Charlotte was alone in the institute study, as was more often than not the case. The hour was late and Charlotte's eyes felt strained as she continued to read the reparations request in her hand, a tedious affair relating to a werewolf who was accusing Gideon Lightwood of a charge of assault. If it were any other Shadowhunter, the request would already be smouldering into ash in the study's fireplace, but Charlotte was a different sort. She had already asked Gideon himself of the incident and had no doubt in her mind that the case was a mere case of self defence in the face of a drunken downworlder, but she'd already set it upon herself to write a kindly worded response of denial, with an offer of apology from The Clave.
It took a lot of work to run an institute in a capital city, least of all the capital city at the heart of the sprawling British Empire, but it took more work still to run an institute well. An institute head, Charlotte believed, should work towards an understanding between the Shadowhunter community, and the Downworlder one under the laws of the accords, as it should be. This was a system of order that had always been prosperous to both parties, and yet the old hatreds were a labyrinth that Charlotte found herself navigating on a daily basis. Which was nothing to say of the stress she received from the inhabitants inside the institute itself, which did little to aid her in her duties. Although Charlotte was a highly intelligent and capable young woman, she had her limits, and it was days like today that threatened to exceed them.
Charlotte allowed herself a quiet groan as she set out a fresh page of parchment and began to look for her quill to begin her response. It was at that moment she heard a musical knock at the door to her study, she knew immediately who it was, no one seemed to find joy in something so simple as knocking on a door quite like Henry.
"Come In." Charlotte commanded in a tone far less sweet than she intended.
The door gingerly slid open and through it shuffled her enigmatic husband, smiling at her pleasantly. "Hard at work I see." He observed as he absent mindedly wandered over to the desk.
Charlotte loved Henry more than anyone else in the world, but he also undeniably frustrated her more than anyone else, a position she'd much rather award to Will, and yet he always seemed to understand the right time to leave her alone.
"Yes, Henry. And I am more than aware of the hour." Charlotte mumbled, without looking up from her work.
Whilst she'd always regret it, Charlotte knew that sometimes Henry needed a firm hand to tell him what she did and did not want.
"Can't it wait for the morning, dear? Exerting yourself like this will do London no favours." Henry pleaded, most likely looking at her with a concerned and thoughtful look that Charlotte couldn't bear to meet with her eyes.
"No. It cannot. Go to bed, Henry. I will join you eventually." Charlotte replied, beginning to frown as her blunt words hurt her more than they did her husband.
"Lottie.. Be reasonable. You need your rest." Henry continued in an unbearably innocent tone.
Charlotte's hand gripped the quill harder as she wrote, the point snapping against the parchment. The letter that she was more than halfway through writing was ruined as a scratch and inkblot stained the page with an ugly mark. Charlotte rose from her chair, slamming her small hands on the desk, her eyes wet with frustration and distress.
"Perhaps you shouldn't spend so long in the basement then, Henry! The angel knows I could use some help once in a while with running this institution! But far be it from me to tear you away from your precious contraptions and doodads!" Charlotte cried with an air of hysteria. It really had been a long and trying day. "And I told you not to call me Lottie when you know I'm cross!" She added indignantly.
"Ch- Charlotte!" Henry exclaimed as he edged closer. Now she was looking at him, she saw the full force of his expression, that look of genuine concern for her health, the look of hurt in his innocent, handsome face. She couldn't hold her tears back a moment longer. She wept, bracing herself against the desk with her face down, she was exhausted and angry but above all ashamed of herself for taking out her frustration on the one person she cared about most.
Her hands gripped into the desk as her tears dripped from her face and onto the assorted papers below her. She felt him reach her, touch her head and hold it against his chest, arms reaching around her body. Her anger was forgotten in an instant of total vulnerability as she instinctively clung to his chest, holding him tightly as she cried into his waistcoat. She felt his comforting warmth all over her body as she noticed the scent of metal and oil on his hands and clothes. An oppressive aroma that always hung in the air of his workshop that Charlotte had learned to not only tolerate, but love, for what it reminded her of.
