A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Ask, and ye shall receive. Someone asked for more, so here it is. I hope it's not too confusing with the flashback. Also, I really tried to keep this T, but I'm not sure, so am making it M. Part of me wondered if they would be this free with each other, considering their restraint, but this is post-wedding, so...everything's out there. I think once they're married they'll be even more relaxed with each other.
For once, he woke slowly. He was not sure for a moment where he was. There was greater light than he was accustomed to, and he certainly could not remember ever sleeping without clothes on. Oh.
Her bare shoulders, hidden only partially by the sheet, rose and fell as she slept. He blinked. Rubbing his eyes, he noticed a pattern of freckles sprinkled down her spine. He had not seen that last night.
She was even more beautiful this morning.
Maybe he had never seen her properly until now. I thought you'd never ask.
He could not resist. Moving as quietly as he dared, he leaned over her sleeping form and kissed her on the cheek. He then touched her hair. It was a lighter color spread out, more of a soft auburn, than he remembered.
He had thought his fingers too big, fumbling with the pins. But he had unbound her hair at last. It was a marvel; she was transformed.
No.
The transformation had happened earlier in the day, when they stood in front of the people they loved and promised themselves to each other.
His kiss woke her. She did not move, content to breathe evenly in the quiet room. She felt his fingers in her hair and closed her eyes again. His touch. Oh, how she had longed for it, ached for it.
Now she would have it, always.
He had been so nervous. Never, not when he proposed, nor on the memorable night when they kissed on the stairs at the Abbey, could he recall such inner turmoil. He had hardly known how to begin. If it had been left to him alone, no doubt they would have still been standing in the room, wearing their traveling clothes.
She took the first step. After calmly sitting in the chair and removing her shoes and hat, she had shaken her head, biting back a laugh.
"What's so funny?" He, old booby, that he was, was inclined to be angry. She had risen from the chair and enveloped him in an enormous hug. He never would have believed that someone so much smaller than he could hold him so firmly in her arms. Her boldness gave him courage. He then had worked at the pins and brushed the hair from her neck with his fingers before kissing below her ear.
The touch of his lips had made her gasp. She had had a time undoing the gold studs, his collar and tie, and his shirt. It was made all the more difficult with her shaking hands that had betrayed her nerves. The first time she had touched his bare chest, he had placed his hand over hers, holding it in that spot. Then he kissed her until her lips were swollen and her knees gave out.
It had been a test of his iron self-restraint. Not that she made it easy for him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, scare her. But when the thousand buttons had been undone, and she stepped out of her dress, she had pulled him to her with a force that surprised him. Her hands had roamed his back, then headed south of his waist. Her tongue inside his mouth had demolished his last resistance. He could not remember the removal of the rest of their clothing (his or hers). Mere moments later, they had both been in the bed.
As before, she had felt almost like she had gone mad. She could not kiss him enough, touch him enough. He was hers at last, and she was his. But unlike before, there was no one and nothing that would stop them.
No more inconvenient knocking on doors or bells ringing, she had thought deliriously as his lips explored her collarbone. No one to come around the corner at the wrong moment.
He had lavished kisses on her breasts, her belly, her thighs. He had paid extra attention to a certain scar that, even in the heat of the moment, brought a rush of emotion. The taste of her skin under him, her voice crying out with his Christian name and Gaelic words he could only guess the meaning of, hastened his movement. Their bodies had joined several times before they finally felt satisfied. She had cried once in his arms, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside her.
He felt a tear slide down his own face. The scar on her breast reminded him all too keenly of the time when he thought that he would lose her. But she was here now. Blissfully alive. They were man and wife, in body as well as in law. He sang under his breath, "Dashing away with a smoothing iron, she stole my heart away…"
She laughed, her body vibrating. That day in the hall when she heard him singing, when she knew, she knew he loved her.
"I didn't know you were awake," he rumbled, gathering her into his arms and kissing her neck.
