A/N: Sometimes you get an idea and you think: I'll sit on it for a bit and then write it out and it will be forking brilliant.
I never turns out that way. But I do want to share this with you and I hope you will forgive me for it. At least it will have smut. Because I can't write anything without smut anymore. It is the follow up (sequel?) to 'Growth', so if you haven't read it yet (and you are of age), you might want to read that first, but this story can be read as stand alone. Do I need to give an AU warning? Oh. Okay: AU Warning!
Sometimes at night they lose each other. When she wakes up, she searches for him. Sometimes he isn't there, she strains her ears, listens to the sounds of the cottage. A tap running. A door closing. When there is no sound, she checks his bedside table to see if his watch is there, his cufflinks. His reading glasses.
She isn't afraid he will leave her.
She just prefers it when he is there beside her. His leg pressed against hers, her hand in the soft curls on his chest. His hand on her hip. Slowly sliding upward, caressing the underside of her breast. Nuzzling his neck, her fingers sliding over his stubble. When they get up, she watches him shave. It's his ritual and she marvels how he never hurts himself. How the roughness makes place for coolness and smoothness.
She doesn't often wear a nightgown anymore. The bed is big, he is so warm beside her and she wants to feel all of him, but she is wearing one now. There are iceflowers on the window, she can see her breath in the room. They have been married for a while now. The first flush has passed, they have settled into a routine, they opt for comfort instead of excitement.
"Charles?" She calls out, she doesn't want to get up. She has stuck her toe out of the bed and had pulled it back quickly, afraid her big toe might freeze off. She is not getting out of bed unless someone gives her a very, very good reason.
"Charles?"
"Yes?"
"Where are you?" She pulls the covers around her some more, cuddles up.
"In the kitchen."
"Are you coming back up? It is frightfully cold!"
She hears his hesitating footsteps on the stairs. The door opens and she pushes herself up on her elbows. He is wearing his robe, his hair is still ruffled from sleep and he is carrying a tray.
"What are you doing?" She scrambles up and shivers. Charles puts the tray on the bed and picks up her cardigan from the chair and hands it to her. She pulls it around her and opens the covers so Charles can slip in.
There is tea and toast and jam on a saucer. "This is lovely, you shouldn't have. Is there something special today?" She butters a piece of toast and hands it to him.
"You don't remember? I am mortally wounded." He takes a big bite and winks at her.
She pours herself a cup of tea and tries to remember what he means. "I don't know. It must have been so cold back then too... was it?"
"It was. There was snow on the ground and a hailstorm was happening at the exact moment." He sips more tea. She touches his cheek. He has already shaven.
"The day I came to Downton?" She puts down her cup, takes his, puts the tray on the floor. "It is lovely of you to remember. But that wasn't today. It's next week."
"Is it?" He gathers her in his arms, tucks the covers in around them. Her head is on his chest, the rumbles of his heart, his even breathing, it all soothes her. The weeze that had started a few years back in the servants' quarters is all gone.
"Hmm..." She tries to find her spot, wiggles about a bit, his grip gets a little tighter.
"Stop fidgeting."
"I can't find my..." His lips come crashing down on hers and he pushes her back in her own pillow.
"You stay there then." He gets back to his own side of the bed. She sniggers, knows how annoyed he gets when she wiggles about a lot. To make up for it, she lets her hand run towards him, touches his stomach, covered by his pyjamas. Turns to her side, presses the palm of her hand to the valley between his navel and his pyjama waistband. She can feel his strong muscles contract as he rolls over on his side and faces her.
"What are you doing?" He asks, his eyes twinkle.
"Nothing..." She feigns innocence. They both know what she is doing. His hand reaches for the hem of her nightgown, raises it as he slides his fingers over her calf, the inside of her knee, the back of her thigh. He cups her bottom on one side, his hand solid against the soft, firm flesh of her buttock through her knickers. "You, however..." Her voice trails away as he plants kisses on the base of her neck, licks her collarbone after pushing off the woolen cardigan.