"I- I am sorry" Charlotte whispered against Henry's chest through her tears.
Her tantrum had been building in her all week, and Henry was the last person she'd have wanted to subject it to. He was always the point she could return to at the end of the day, the rock that persisted whilst her world rushed around her. When everything else was confusing and demanding, too stressful and overwhelming to keep up with, Henry was always there, with his childlike optimism and endless comfort. There were times when she wished there was nothing but him and her, when she wished she had the time to rest her head on his lap without a care in the world, and listen to him talk with that excited note in his voice about his latest contraption. But she didn't have the time, she always had the business of the Enclave to tend to, and it was slowly killing her to continue to put Henry last when she wanted more than anything for him to come first. Would he know that, she wondered. If she were to die tomorrow, would Henry understand that she loved him, singularly and completely, and that she'd choose him over everything else in the world, if given the choice?
"Don't worry, Lottie. I know you're under a lot of stress." He murmured to her as she clung to him.
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, she wanted to explain that there was no excuse for hurting him, and that she didn't give a damn about London if it meant pushing them any further apart. But she didn't, because it simply wasn't true. And besides she sincerely doubted that Henry loved her nearly as fiercely.
"Everyone's gone to bed." Henry mused with a small smile.
"I know, let's go. I can deal with this in the morning." Charlotte sighed, unwilling to let go of her beloved, but glad to go to bed if it meant holding him all night.
"Sit down." Henry suggested, in an unusual tone. Charlotte looked at him with a quizzical face, he looked back at her with a knowing smirk, all confidence, a rare sight for Henry.
She found herself sitting back down on her chair before asking "Why?" still unsure of what exactly was happening.
Henry got down to his knees in front of her. "If everyone's in bed. They won't be disturbing us in here. Will they?" He asked, with a cheeky smile. Henry put a hand on Charlotte's thigh, over the clothes of her dress, causing a blush to rise to her cheeks in an instant.
"Henry!" Charlotte replied, exasperated. She couldn't imagine anything as indecent as what Henry was no doubt planning. Her study was a place of work, of concentration and importance, not a married couple's bedroom. And yet despite her exasperation, she felt the hitch in her breathing at the suggestion, and the heat rise in her body.
Henry's hands were now resting on Charlotte's legs as she sat, his hands gripping lightly into her flesh and gently spreading them apart.
"We couldn't possibly" Charlotte stated as she looked down at him with weak desperation, a small part of her wishing he would be sensible, and a much larger part of her pleading with him not to. He seemed to understand her completely as he met her troubled gaze with his calm, pleasant one.
"Perhaps you could make an exception this once?" Henry offered agreeably, asCharlotte felt his hands make their way, with agonising slowness, to the hem of her dress where they easily slipped under the cotton to touch against the material of her stockings underneath.
Charlotte couldn't help but gasp at the contact, She'd experienced Henry's touch against such a scandalous area such as her legs for the last seven years, but the circumstances had changed enormously. There was something supremely sordid about the union of man and wife in her study, such a proper and respectable place, to be defiled with their lusts. Charlotte felt quite wicked, and that lead to a huge blush rising on her face as she watched Henry in excited helplessness.
He was no Casanova, her Henry. He could never make a woman shudder with the mere intensity of his eyes or charm a virginal girl to bed with a minute or two of witty conversation. Henry wasn't even a particularly confident man, he stumbled over his words and seemed to make a fool of himself in every first impression he'd ever made. Henry's talents were different. He was a man of ingenuity and precision, he was an innovator and an artisan who could disassemble, clean and rebuild all the clocks in the institute in less than an hour.
When he worked with his devices, he was completely knowledgeable, gentle and exact in every tiny motion he made with his careful hands. Whilst he got distracted easily and didn't always produce inventions that were famous successes, it was never due to any engineering mistake he had made, but rather a designing one, in that he'd been overzealous in creating a machine more complicated than it needed to be. When it came to the delicate work itself, it was a simple matter of fact that Henry did not make mistakes.