"Only just now," she said. She pulled on the sheet to cover her as she turned over to face him. "It must be past ten o'clock." His lips brushed her forehead.
"Why do you cover up? I'm not," he said, kicking the heavier blanket away. Everything except his feet was visible. He was genuinely curious. "This room is rather warm."
She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, as a blush spread across her face and neck. "It's morning now." She bit her lip. "Last night was…different. It was dark then."
Amusement danced across his face as he watched his bride. "You do know," he said, his eyebrows wagging, "We're married now. I always thought I would be the puritanical one," he teased gently. He stopped when he saw the look on her face.
"I'm not young anymore, Charles," she whispered. She felt it, too. In the light of day she was all too aware of her wrinkles, the parts of her body that were not as smooth as when she was a girl. He pulled her chin in his direction with his fingers.
"Neither am I. We're not old either," he said gently. "Do you not think you are beautiful?"
"It's not that," she said. "I-I'd rather you have an image in your mind. I wouldn't want to disappoint you."
"Disappoint me? How could you ever do that?" he sat up, his shoulder rubbing hers. "Do you remember what everyone was saying yesterday? Not just Mrs. Patmore and Anna and everyone downstairs." His voice was soft, but the tone of the Butler was creeping in. "Everyone I spoke to said you were the most beautiful bride they had ever seen. The Dowager Countess, Mrs. Crawley, His Lordship, Lady Mary-"
She rolled her eyes while simultaneously fighting back a smile.
"They all raved about you. But if you won't listen to them," he growled, "listen to me, Mrs. Carson."
It was the first time he had addressed her as such. Her vision blurred.
"You could never disappoint me. And I don't want an image." He wrapped an arm around her. "I want you. I only ever want you, love." He tucked her head under his chin, stroking her hair.
How could she fight him when he was like that? She wiped her eyes, then kissed him on the mouth. While her hands razed through his already wild hair, he slipped the sheet down around her ankles. As they caught their breath, he dropped his gaze, taking in every visible part of her. She felt her skin grow warm again. Not just because he seemed to be devouring her with his eyes, but because she was doing the same to him. Including – her breath hitched – the part of him that had joined them last night.
"Oh my," she said, without thinking. Red could not begin to describe the color of her face.
"Hmmm?" he murmured, kissing her jaw, not noticing her mortification.
She had not been brought up in a sack, but it was a shock. "Um, not-nothing," she stuttered.
He looked up. "You look surprised," he smiled, dropping a lingering kiss on her shoulder.
"That's putting it mildly," she said. He raised an eyebrow.
"Do you wish you had an image of me? Or does the reality disappoint you? I am rather round in the belly," he said, suddenly looking worried. She shook her head, running her finger along the stubble on his chin.
"I am not disappointed. Quite the contrary," she swallowed. "It's just new to me, seeing all of you. Until yesterday, I had never even seen your bare feet. And I rather like your round belly," she nudged him playfully. He gave a theatrical sigh and flopped back onto his back.
"So I don't need to go ask Lady Mary for a second opinion? What a relief," he joked. He reached out and grasped her hand, kissing her fingers. She shivered.
"We ought to get dressed. You must be famished."
"I am," he said, his lips winding their way up her arm. She tried to pull away, but he only gripped harder.
"Charles Carson, I am serious."
"So am I. Unless you really want me to stop, my love." He quirked a rascally grin at her, then leaned her back against the pillows.
"No," she sighed, running her hands across his broad back. "Only promise me one thing."
"What is that?" he kissed the finger where he had placed the ring the day before.
"I never want to hear Lady Mary's name – or anyone else's, for that matter – in our bed. Ever again."
He nodded solemnly before kissing the tip of her finger. "I promise."
It was well after noon before they dressed.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The first chapter was Season 6 Dreamland; this is pure fantasy. I realized after I'd written it that they have an entire conversation naked. Yeah, that's not going to happen. There's one more part to this story.