Here is the most identity confused fic in the world. Is it crack? Is it smut? Who can say? One thing is for sure, it definitely won't make sense if you don't know what happens in the skit, without that it's just really really weird. Needless to say, I was prompted to do this. Hope your like it.
It was obvious, throughout dinner, that something was troubling him. The way he held himself was awkward, and his expression was strained; it was as if he was in some sort of pain.
Thankfully, they were the last two left in the servants' hall that night, and she stayed sitting beside him as Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes went off together in the direction of Mrs Hughes' sitting room.
"What's wrong?" she asked him quietly, once she was sure they were alone, "Are you alright?"
"Yes," he replied quietly, "But there's something I want to show you."
"Oh," she replied, and then, a thought occurring to her suddenly, "Have you got a rash?"
"No, I have not got a rash!" he insisted.
"I thought you hadn't," she replied quietly, giving him a little smile, placating him, "I hadn't noticed one."
He met her eyes, and his frown abated completely.
"It's my arm," he told her, removing his jacket as he spoke, "But it's not a rash."
"Don't let Mrs Hughes catch you showing me you're arm," she warned him as he began rolling up his sleeve.
"It's my arm," he replied, unnecessarily, his brow furrowed in concentration, "It's not like you've never seen it before."
"I know," she replied, the corner of her mouth flickering upwards, "And a good deal more. But Mrs Hughes doesn't know that. Thank the lord. Are you alright?" she asked him. He seemed to be struggling with his cuff, "Come on," she told him, smiling wickedly, "Get it off! You're making me impatient."
"Hang on a moment," he told her.
Finally, he had unfastened the cuff and was able to hoist the sleeve up his arm so that she could see his exposed forearm, and, somehow, her own name imprinted there.
"You got… a tattoo? Of my name?" she asked him.
"Do you like it?" he asked, watching her face.
She took a step closer to him.
"Does it hurt?" she asked him, the skin was a little red around it, "Can I touch it?"
"You can touch it," he told her, "It hurts a little bit."
Carefully, she spanned her fingers over the letter, spreading them to the top loop of the h and the bottom loop of the y. He looked down at the spread of her fingers.
"Your name takes up a lot of space," he pointed out, not without sounding a little rueful.
She gave him a commiserating smile.
"You must be daft to want my name all over you," she told him softly, her fingers still tracing his skin as carefully as she could, looking at the way it was there, there forever.
"But I do," he told her quietly.
Her eyes looked up from his arm, and met his. Maintaining eye contact, so she would know if she was hurting him, she lowered her head slowly, planting the gentlest kiss she could on his arm, where her name sat. His eyes fell closed, as he let the relief her lips brought him sweep over his senses.
It suddenly occurred to her that they were standing in the servants' hall, when in fact she wanted to be somewhere much more private than that. Swiftly she straightened up again, so that she could murmur in his ear.
"If your arm's not hurting you as much as to stop you finding your way to my room, I'll see you there."
She planted a quick kiss on his cheek before she went.
…..
She knew he would no leave the servants' hall, he would have to replace his jacket in case Mr Carson caught him on the stairs. She let down her hair, brushing it through quickly. Ridiculous, adorable man! What on earth had possessed him to do it? she wondered to herself as she hung her dress up. Well, perhaps that question would never be answered, but what lay at the root, what made her heart flutter in spite of her confusion was the fact that he had wanted to mark her presence on himself in some way, to make it permanent. When no one had ever wanted to do that for her before, she supposed she was in no position to quibble about confusing manifestations.
Padding across the room in her brassiere and knickers, she fished her grey silk negligee out of the chest drawers. Quickly, she slipped her bra off in favour of the negligee. She settled herself against her pillows to wait for him.
He did not take long about it; it was a matter of a short few minutes before he was slipping into her room and closing the door behind himself. She smiled up at him from the bed. He did not have his jacket on.
He took in the sight of her, and she could see the approval, the excitement in his face. She tried to suppress the broadness of the smile that was growing on her lips at that thought of what he'd done for her and of how happy she was making him in return.
"Take your shirt off," she told him, suddenly, "I want to see your arm again."
He did as she bid him, and sat down beside her wearing his vest. He turned his body a little so that she could inspect his arm. Moving forwards, she sat with her legs parted haphazardly around his abdomen, bringing his arm very close to her body, steadying it carefully in both her hands so that she could kiss his skin again. She did so slowly, tenderly, gently parting her lips.
Slowly, he turned his body back around to face her straight on, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs already around his waist, arching her back and pulling herself closer towards him. They rocked together, tumbling backwards to lie on the sheet, the legs pulling him with her so that he lay over. She gave a quiet giggle.
"You've made me get quite carried away, Mr Molesley," she told him quietly.
"Good," he replied, pushing his body down closer to hers, "I like you like this."
She nearly purred out loud, only stopping herself by pulling his head back down to hers, muffling the sounds she wanted to make with his lips. He caressed her though the thin silk of the negligee, which she knew he loved, she had worn it for him, he wound his hands her hair.
His hand slipped inside her knickers and she fought to keep control.
"You're going to have to take your trousers off," she instructed, "Come on," she commanded, "I want them off, off!"
He obeyed happily. Then, pulling her by the hand to sit up straight, he helped her off with her negligee, enjoying the way her hair spilled around her as he rid her of the silk.
As she had sat up, her legs curled in to being crossed again, and he parted them gently with his fingers.
"Tell me honestly," he asked her softly, "Do you like it?"
Her head was spinning as his hands, gently touched her sides.
"What, this? Yes, I love it. I want more."
"No," he told her gently, smiling, "My arm?"
She paused for a second.
"Yes, I do," she replied quietly, "I like having my mark on you," she placed her hand on the back of his neck, gently pulling him towards her, "I like knowing that you're mine."
He leant gently towards her, burying his face in her hair. She arched her back into him, lying back and pulling him to lie on top of her again.
"I'm yours," he murmured gently, positioning himself at her entrance. But he did not enter her straight away, he flicked his hips first, pushing his excitement against her folds. Her mouth fell open in pleasure and she gave a quiet moan; he knew she liked this, she had admitted before that when he did this, she would have happily screamed the house down if she could. He did it again and again. The last time, she did give a little shout, and he hand to clap his hand over mouth, before anyone heard her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered gently, removing his hand, "Are you alright?"
She nodded, she was panting.
"Joseph," she told him, "I need you."
He chanced teasing her again.
"You need me to do what?" he asked her.
She looked up at him, with eyes that told him she was not to be trifled with in this state.
"I need you to fuck me."
Gods, what had he created? He loved it, he loved her. He pushed into her in one motion, and he had to press his lips to hers to stop her shouting again. Her arms wrapped over his back and around to his shoulders, giving him good purchase, pulling him to her. She was telling him silently that she needed him hard and fast, and he was more than willing to oblige.
"You glorious creature, Mr Molelsey," she murmured softly when in was over, putting a shaky hand to her forehead, trying hard to get her breath back.
"I owe it to you, my love," he told her softly, kissing her hair softly, "To you."
End.
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