It was this very talent, Charlotte had discovered, that made him particularly adept in the bedroom. When they were younger, on their very wedding night, Charlotte had found that Henry was not some clumsy, lusty boy who was working solely to his own pleasure, he was inquisitive, quick to learn, and generous. Above all he was generous. When they were together, Charlotte felt a bit like one of Henry's own machines, held in place and being undone with the careful, thorough attention of a master, hard at work. Only with a great deal more love and affection than that cold hearted concept implied.
Whilst she had no doubt that intercourse as extravagant as the kind the two enjoyed would be looked down upon in polite society, even Shadowhunter society, her qualms had been obliterated in time. Her regret was that she did not share a fraction of his expertise. She wished she had the natural skill and capability that Henry applied, she wished she had the time and energy to learn, as he seemed to do in the early months of their marriage, but she could never seem to make any real progress. There were always more pressing matters that divided her attention. All she could do was offer him her eternal love, in between her busy schedule, as she always did.
But her worries of inadequacy had a way of escaping her with the sensation of Henry's practiced fingers, which were now making their way up to her thighs, beginning to tug at her drawers. Charlotte knew very well what Henry had in mind for her, and the impiety of the action brought her an exhilaration that obliterated her doubts and embarrassment.
"Henry Branwell.. You are my sole weakness." Charlotte muttered, her voice wavering with need. She raised her legs to facilitate Henry's removal of her undergarments, which he slipped off, letting his hands trail slowly over the flesh of her legs, his touch at once gentle and at the same time invariably possessive.
"And you, Charlotte Branwell are one of many of mine, but by a great margin, the most formidable" Henry whispered, looking up from her legs with a knowing, contented look that Charlotte knew only in the bedroom. She returned a smile, feeling more love for him in that moment than she had all week, and then he was gone as his head disappeared under her dress.
She felt soft, loving kisses against the bare flesh of her inner thigh, trailing their way closer to her unmentionables, only for him to take a sudden detour, and make his way her other leg. Charlotte couldn't help but make small flinches whenever he got too close to her nethers. The process was bittersweet, as it was both adorable and affectionate but also very frustrating. She pulled up the hem of her dress so that she could run her fingers through his bright ginger hair.
"Henry, save your kisses for when our passions are sated, I haven't the power to suffer your teasing a moment longer." She breathed, pleadingly.
His eyes darted to hers for a silent moment before he obediently complied. His mouth met her privates in a kiss at first, before his lips opened to reveal his tongue which quickly and ably found her clitoris and began to investigate it. Charlotte did her best to suppress the cry that came out of her at the volatile sensation. Henry had always performed cunnalingus with her, and she had quickly found herself to be quite addicted. With the chaos of her work, it had been almost a full week since the last time Henry had indulged her, and she'd been greatly anticipating the procedure.
However long he would pleasure her, Henry never seemed to lapse into any movement with his tongue and mouth for particularly long. Every time she would get used to the tip of his tongue lapping against her sex, he would alternate to rotating his tongue instead and then after that, back to kisses. It made the sensation ever refreshing and startling, awakening new pangs of delight from different areas of her vagina, keeping the experience exciting and blissful over however long she could bear.
Something she had noticed about Henry was that he would never cease his exploits of his own accord. It would always be her admission of exhaustion that would cause him to halt. On one occasion, out of curiosity and depravity, Charlotte had tried to outlast him, allowing him to continue to play with her for as long as it would take for him to tire. Charlotte had awoken the next day to be informed that after a certain deal of time that neither of them were able to measure, and goodness knows how many orgasms later, she had lost consciousness. Despite her Shadowhunter training and all the conditioning she'd gone through to resist unconsciousness from concussions or blood loss, she had much less aptitude at staving off of passing out in the face of constant and heavenly pleasure.
