In which I can not accurately write Regency England. Takes place either after Elizabeth's sojourn at Netherfield or write after the Meryton ball.
"God help us if we stay here over a fortnight." Caroline murmurs over the top of her book, flipping the page tiredly.
"Charles finds the place quite agreeable." Darcy responds dully, not even looking up from his paper.
Caroline scoffs, snapping her book shut. "He finds the eldest Miss Bennet quite agreeable. The rest of the family, however...absolutely dreadful."
"What did you expect?" He answers, obviously annoyed. "Eligible bachelors just ripe for the plucking?"
She hopes he can't see her redden in the darkness of the parlor. She rises with a huff, moving closer to the fire.
"You're just cross, Mr. Darcy, because you have formed a certain...attachment to Miss Elizabeth."
"I have no sort of attachment to Miss Elizabeth Bennet." He replies slowly, and she whirls around quickly, smirking in triumph.
"Do not deny it, sir!"
"You must have a severe fever, or be otherwise ill, to think so, Miss Bingley." His eyes final snap up from his paper, glowing with barely contained emotion (Fury? Embarrassment? Caroline can't quite place it.)
She bites her lip to prevent her smirk from widening as she saunters over to him, placing a hand on the armrest besides him.
"You are a horrible liar, Mr. Darcy."
"You find jealousy everywhere, Miss Bingley, even where there is no sentiment."
"I am not a jealous person." Caroline answers stiffly, hand clenching in the couch fabric. "But really, you could do so much better."
"Like you?" His words pierce the air and they sting because yes, her! She has been right in front of him, in love with him for ages and he barely gives her the time of day.
"You are cruel, Mr. Darcy." She laughs shortly, turning away to take off her gloves and prevent him from seeing the stubborn tears forming in her eyes.
"I have no intentions towards Miss Elizabeth." He sighs, somewhat softer in tone.
"Really, sir?" She purses her lips, moving slowly towards the book case in the corner, letting her fingers brush the spines before turning to face him again. "Then show me."
"You're incorrigible." He huffs, but at least he sets down his paper, giving her his full attention.
"Romeo and Juliet." She reads the names off of the spines. "How apt. Marquis de Sade...I did not know that you were into that sort of thing, Mr. Darcy...Love poems by Wordsworth...tell me, how many have you memorized to recite to her? 'She dwelt among the untrodden ways, besides the springs of Dove; A maid whom there were none to praise -"
"Now you're being foolish." Darcy rises, reaching to grab the book in her hands, but she spins around to lean against the wall, out of his reach.
"And very few to love." She finishes the line, punctuating the end with a small smirk as she looks up at Darcy, who seems thoroughly unamused.
He shuts the book in her hands, and his fingers brush hers as he takes it from her, and she hates how her breath catches for a second.
"Incorrigible. " He repeats lowly, leaning just a tad closer as he puts the book back in its place.
"As incorrigible as Miss Eliza?" She blinks innocently up at him, watches him boil.
"I am not-" His voice raises, and she can barely suppress her smug grin, eyes reminding him that Charles is asleep right upstairs. He unwillingly steps closer, close enough for her to see the flecks of blue and grey swirling together in his eyes, and he hushes to a seething whisper. "I am not interested in Elizabeth Bennet. "
"If you say so, Mr. Darcy." She shrugs nonchalantly, and his eyes narrow in frustration.
She nearly murmurs success aloud when he kisses her.
His hands move from his sides to grasp at her waist, and it's wonderful and tastes like forever, but then his teeth are sinking into her bottom lip, his mouth is hard and dangerous against hers and she's embarrassed at the moan threatening to escape her throat.
"Have you no sense of propriety, Mr. Darcy?" She hisses, reddening as his hands grope at her waist and hips through the fabric of her dress.
"You're no shrinking violet, or prude, Caroline." He's right of course, although she's about to protest for propriety's sake, but she gets caught up by the way he says her name.
"You vulgar, rude man." She murmurs against his lips as he kisses her again, and his laughter sends a chill down her spine. God, she's never been kissed like this before, and it makes her brain blank and he tastes like fine smoke and champagne and his hands are burning through her dress.
"I'm the rude one?" He chuckles darkly against her neck, nipping at the skin and her hands tighten in the fabric of his jacket instinctively. "You are the most snobbish, entitled person I've ever known."
She shoots him a glare, but then his mouth ghosts over her pulse point and she loses any possible comment.
"So improper." She half heartedly complains. "You better not leave a mark - can you imagine what people would say?"
"I'm sure you have enough powder to cover any up." He bites at the delicious space between her neck and her collar, and she whimpers.
"What about Charles?" She asks feebly, and she's only protesting lightly because it is terribly improper but she has wanted this for so long -
"Oblivious." He replies, and she knows it, too.
"Then stop insulting me and kiss me again." She challenges, and he murmurs something that sounds like 'absolutely infuriating', but she doesn't care because his lips are back on hers.
Her hands move from his back to the lapels on his jacket, pulling him closer, and his hands tangle in her hair, yanking it out of its elaborate twist so it falls in messy red waves over her shoulders.
He pulls hard on her hair, and she groans into the kiss, and he mutters something that sounds like an obscenity.
She frantically pushes off his jacket, because somehow this isn't close enough. This isn't the first time she's done this, but this is so different because every other time, it was with men with trembling, nervous hands and she had drank too much champagne, and this is Darcy -
His fingers pry quickly, expertly undoing the buttons on the back of her dress. His vest is off within seconds, and their lips separate just barely so they can work off his shirt.
