A/N: This is just for fun, something I intend to be read alongside "Managing Love". It's a peek into Charles and Elsie's married life together. I can't really call it a sequel; if you read all of my earlier story, you'll understand why. This first bit is longer than I intend each chapter to be.

And ahem, I'm rating this M from the get-go because the characters won't behave themselves. Seriously. These goobers are going to kill me. This is M for a reason. You all love the smut from time to time, I know you do.

I took a scene from the movie The Right Stuff as inspiration for the first scene. And the song is "Layla" by Eric Clapton. As before, I do not own Downton Abbey.

Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends! Travel safe!

I love you all.

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June 2016

Robert laughed, falling sideways. Charles caught his arm at the last moment. He raised an eyebrow at Cora, but she just laughed at her husband. Charles didn't think it was the heat in the room that caused her face to flush red.

"Don't worry, I'll get them home all right!"

He glanced at Tom, who flicked a finger against his water glass. The young man had to yell over the noise of the jukebox and loud conversation.

"I've only had one drink, Mr. Carson. I knew I'd have to drive myself home, and most likely other people as well. I don't mind!" He grinned.

"What about Mary and Matthew?" Charles bellowed. He hadn't seen them for a while, and worried about them driving. Neither one of them were in any shape to operate a vehicle.

"Phyllis and Joe took care of them." Tom laughed. "Phil texted me, said she had to throw Mary's shoes and tights onto the front lawn after her. Later, they found Matthew's belt and tie in the backseat."

The Charles Carson from three years previously would have been appalled. And embarrassed. But that man had changed considerably.

And of course, he was married himself now. He could only imagine how he'd behave if he were parted from his love for a week, much less months.

He laughed out loud, reminding himself to get details from Phyllis on Monday.

The firm had gathered at Pedro's for a homecoming celebration for Matthew. Nearly everyone had come, filling the place up. Not that the bar needed more business. Especially not on a summer Friday night. It was bursting at the seams, even with the back patio.

The evening had begun sedately enough. Charles's goddaughter was beyond happy to see her husband after so many months. Her family and friends had shared in her joy. The managing partner was elated to have the young man back as well, and not just for Mary's sake. Ever since he'd thought about retirement, he knew having a stable team in place would be essential.

And he had missed Matthew, too.

"Carson, why don't you join us for another glass?" Robert slurred, put an arm around Cora. He squeezed her bottom cheekily. She swatted his arm feebly, but anyone could tell she didn't mean it. Charles fought to keep a straight face.

"No, thank you. I think I've had enough for the evening." He exchanged another smile with Tom before pushing his way through the crowd on the dance floor. The sight of his long-time partner with his wife reminded him of his own.

Tara, the bartender, chatted with a customer. The seat at the corner of the bar was taken by a ravishing woman with flowing grey and auburn locks. Her engagement ring and the white gold ring with it glinted on her left hand. He could see her voluptuous cleavage as she laughed, her chest rising and falling. He swallowed. Concentrating, he tried to subdue his growing arousal.

He sat down in the seat next to her.

"Now why would a beautiful woman like you be sitting here by herself?" he rumbled. "Your husband must be an old fool."

She continued looking straight ahead. "He's an old curmudgeon," she said, playing with her hair, her voice smoky. She sipped her vodka on the rocks.

"He sounds ghastly," he ran his finger along the bar, leaning towards her. She shivered.

He smiled.

"Sometimes," she played with her glass, "sometimes he's away and I go home to an empty house. Like tonight. Usually my wee furry one will greet me, but friends of mine are dog-sitting her. So there'll be no one there-"

"No one to welcome you," he finished, shifting in his seat to face her, "what would happen if you were detained on the way home? No one would know."

She smirked, squeezing her breasts together. "No one could stop me. I've never met a man who could."

"I could stop you. I'm faster than I seem," he breathed, the timbre of his voice low. He saw her glance at his undone buttons, his tie dangling around his neck. The silver hair visible on his collarbone. Her breath hitched. She shook her head, fighting a smile.