Charlotte's back arched In pleasure, as she pushed herself delicately towards the edge of her seat, offering herself to her husband's eager tongue, as she clung to the arm of her chair and gripped tenderly at his hair. Henry's mouth against her sex made her forget about time. He would cause her to enter a kind of trance that would cause her to forget about everything but her and him. She didn't feel her stress melt away, so much as forget she ever felt any in the first place. When Henry ravished her, she felt no anxieties, worries or pressures. Her mind slipped away from the grey, dreary world of sensibility and logic as she wriggled in ecstasy under Henry's tireless treatment.
Finally she felt her climax build in her like the cresting of a great wave, coiling over itself as she felt it grow in power and speed. She began to breathe faster and more wildly as her body became tense and rigid. Henry seemed to register her change in body language and began to caress her with his tongue with heightened voracity, quickening the movements of his tongue which danced over her sex with uncontrolled abandon, urging her onto her orgasm. Her hands leapt to Henry's hair, which she clutched tightly, holding him to her, unwilling to let go of him even for a moment as she issued forth a loud whimper. Then she felt the wave break.
She lost control of her thoughts and body as every part of her writhed and twisted in her tumultuous orgasm. She heard herself wail in pleasure as her climax wracked her body, spreading through her like an untameable fire exploding across her senses and blazing strong, burning her to the quick. At last the symphony began to subside and her exclamations turned to moans and purrs. She took a deep sigh, stroking Henry's hair as he resumed his gentle kissing of her thighs.
"That was magnificent, as always." She remarked. Henry arose on his knees to look up at her, wiping his mouth with one of his favourite spotty handkerchiefs.
"Thank you darling." He replied. Charlotte felt the familiar feeling of not being able to put her appreciation for Henry into words as she gazed into his bright hazel eyes. Her gratitude didn't need words, it required gestures. To hell with her bed rest, she thought, Henry deserved to come first for once.
Charlotte smiled at her husband as seductively as she could manage, with a conspiratorial look in her eyes. As she might expect, he returned her gaze with one of rather innocent curiosity. She had began the evening's activities being abhorred at the prospect of defiling her workspace with such tomfoolery, but she had quickly found a distinct taste for the villainous notion. After all, it was the perfect crime. No one seemed to use the study but her, and very rarely Henry, but the other occupants of the institute had no interest in the room whatsoever.
Even if she and Henry made the room smell like a cheap brothel, no one would know but them, and perhaps poor Sophie who would be expected to clean, but she knew perfectly well the things married men and women did after nightfall. She wasn't the type to gossip, one of the many qualities Charlotte appreciated about her. Charlotte's plan was set, and it was a rather fine one as well. Charlotte got to her feet in front of Henry and circled to the edge of the desk.
"Darling? What are you doing?" Henry asked, folding his handkerchief neatly back into his breast pocket.
"You'll see" she replied determinedly, with a small smile, as she looked down at her desk.
Her very lovely, gilded desk, piled with all sorts of invoices, requests, queries and reports, kept precariously organised only by Charlotte's impossibly multitasking mind. She thought of all the nights she'd spent at this desk, pouring over the correspondence and diplomacy that kept the London shadow world in any kind of order, focussed wholly and completely on her responsibilities and all the while developing a series of migraines. Meanwhile Henry's wandering curiosity had kept him deep in the crypt, their disparate labours holding them apart from one another, with the force of the fierce dutifulness that they alone seemed to share.
It didn't matter. None of it mattered. She wanted Henry to know that, she wanted him to see that she wanted him, not this. She wanted to make love with him on the very desk that kept her from him. A small, dark frown crept into her face as she surveyed the battleground of her work space, looking out for what could be moved, what could be stacked, what she could throw away, and yet there was so much to be done. She set to work piling and relocating papers and files, beginning to clear away a space large enough for the both of them, but she quickly realised her effort was fruitless. There was simply too much to be done, too many important matters that needed her attention and could not be put aside, and she soon realised that she was merely tidying the damn thing.
"Do you need any help dear?" She heard as she continued to stare distractedly at her desk.
