He is standing by the window, watching the rain pour down in streams. As Saturday afternoons go, it is not one of the better ones. He walks to and fro, throwing a look outside for time to time, only to find the rain won't let up, the skies are as gray as they were in the morning.
He had woken to the sound of the maid poking in the fire in the sitting room and the rain lashing against the window. Elsie had been beside him, curled into a ball, her hand protectively on the curve of her belly. She had looked angelic almost. At peace, calm. Her hair escaping the plait, the line of her jaw less angular than some months ago, the sheet covering her mostly, but her naked shoulder had peeked out and he had kissed it reverently.
For weeks now he has been wondering if he'll make a good father. If he will be patient enough and moral enough. When he sees Elsie at night, in her ever altering form, he finds it very hard to stay away. She is so warm, her curves so pronounced, the curve of her belly fills him with pride (when he manages to turn off the worry). She seems aglow with a happiness, as if she holds a secret she is the only keeper of.
She is affectionate, as always. He had heard from the men that share his office that women turn away from their husbands' attentions when they conceive, but Elsie had been welcoming as always. He had not noticed anything different in her until she told him she was with child and she had been so happy, so elated.
Today Elsie is in the kitchen with their maid - a young girl of not yet eighteen - showing her how to make his favourite dishes. She is effectively training the girl and he smiles when she hears her voice drift into the room:
"You just leave it alone now, for an hour or two. Just put it in the oven with the lid on."
Stew it is then. He loves stew. He knows it's not very dignified, but he doesn't need much, he doesn't care much what others think of him. He knows what's what without somebody telling him.
Elsie comes in, wiping her hands on a towel.
"You will wear a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing like this." She kisses his cheek. She has to stand on her toes and he can feel her belly and breasts press against him.
He shouldn't be thinking about her breasts, how they have gotten fuller, heavier, even more enticing than before. The thought of their weight in his hands fills his mind at the most inopportune moments. Right now, she is so close, his nostrils are filled with her scent, her warmth radiates through their clothes and he knows she can feel how she excites him.
She betrays herself with the almost imperceptible smirk.
"Mr Carson… you are a rascal." She announces and pushes herself against him a bit more. He groans.
"Elsie, really… don't…" He pleads.
She tugs at his lapel and he bends slightly. She whispers in his ear: "Emily has her half day today…"
Then she lets go and sits down, picks up her sewing and sets to work. He is uncomfortable, but follows her, sits beside her. The thought of having the afternoon to themselves makes him feel both good and bad.
He shouldn't be wanting his wife this badly, not now.
"Whatever is the matter, Charles? Really, I can almost hear you think." She puts down the small white thing she is working on and looks him in the eye.
"I can't tell you." He says.
"Because Emily is still here or because you worry I will think less of you." She knows already; she always knows.
He drops his head.
"Oh, Charles…" She starts and she runs her hand through his hair. "I love you. I don't think any less of you. It's very nice to be appreciated by you, even now everything is looking so altered."
"You are always beautiful to me." He tells her. It's true. He has never seen a more exquisite creature, nor met anyone whose wit equals his, whose intelligence matches his. Who completes him so.
"Please tell me that again when I am almost unable to move and everything hurts and none of my clothes fit." She smiles widely.
Emily pops her head around the doorframe.
"Mrs Carson? I'm off. I'll be back on time."
"Very well, Emily. Be safe." She calls back with a pensive look on her face.
"I do hope the things I'm teaching her will serve her well…"
"They ought to serve us well, dear." He responds.
"Yes, I know and I will tell her to try for a nice long courtship, but well… life, I suppose, is not something you can plan."
He shakes his head. They have been losing maids one by one in a rapid pace and he hopes there will be one staying on when the baby is born. She gets up from the settee easily and she takes his hand.
"Don't worry. I love you and I have every faith in you. You will be a good father and good provider. We've never once missed a meal, have never been in debt with anyone and our rent is always paid in full at every term." She pulls him to his feet.
"I think it's time for you to show me how much you appreciate me."