"Never," she said with conviction, her lilt lingering on the r. "You'd never stop me." She finished her drink, leaving money on the bar. Before she left her chair, she turned to him again. "Speed isn't everything," she purred. "I prefer a…slower pace." She left, a seductive sway in the cadence of her walk.

His trousers were uncomfortably tight. He thought he'd wait a few minutes. Give her a head start.

A blonde thirtysomething woman on his other side was openly leering at him. When he got up a couple of minutes later, she put a hand on his arm.

"I don't mind a little speed," she smiled, flicking her hair over her shoulder. He politely shook her off and walked steadily out the door. Tara snorted with laughter.

"Honey," she said to the woman, "forget it. She's his wife."

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The house was dark when he got there. He grinned, hurrying inside. Perfect. I'll have to thank Thomas for telling me about that shortcut.

He had also flagrantly violated the speed limit.

You really have changed.

She's changed you.

Lighting a few candles, he then went to the record player. Finding what he was looking for, he slipped the record out of its case and set the needle on it.

The lights of a car flashed in the window. He went to the front door, opened it, and strode out onto the sidewalk.

Elsie made sure her lights were shut off. It would not be good if I had a dead battery in the morning. When she had pulled into the driveway, she wasn't sure if she had seen light inside, or if it was just a reflection from the streetlight.

She sauntered around the garage, putting her keys in her purse. She stopped dead at the sight in front of her.

Him, backlit against the open door. Open collar, hands in his pockets. Ruffled hair. Bare feet.

She bit her lip to keep back a moan. Heat pooled between her legs. It isn't fair that he looks that good. If we were thirty years younger, he could take me in the front yard. Or anywhere, for that matter.

But she kept her composure.

"Well," she said, stepping towards him, "I'll give you credit. You made it here in time to welcome me."

"Indeed." His voice could melt a rock. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. "I still can't believe your husband would risk you being taken before you'd reached your front door."

She stepped to the right to go around him. He moved, blocking her way. She then went to the left with the same result.

"You see," he whispered, his breath on her face, "I told you I'd stop you from getting home."

"My husband will be quite upset," she murmured, watching his eyes flicker from hers to her lips, then lower down her body. She pressed her fingernails into her palms to keep from touching him. He hadn't removed his hands from his pockets.

"What did you call him? An old curmudgeon?" A hint of a smile played on his lips. "It sounds like you've gone off him."

"Not a bit," she whispered. "You see, he's my curmudgeon, and that makes all the difference."

"Does it?" He leaned closer.

"Yes." She raised an eyebrow, trembling, on fire with the torment of wanting to touch him while also wanting this exquisite teasing to continue. "Yes, it does."

"He is a lucky man, your husband," he whispered, licking his lips.

Her breath hitched. "I am a lucky wife."

Behind them, through the open door, the strains of a song wafted from the record player.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running and hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Layla

Got me on my knees, Layla

Beggin', darling, please Layla

Darlin', won't you ease my worried mind?

She stepped forward again, so close the rise and fall of his chest moved his shirt against her face.

He stepped back.

She stepped forward.

He continued walking backwards, with only a short glance at the stairs. She dropped her purse as soon as she stepped over the threshold. She turned and closed the heavy front door, clicking it into place.

She locked it.

When she turned around again, he was right against her, breathing hard. His eyes smoldered.

Her own breath came out in short bursts.

He bent his head down as she looked up. She opened her mouth, finally, finally, feeling his soft mouth on hers. She reached up and put her hands on the back of his neck, drawing him even closer. He murmured wordlessly, his hands sliding down from her face, to her bare shoulders (she had left her cardigan in the car), down to her waist.

She made to move forward, but he anticipated her. He propelled her backwards against the door.

She gasped at the feel of the firm oak behind her and the solid man in front. His erection strained against his trousers, through the fabric of her dress.

His lips left hers, traveling across her cheek and down her neck.

Make the best of the situation

Before I finally go insane.