"No, I.. ugh.." Charlotte groaned. She really was useless at this. It seemed she couldn't make the romantic, provocative gesture she wanted to, as Henry had that evening, despite dearly wanting to. Even for one night, she couldn't set aside her cares about her work. It was alright for Henry, all his responsibilities were his own, he had no vampire princes to appeal to, no werewolf splinter groups to satisfy, or ifrit cabals to discipline, all he had were his toys in the dark. Charlotte had London to worry about. Charlotte spent a few moments more in silence, looking at her desk regretfully, before rubbing her eyes tiredly with her hands.
"Oh never mind. Let's just go to bed, Henry." She said bitterly. Beginning to make her way toward the door angrily.
"Lottie, wait." Henry called to her. Charlotte tensed, she hated when Henry was sweet to her when she was being bitter. It was such a dismal reminder of her regrets in their marriage. She suppressed the urge to snap at him as she turned to look at him with an expectant glare she couldn't seem to repress. Henry looked at her desperately, then down at the desk, then back at her, the gears clearly turning in his head. Henry stiffened his lip purposefully as he took at step toward her desk and swept the entire contents onto the floor. Papers went flying, alphabetised stacks of wanted downworlders flew in the air of the study as commissions for weaponry shipments from Idris were crumpled under the weight of Charlotte's personal codex. The floor was covered in papers in untidy heaps, the paper awkwardly folding inward under the weight and the spines of her books thudded hard against the hard flagstone floor.
Charlotte stood aghast as she surveyed the wreckage, her arms raised to her face in surprise and shock. "Henry!" She exclaimed, although not as angrily as she would have normally. In fact she couldn't help but hide a guilty smile from rising to her lips, but it quickly disappeared as she thought about the severity of the situation "Henry I-!" She began with panic, but she found herself interrupted as he moved over to her once more to take her hands in his. She wanted to rip her hands out of his and kick him in the shin for trying to silence her, but his cheerful hazel eyes had a way of stopping her in her tracks.
"Lottie, tomorrow morning I shall rise before the dawn to put everything in order." Henry explained in the comforting, mellow voice he saved for the bedroom.
"But-" she began defensively
"I know exactly how you keep your desk. I know where everything must be and how everything is managed. I shall restore every crumpled paper to immaculate condition so it appears as new, I shall put your desk in such an order as it has never been." Henry went on.
"How do you know how I keep my desk?" She demanded, wishing she wasn't so irritable.
"I keep notice. It interests me how you work. While talking with Downworld representatives and Clave politicians has never been my strong suit, I was always very interested in keeping a properly organised desk." He remarked with playful amusement.
Charlotte didn't need her desk reorganised. She already had it organised in her own personal, impossibly complex way. She didn't need exact organisation and military precision in the management of her desk, but it was a huge step up from the heaps on the floor that she had now. "Did you consider asking me first?" Charlotte asked calmly.
"I was trying to be spontaneous!" Henry replied pleadingly. Charlotte's eyes darted down to Henry's waistcoat.
"So what if I were to tear your garments from your body, and simply sew them together again later?" Charlotte enquired teasingly. She saw Henry's smile falter as he considered the prospect.
"I- I'll put it all back, I can fix it. I'm sorry Charlotte! I-" Henry began, getting increasingly distressed.
"Shhh." Charlotte murmured soothingly, pushing Henry's ruffled hair out of his face.
"Don't fret, darling. It's the thought that counts." Henry smiled at her gingerly, his puppy eyes as clear as ever. "Just don't ever do it again." She added assertively.
"Unlace me" Charlotte commanded as she turned to face away from him, revealing the back of her dress. Eager to redeem himself, Henry stepped forward to work the laces free to allow Charlotte's dress to slide from her small frame onto the floor. She turned back to him in her undergarments, with her excited mischievousness renewed. It was relatively cold in the study, since the fire had burned low, but with Henry's body against her own she doubted she'd feel it. Henry stared at her distractedly, his eyes wandering over her exposed form. Charlotte repressed the blush rising to her cheeks. "Am I to be uncovered on my own, darling? Or will I have to tear that waistcoat from you after all?" She inquired naughtily.