She unties his tie and pulls off his jacket. In between heated kisses, she pulls the pins from her hair, shakes it out. Long waves run down her back and he strokes it and pulls her closer, kisses her mouth, her cheeks, the long column of her slender neck. His hands travel to her back, unhooking her dress and helps her out of it. She stands before him in stockings, shift and corset - he wonders why she still bothers with it now she can't really lace it up anymore.
She takes it off while he watches and kicks off his shoes, peels his socks off, pushes down his trousers, gets rid of his shirt and undershirt. The shift is tight around her breasts, the swell of her belly. He sticks out his hand and she takes it, lets herself be led to the bed when he lifts the covers and she is under him, like a present to unwrap.
He traces her collarbone again, lets his hand wander over her breast - the nipple puckering against the palm -, the slope towards the bulge, then down her hips over her bottom. The cotton of her undergarments are warm, he can feel her shiver under his ministrations. He then lifts her leg, rolls down her stocking, the garter is getting bundled up. He'll take care of that later.
After.
He lifts the hem of her shift, helps her sit up so he can pull it over her head. Her long hair covers her breasts and he lets his hand get tangled in it and pulls her to him to kiss her. Unexpectedly she gets to her knees (she is surprisingly nimble, considering her 'circumstances'), pushes her bloomers out of the way and puts her arms around him, kissing him back with enthusiasm.
He enjoys the way they kiss, the way they love each other, the way they don't need to wrestle for dominance, but it simply goes back and forth between them. He skims her sides with the back of his hands and runs one over her belly, down the dark curls and then over her labia, which are quite damp already.
He runs his fingers between, slicking them and touching her gently and deliberately. She moans, pants, bucks against his hand, he is surprised when she grasps him, takes him in hand. SHe widens her legs, uses him to touch her there and it's very exciting. She is making him as warm and wet as she is herself and he can't hold on.
As he lowers her carefully and hovers over her, she raises her legs, wraps them around his waist and pulls him in, arching her back. Her belly is higher, it touches him much more than it used to, it is hard to keep his mind from turning to it, but somehow he manages as she lets out a high pitched moan.
She takes his hand and places it on her breast, where he kneads the supple flesh, keeping an eye on her facial expressions - when she had only just told him, her breasts were tender, ached too much, she didn't want him to touch them with his hands. But she arches up again, digs her head in the mattress.
They have always been clear about what they like, but these days Elsie is very vocal. Her affirmations of pleasure, her profanities, his name, it all comes rolling off her lips with ease. Her moaning spurs him on and she is so warm and wet around him, he finds it hard to hold back, to practice discipline.
She knows. She can feel he is getting close, he knows from the way she furrows her brow and then licks her fingers. She widens her legs, allowing him to thrust deeper and she touches herself. The way it makes her clamp around him is driving him over the brink within moments and when he spills himself inside her, he notices how she goes rigid first and limp second and she lets out a groan.
He kisses her again and again, holding himself up on his elbow, careful not to collapse upon her.
As they lie there recovering from their exertions, she asks:
"Do you ever think about having gone another way?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"Sometimes. Maybe." She replies.
"What would you have done?"
"I think I'd have made a good servant. I might have climbed the ranks. Became a housekeeper for a good family with a big estate. You?"
"Well, going with that logic, I'd have worked hard to become butler. I am tall." He says and they smile at each other.
"I would never have been able to keep to myself if you'd be wearing one of those starched shirts and tails…" She gives him a naughty smile.
"You temptress." He reaches over, pulls up the covers to keep her warm and she takes his hand, puts it on her belly. He can feel their child move.
"Hmm… very tempting, I know. A femme fatale if there ever was one."
They kiss again.
"I'm very glad I have found you and that you found me and that somehow we have ended up with this." He caresses the bump with his thumb.
"Oh… I think we both know how we both ended up with this and I have no doubt it will happen again."
He swallows.
"Anything better than answering bells." He says then and kisses his wife into silence.
A/N: Cross and double posting... still reviews are very much appreciated, if you feel so inclined