Her fingernails dig hard into his shoulders when his hands finally come into contact with bare skin. Her dress pools at her feet, and her eyes flutter as he pushes her harder against the wall, hooking her leg around his waist.
His hips are grinding against hers, his hands are crawling over any bare skin he can find, and she can't breathe, it feels like static is flowing off of her skin -
"Caroline," He groans against her skin and she's elated. His hands toy with the garters of her stockings, ghost further up her thighs and she can't ignore the rush of heat between her legs.
As usual, Darcy seems to know exactly what she's thinking, because he smirks at her current predicament.
"Touch me." She orders, but her voice shakes because it suddenly occurred to her that she has really no idea what she's doing.
Her confidence rises, though, when he pulls apart her chemise and his hands immediately go to palm her breasts through her corset.
Her head falls back against the wall, back arches and moans when his teeth sink into the swell of her breast, and she scratches his back so hard she's half worried she's drawn blood.
"Mr. Darcy -" She half gasps when his hand moves up the inside of her thigh, mere centimeters from - she blushes furiously at the thought.
"Christ, we've known each other for three years, Caroline - the least you can do is call me Fitzwilliam." He mutters, moving his lips back up to her collarbone.
His touch is different, now. His fingers feel the whalebone of her stays, drift slowly down the lacing in the back. His hands are no longer harsh and bruising; rough palms are taking their time exploring her skin. Instead of biting at her throat, leaving marks, he presses a hot kiss to her clavicle that is enough to make her melt into him with a moan.
He's probably thinking about Elizabeth Bennet.
The thought comes to her unwillingly, but it hardens something in her immediately, leaves her hands shaking against Darcy and fury bubbling under her skin.
She is giving herself to him wholeheartedly, but no doubt he was imagining the bucolic bumpkin - dark hair instead of red, hazel eyes instead of green, a thinner frame instead of her own slim, curvy one. He wanted to be with someone who didn't even love him and -
And suddenly she doesn't need soft hands crawling all over her. No, she will not be his simpering money grubber for him.
So she uses the leverage against him to wrap her other leg around his waist, heels digging into his hips to push roughly against her. She grabs hard at his hair, pulling him from her neck back to her lips.
This time, the kiss is a clash of teeth and tongue, her lips practically bruising his. He pauses, obviously taken by surprise, and she takes this opportunity to pull urgently at the laces of his breeches, pushing them down as quickly as she can.
Finally this seems to set Darcy in motion, because one hand comes around to grab her butt while the other makes quick work of her undergarments.
He glances up at her, seemingly to make sure if she's alright, but she practically takes him into her herself, because slow and soft is no longer an option.
They both sigh in unison when he enters her, just briefly sinking into each other, foreheads resting together. She really hates how marvelous it feels, wishes that she could hate the feeling of him so she could cast off her affections forever.
She bucks her hips to meet his, meeting him thrust for thrust and urging him faster, hands running all over him, nails scratching and marking him as hers. He gasps something that sounds like 'fuck, Caroline' against her lips.
She wants to scream at him, ask 'would Elizabeth Bennet fuck you like this?'. She wants him to worship her, burn at her feet and love her like she loves him.
She can feel a flush creeping over her skin, heat pooling in her stomach, and she can't help but whimper his name desperately when she comes, him following moments after with a groan.
For a few long minutes, they stay there, catching their breaths. When the stars dancing in her vision finally fade, tears prick in her eyes because his breath in her ear, fingers tracing patterns over skin, is wonderful and it could be like this forever if he just loved her.
He helps her back down to her feet in silence, her knees shaking. As she carefully begins to redress, she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror - her hair is a wreck, and dark bruises are blooming over her neck and clavicle, and she lets out a disgruntled sigh, briefly wondering how to explain this to her maid.
Darcy appears behind her in the mirror, his jacket slightly crinkled and his hair standing up in all directions. She's tempted to turn to him and run her fingers through it and fix it herself, but the thought just makes her melancholic.
He looks just as awkward as he no doubt feels, and as he steps towards the door to leave she stops him.
"I just -"
He stills abruptly before slowly turning to face her. She knows she is blushing like mad but she can not lose him, not again.
"You do not have to be so cruel." Her voice is a whisper, yet it echoes in the room, reverberating off the walls when he steps closer to her, until he is merely six inches in front of her - the mere presence of him makes her catch her breath.
"I know you do not...love me." Her voice shamelessly cracks on the word 'love' and she fixes her eyes on his shoulders because she can't even look at her any more. "But you do not have to be so harsh in your sentiments." Her voice is raspy, thick with barely concealed tears and she can't believe how much of a full she's making herself out to be.
The silence is awful, and she closes her eyes in abject defeat, waiting for him to just leave her to her shame.
To her surprise, he closes the space between them, hands resting on the side of her face. Her eyes pop open in shock, and she sharply inhales at the closeness of him.
When he kisses her this time, warmth curls all the way to her toes at the taste of him. Her stomach flutters, and she has the sudden urge to throw herself into his arms, hold on to him like the last hope she knows he is.
When he pulls away, she instinctively leans in to kiss him again, but then her eyes flick back open in realization that he, in fact, pulled away.
"Goodnight, Caroline." He murmurs, eyes searching her face and she can't quite read the emotion in them. He takes two long steps backwards, analyzing her carefully, before exiting the parlor.
She stands there a few long moments, hazy and confused and really, a muddle of emotions. With a sigh, she starts her ascent upstairs, ready to waste another night crying over Fitzwilliam Darcy.