Henry's attention snapped back to her eyes with a start, making a small surprised noise of acknowledgement before beginning to battle with the buttons of his waistcoat. Henry and Charlotte's marital activities after nightfall usually occurred in the bedroom, which made this change of scenery a startlingly different experience, for a great many reasons but most of all being the lack of a bed. Charlotte stared at her husband as he unbuttoned his undershirt to reveal his bare chest and arms, muscled and toned with the training of an experienced nephilim warrior. The marks of marks both burned away and long standing decorating his broad frame. Henry didn't make much of an imposing character, especially in his extravagant waistcoats and finery, but out of them he appeared very different indeed.
Here he was, her tall, kind prince. Towering over her, naked and eager, his bright hazel eyes, usually filled with confusion or apologetic when he looked at her had now been coloured with his arousal. They were set on her now as she slid her remaining clothes from her body and they were the sharp, dreamy eyes of the passionate lover she only knew in the night. She was the first to move to him, eager for his embrace to shield her from the cold of the study, but she found that he met her with his own pace, also eager for her touch, surely more effect of his arousal than his affection.
They held one another in a passionate kiss, Charlotte raising her lips to his. She felt Henry's body, gigantic in comparison to her own, encompassing her protectively. She could feel his arousal press against her, and she longed to comfort his need as he had for her. She would give him everything. He deserved all of her and more, and she felt determined to give it to him. This dashing, beautiful man who she adored inside and out for more than half her life, and who she would go on to adore for the rest of it.
Her hand moved devotedly to his shaft, which she began to caress with slow, firm movements, as she was sure he enjoyed. She wasn't sure if her movements were perfect or clumsy, the secrets of Henry's body were mostly unknown to her. She hadn't the mind for experimentation and observation of results that Henry did, it always seemed like magic how he had discovered her specific desires over the years, but she was eager to learn all the same, and that would be all she would need. Charlotte heard the elated note in Henry's exhale as she brought her other hand to help her with her work, her small hands poorly equipped for handling his privates.
Suddenly invigorated with newfound lust, Henry lead her in their kiss, trying to become closer than he already was to her. She felt his rough skin against her own as his body pressed to her with his desire, although as always his advance didn't seem invasive or overwhelming. He seemed to understand her even when it was his turn to be satisfied. Eventually Henry couldn't take the process any more and moved to grab at Charlotte's body and pick her up in his strong arms. Charlotte made a small gasp of surprise and excitement as she was carried by her lover. She looked up into his bright hazel eyes, he looked back at her and she saw both devotion and need in equal measure. He winked at her with a calm smile. His playful confidence only truly shone through when he felt truly in control, which unfortunately happened only in the crypt or the bedroom.
Charlotte glanced toward the empty desk that they were fast approaching. It occurred to her that she had never truly seen it empty. Even when she had first come to the institute she had found the thing piled with letters of congratulation, missives for her immediate attention and records to file away in her archives. It may never be empty like this again, she resolved to make the best use of it while she could.
Henry gently lay her down onto the desk, quickly following her himself, his broad, tall frame massive against her own as he loomed above her. His body had her trapped underneath it, his leg winding around her own and his arms were placed either side of her shoulders. It occurred to her as it had several times that day, mostly in the last hour, that she loved him more deeply than she had ever loved anything. He reached up to her face to push rebellious strands of hair out of her eyes, her regal hair having become bedraggled by the evening's activities, despite the cold of the room. She didn't feel it though. If Henry stayed with her like this, she wondered if she'd ever truly feel the cold again.
Henry's lips once again met her own, as his warm hands investigated her body. Before she had become engaged to Henry, Charlotte had experienced some small body dissatisfaction, as almost all teenage girls did. She wasn't plump and shapely like the naked women in classical paintings she'd seen in London's National Art Gallery, and she was neither tall and strong as the ancient Shadowhunter warrior women statues she'd seen in Idris. She was small and skinny and her simple, plain body had never seemed to attract much attention from the other boys at her academy. Henry felt different to them, even when she first met him. Under his gaze she didn't feel like she was being assessed and found wanting. When Henry looked at her she felt like he could see the cunning and compassion deep within her that no one else seemed to value. It wasn't long before she stopped thinking of her body in such negative terms, especially when Henry treated it with such respect and devotion as he had.