Please don't say I'll never find a way

And tell me all my love's in vain

Layla…

She writhed against him, trying to move. But the only movement she could make increased the friction. He let out a gasp, his teeth grazing a mark on her shoulder.

"Elsie…" he whispered against her frenetic panting, "we can't stay here. I…we…have to…have to stop."

Or I'll come right here. Which won't make me, or you, happy.

Definitely not you.

"No," she growled, linking her hands together behind his neck. In the back of her mind, she knew he was right. Her feet hurt, and if they ended on the floor, they would be sore for days.

At times like these, he wished desperately they were younger, more limber. Then there would be nothing stopping them from the floor, the kitchen table…

The summer before, in the city office, they had had a mind-blowing session against her office door. But he had pulled a muscle in his back that he didn't notice until the next day. It took him weeks to recover.

With extreme reluctance, he untangled himself from her, pausing only to take her hand. She held it while undoing one shoe, then the other. She flung them unceremoniously onto the couch, then blew out the candles. He pulled her across the room to switch off the record player.

They half-walked, half-stumbled down the hallway. He paused every few steps to kiss her hand, lick her wrist, and suck her fingers.

She let out a sound between a whimper and a cat, and yanked him into their bedroom.

"Kiss me," she demanded, undoing the buttons on his shirt, her hands flying. "A ghraidh, touch me, kiss me, please…"

He pulled her flush against him, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. One hand slid down her back and cupped her bottom. She moaned. The other traced the side of her face before wandering lower, down her side.

They staggered across the room until she felt the smooth comforter brush against her legs. She fell backwards onto the bed as he shrugged out of his open shirt. Without stopping to remove any other clothing, he sank on top of her.

His breath was hot against her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat. She raised her legs to wrap around him, but he pushed her knees down. He nipped and sucked the top of her breasts until she cried out. Her hands were buried in his hair.

"Touch me, Charlie," she whispered. He rose up a little, pinning her beneath him with his legs. He held her eyes as he slid his hands under her lavender dress. The fabric bunched up. He gasped when his fingers found her underwear, the material soaked through.

"God, Els," he panted, kissing her knee. She squeezed her fingers around his, imploring him on. Pulling her underwear off, he tossed it over his shoulder. He gently pressed his fingers into her folds. Touching. Searching.

Slowly.

She arched her back, rocking against his hand. "More, Charlie…faster….God, faster…"

"What happened," he swirled his tongue against the inside of her thigh, "to 'speed isn't everything'?"

She hissed at him. "Oooh, you little shit! You-" Her breath faltered when he found her nub. "Mmmm, yes, there…just there,-oh-oh-oh God-" Her hands splayed above her head, her fingers twisted into her hair.

He couldn't hold back anymore. Somehow, he managed to unbuckle and remove his belt one-handed, throwing it on the floor. He unzipped his trousers with a groan and shoved them down, along with his shorts. His clothing bunched around his knees, but there was no time to remove them.

Rocking against him, she untwisted one of her hands from her hair and reached down to touch herself. Her intention was thwarted when instead her fingers caressed his hot, hard manhood gliding into her wet warmth. She moaned at the sensation of him inside her, between her legs. His clump of hair brushing the soft skin of her abdomen.

He pulled out slowly, then thrust again. She looked up and saw his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together.

"Come to me, a ghraidh, husband," she called. At the sound of her voice his mouth fell open in a yell. He poured into her, thrusting deep, then shallow, then deep again. His heart erupted in joy when she came with him, her high-pitched wails echoing in the room. She rolled against him with every thrust.

You, my wife, my dearest love, my friend, my soul, are everything to me. This fire, this love we share is part of us, here, hidden in our home.

You, a ghraidh, my husband, my darling, my confidant, are the very breath in my body. This passion, this dance between us, is ours to keep secret within these walls.

He roared, her body contracting around him. She sang his name. The walls of her sex shrank and expanded, increasing their shared pleasure. She clutched at his arms, her nails digging into the flesh. He bent over, nipping and marking the soft skin on her neck.

