The servants sat around the table, enjoying the evening meal that Mrs Patmore had prepared for them. It wasn't as glamorous as what those upstairs were eating but the cook always put an equal amount of effort in. She lived to please the tastebuds. The butler lived to please those he worked for. He was always professional, always honourable. That was how he appeared. When alone in his room, his personal mind took over the professional. He gave way to thoughts of one thing he most desired: pleasure. Releasing the sudden tightness of his trousers, he'd remember the way her delicate but strong hands enveloped something as simple as her cutlery each mealtime, imagining how they would feel enveloping him as he touched himself. In the morning he would return to Mr Carson, the butler, but come nightfall he would once again succumb to the thought of her and become a man simply full of want and desire.
Only the walls of Downton knew of his routine, absorbing his low moans, never letting a sound of his release reach the ears of another soul. It had become such a routine that he had come to know of nothing else he could do as he slipped between his sheets each night. He supposed it had ended up being a comfort to his lonely life in service.
When he'd taken ill, she'd brought him his medicine and a book and stayed with him for a short while, telling him to rest. It had the opposite effect on him. As soon as she had left the room, he let out a groan. She had been in his room. One step closer to one of his many fantasies becoming reality. He untied his pyjamas and slid them down his legs, sighing as he laid his head back on his pillow and closed his hand around himself.
When she had reached the end of the corridor, she realised that she had left her book with his, accidentally, on the table next to his bed and turned back to get it. She reached his door and reconsidered entering his room again as she did not wish to disturb him but when she heard the low groan escape his lips, she instantly thought he was in pain and wished to help him in any way that she could.
She watched him, open-mouthed. Her breaths became shorter and shorter. Her skin became hotter and hotter. He could not know that she had found him this way. She quickly escaped to the confines of her own room to perform her own routine. Images of him writhing under his own touch flooding her mind. The sound of his moans filling her ears. One step closer to one of her many fantasies becoming reality.
Months went by but not one night did she cease to remember the evening that she saw him. She longed to go to him in the middle of the night. She longed to share their desires. But he wouldn't want her. At least, that's what she thought. Never would she have believed that when pleasing himself, he also hungered to please her. My, had she imagined it but no, she'd never believe it to be true.
She waited for him in her sitting room. She knew that there was wine left over from the family's dinner and that he'd offer to share it with her. She never refused and she never would. The short time they spent together in the evening was her favorite part of her long days. They were the times that reminded her that she was not just Mrs Hughes, a housekeeper, but Elsie Hughes, a close friend and confident. No matter how hard she wished to be more.
She hadn't been waiting long before someone placed a soft but strong knock on the door. She answered it with a smile and Mr Carson took his usual seat, placing the wine on the table. She took their wine glasses from the shelf and leaned over him to place them on the table. He gasped at the sudden feel of her pressed against him. When she moved away, he let out a low groan. The very same low groan that she had heard all those months ago.
"Are you in pain, Mr Carson?" She asked although she already knew the answer.
He cleared his throat, "No, not pain, Mrs Hughes."
The air around her suddenly became very thin and she found it hard to breathe. She managed to say, "Stand up, Mr Carson,"
He started to protest but she interrupted, "I said, stand up."
He cleared his throat once more and slowly rose from his chair. Her gaze lowered to the sizable bulge in his trousers. She walked in the direction of the door.
"Mrs Hughes, I-" He tried to apologise but her actions stunned him into silence.
She wasn't going anywhere. When she had locked the door, she leaned against it and closed her eyes. She slowly trailed her right hand down her body and under her dress, placing pressure to her centre. She sighed and bit her lip, never opening her eyes.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Was this another of his dreams? Her moan answered that question. She was real. As real as his love for her. He needed to sit down. If he didn't, he felt he would simply collapse. However, sitting down would prove to be uncomfortable with his trousers on so, although full of uncertainty, undid them. With another moan escaping her lips and the sight of her head thrown back against the door, his hands instantly started building his own pleasure. As he neared his release, after a series of low groans and grunts, he whispered one word, "Elsie."
He looked up at her and saw her watching him, her eyes full of desire. He had said her name. Her name. Another gasp from her and he was in front of her, his lips pressed hard against hers. She reached her own release and found nothing else to say, before returning to his kiss, but, "Oh, Charles".
Come sunrise, they would return to Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes but come nightfall, they would be always be Charles and Elsie.