He practiced those sentiments now as he touched her, his hands moving over her in slow, deliberate movements, as if he were taking her in, trying to stroke against every section of her petite yet powerful form. His practiced, expert fingers eventually coming playing with her breasts, fondling her with the genuine care she had come to expect from him, but never quite take for granted or get completely used to. She was sure to reach down to his waist to remind him who was meant to be enjoying themselves.
"Are you ready?" She heard, coming from her ear as Henry whispered against her neck as he began to kiss against it.
"Absolutely" she replied with a natural smile. Henry stopped kissing her neck to draw back, meeting his eyes once more to stare at him with her loving expression. Henry began to align himself with her sex before slowly entering her, his length filling her up and making her feel whole. She writhed underneath him as she reached her arms around his body with the need to feel his skin against her own. He lowered himself to her one arm making it's way behind her back to clutch at her with more control as he began to thrust and find his rhythm. Charlotte pressed her face into Henry's shoulder, moaning into his body to suppress her yelps of pleasure. Her hand wove itself into Henry's hair as he continued to make love to her.
Together they found a suitable rhythm, Charlotte moving her hips with her husband's to better facilitate his pleasure, and inadvertently her own. She clutched to his body tightly, her fingers digging into the warm skin of his strong back. She kissed against his shoulder and neck, barely aware of what she was doing, falling back into the dreamlike embrace of pleasure. His warmth covered her and felt like it washed over every part of her body, soothing away the cold from her body and the doubt from her mind. She felt utterly and completely safe, pressing her body against her husbands and making love with him with Henry's typical gentleness combined with his urgency. The tempo made her forget herself, and she felt herself sent adrift on the deep, warm sea that was Henry.
Eventually she began to feel the telltale signs of Henry's oncoming orgasm. Little twitches amidst a sudden haste of his actions. She held to him tighter, urging him in a language older than words that she accepted him and anticipated the culmination of his pleasure. She told him without speaking a word that she was his, as he was hers, and that what he wanted was what she wanted. In that perfect, crystalising moment of pleasure, Charlotte realised singularly and passionately that Henry made her happy, he made her alive. She wanted to give herself to him in every conceivable way, even if he couldn't return such breathless devotion.
Finally Henry reached his orgasm with a shudder, holding her tightly underneath him as pleasure washed over him. "I love you." He murmured against her ear, his lips soft against her skin. Charlotte knew that her husband wanted her to know that he loved her, she just had difficulty accepting it. It was a difficult concept to grasp, given Henry's absence from her everyday life, given his work, but she appreciated the care and compassion he always offered her just the same. "I love you too, Henry." She breathed as Henry drew back to look into her eyes once more. He looked happy and content in an uncommon and beautiful way. As if he was seeing the future of a blissfully happy marriage in her eyes, seeing her continued devotion to him until death claimed her, the children they would have. She loved the way he looked in that moment.
Henry drew closer to her, his lips brushing hers in a delicate kiss, which lasted several perfect moments. "Someday darling." Charlotte began, running her hand against the flesh of his arm. "Someday I can retire from this position and leave this dusty contemptible desk behind and be a better wife to you." She said, with a sad look in her eye.
"I do not require a better wife, Lottie. I require you." Henry replied, locking eyes with hers, his gaze serious and intent. "I know you love the institute. I know you love Sophie, Jessamine, Jem and Will. If you were to ever leave it all behind for my sake, it would break your heart, and with it my own." Said Henry. Charlotte smiled absently, too tired to form an argumentative reply or correction about what she was and was not capable of.
"For now, dear. Perhaps." She mused, meeting his eyes. "But our nightly dalliance has made us late for bed. Let us sleep." She urged. All she wanted was to keep holding him as she was now, to feel that comfortable, wonderful warmth of her beloved as she drifted into sleep, and the happy dreams it would bring with it.