Raising himself on his shaking arms, he pulled out until only the tip of him rested inside her entrance. Her hips pushed forward, drawing him in again. She keened at the resistance. Touching where they were joined, her heart skyrocketed with the intense pleasure. He slammed into her with uncontrollable movements.

They could not get close enough.

She loved hearing the thunder of his voice, his gasps. His wordless shouts. With one last, hard thrust, he finished with a loud cry before resting his head against hers. A sheen of sweat lay on both of them as they kissed.

"I love you, Elsie," he murmured against her lips. "I am an old curmudgeon, but God in heaven, woman, I love you. The things you do to me-"

"Hush, Charles," she held his face between her hands, kissing him deeply. "My lovely man, my curmudgeon-" she raked her fingers through his hair, "-I love you, I love your voice, your touch-"

Their words were lost in the space between their lips.

He wanted to continue for longer, continue their pleasure. But his body betrayed him.

"Sorry," he gasped as he softened. He withdrew from her and laid on his side. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. "I couldn't hold on."

She wiggled closer to him, touching the now-pliable skin gently. Some of his seed spilled onto her fingers. She rubbed them together and brought them to her lips. She kissed them, tasting him. "Never apologize," she whispered. She kissed his cheek softly.

He smiled, his thumb caressing the side of her face. She looked down and giggled.

"Oh dear, let's get you more comfortable, shall we?" She sat up and pulled off his trousers and shorts, tossing them on the floor. He sat up with a grunt and removed his undershirt. She ran her hand on his bare chest, over glistening skin. He reached for her.

"You can't be comfortable, still wearing that," he said, turning her so he could unzip her dress. She slid it down her body and kicked it off the bed, laughing. She undid her bra and flung it away, not looking to see where it landed.

"No," she agreed. "But sometimes speed takes over." She playfully slapped his thigh.

They pulled the comforter down and climbed underneath the covers. He held her against him. Kissing her neck, he stroked her breasts. He massaged a nipple between his fingers delicately.

"Mmmm," she murmured before stifling a yawn. "Darling, you're not the only one apologizing. I'd love to go on, but it's been a long week-"

"And you're tired," he kissed her forehead, his own eyelids drooping. "So am I. Time for sleep." He kissed her nose. "Sleep well, Mrs. Carson."

"Pleasant dreams, sweet intruder," she whispered. "Next week, it's my turn to seduce you."

"I look forward to it," he murmured, already half-asleep.

Within moments they were both out.

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He woke up around 3:30 and switched off the light. He groaned as he stretched himself next to his wife again, wrapping an arm around her, careful not to wake her.

I'm going to have to take some aspirin later.

It was all worth it.

He was stiff, a foul taste in his mouth when he woke again. 10:30. Jimmy and Thomas weren't bringing Pepper back until the afternoon. Which was a good thing.

He let out a breath when he got out of bed. He shuffled to the dresser and pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He laughed quietly at the figure in bed. Her mouth was open, drool on her pillow. She was snoring.

She did have more to drink last night.

He took some aspirin, making sure to leave the bottle on the kitchen counter. Opening the fridge, he thought about eggs, but decided against it. He started the coffee, then put the kettle on for Elsie's tea.

Hearing an audible groan from the bedroom, he went down the hall. He poked his head into the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, her head between her hands.

"Els?"

"Hmmm?"

"Kettle's on. Would you like toast?"

"Uh….yes please," she said, blinking heavily. "Dry."

"Anything else?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," she said, her voice thick. She gingerly stood up and opened a drawer, fishing out a pair of underwear. She turned, looking around the room before squinting at him. "Where's my bra?"

"Um." He opened the door wider. Searching the floor, he found her dress, yesterday's underwear, his shirt, trousers and undershirt…

He looked up, befuddled, before bursting into laughter. She winced.

"Not so loud, Charlie-"

"Up there." He pointed.

Her bra dangled from the ceiling fan.