Her hands find their way into his pyjama top, feel this skin on the front of his shoulders, she leans to him, their lips meet. Their kisses are fire, burning, she shrugs off her cardigan, it ends on the floor, she undoes the buttons of his pyjamas and he wrestles himself out of it. Their naked forms pressed together under the blankets and sheets, their sexes only separated by their underwear. Her breathing is laboured, she wants him closer, to feel his weight on top of her. She tugs at him, her lips travel down his jaw, neck, breastbone. His hand is in her hair, carefully undoing her braid, they twist and turn, the covers almost slide off them.
"Watch it!" He exclaims and pulls them back up and around them. The intermezzo has given her time to get rid of her underwear and she straddles his leg, the sheet around her shoulders. She doesn't sit up straight like she normally does, but she grinds her core against his underwear, finds him aroused, lets herself fall on top of him, she pushes down his shorts and lets him feel how much she needs him. His hands are on her bottom, his lips keep finding hers, he breathes loudly and his hand travels to her breast, cups it, fondles it and she takes hold of him, guides him to her entrance, hovers.
His moan of frustration is music to her ears and when he takes hold of her and pushes her off him and she finds him between her legs, she can't do anything put wrap them around his waist. His fingers are at her nipple, she moans, unable to hold back. Her head presses into the mattress as he enters her, fills her completely and they move together, finding their rhythm, holding on to each other, holding on to the covers and their sounds echo against the still bare walls of the bedroom.
"I love you..." she mumbles in his hear, nipping at his earlobe, her nails scratching at his back, catching his thrusts, her climax building within her. "Don't stop..." she pants, once, twice, three times. "God..." Only when she is so close it almost hurts, profanity slips from her lips and she feels how his thrusts become more erratic, he groans her name, pushes himself deep inside her, loses himself as her walls come shattering down.
He lays down beside her, her head is on his chest again, a film of perspiration makes him shiver. She puts the covers over them, listens to his heart beat. She is just about to drift off, when she hears his voice rumble:
"I came to bring you breakfast, because we are having visitors this morning..." His voice is as sleepy as she feels.
"We can pretend we're not home..." She offers.
"The curtains are still closed. I think they would knock down the door. They seemed quite... adamant they'd come over. It is their only half day together."
"Who are coming over, Charles?"
"Anna and Mr Bates." He yawns widely, kisses her temple, she feels him drift off.
"You mean 'John'." She finds it hard to stay awake. The exercise, the warmth of the blankets, Charles solid form...
"Hmm... 'John'... Anyway. They are coming around at eleven, after church. We have missed church, by the way."
She doesn't care. This morning she worshipped her husband, she has no doubt it was smiled upon. Then she realizes it is late, that she has only little time to get ready if she doesn't want Anna to see her in her robe with her hair down. She scrambles out of bed, shudders at the combination of the chill and the feeling of something leaking away from her.
"Come on!" She almost yells. She pulls her shift over her head, runs around to get clean knickers from a drawer, puts them on.
"Charles! Get up!" She urges him, puts on her dress, reaches behind herself, closes the fastenings, looks in the mirror, shakes her head.
"You should have told me they were coming over, how could you seduce me like that?" She pushes pins in her hair, glancing at the mirror, but mainly trying to stare down Charles, who is moving at an exasperatingly slow speed.
"You'll find, if you think back, that you seduced me, dear wife." Charles puts on his socks, his shorts, vest, trousers.
"It doesn't really matter, does it." She snaps. "I am going downstairs, I don't want to be caught with the curtains still closed." And she races down, opens the curtains, takes the bolt off the door, runs into the kitchen, puts the kettle on. She hears him come down the stairs, calmly and he comes into the kitchen and slides his arms around her from behind.
"Are you alright?" He asks and nuzzles her neck. She closes her eyes, her lip catches between her teeth.
"Stop it..." She sighs, the memory of his strong hands all over her body still so vivid. She feels how their morning lovemaking is staining her underwear. She turns in his arms and is about to kiss him with great abandon when they hear the knock on the door. He goes, still the butler in a way, always showing their visitors in, almost announcing them.
"Elsie? Anna and... John are here!" She hears his hesitation and smiles to herself.
"Anna! Why don't you come in here, give me a hand?" She calls for the former housemaid, now Lady Mary's lady's maid. She waits for the girl, pours the hot water in the pot, gets a tray together and Anna comes into the kitchen, looking thoughtful and tired.
This is not a social call.