamed," He chuckled, sucking at the spot just below her navel beneath red satin. "I can properly make love to you." Drawing the fabric up and over her shoulders, he then pressed her down into the bed.

This time, the invasion was gentle, and someone whimpered into the stillness. He kissed her again, tasting her properly with a precise languorousness that was being repeated lower. His body slid effortlessly against hers, slowly kindling the embers in the pit of her stomach. She cried out again, and the flutter of her body finally pulled him under, and he sobbed her name into the dark.

"Merry Christmas, Henry." She whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead in surrender.

"Merry Christmas, my love."