Neither Cora nor O'Brien hear the bedroom door open, but suddenly Robert fills the mirror behind them both. The storm in his eyes is enough to send O'Brien scurrying out the door, with a fresh and enticing story to share with the rest of the staff when she arrived downstairs.

Even through her surprise, it does not take much to recognize the hungry stupefecation in Robert's gaze. She is only mostly prepared for bed, but the effect is intentionally startling.

O'Brien hadn't had time to tie back her hair, so it cascades loosely over her shoulders. She chose a gossamer dressing gown, positively useless against the elements but serving its purpose to entice him.

"Where on earth did you get that?" He asks from several steps away, voice gravelly. He is rooted in place by the sight of her. Beneath the diaphanous layer of her dressing gown she wears the piece de resistance acquired not long after that fateful visit to the dressmaker's in Ripon. When Cora had inquired about the newest in French underthings, Mrs. Elsey proudly pulled this nightgown from the back room.

Although it could hardly be called a gown, for it falls to well above the knees. Pale pink, sheer and edged in the most delicate lace possible, embellished with tiny rosettes. In the right light (with candlelight being exactly the right light) it is nearly transparent, leaving no curve of her skin to the imagination.

In answer to his question Cora gives a little half-shrug and reaches to unbuckle her garter and remove her stocking. With care borne, not of intentional seduction but of not running the delicate silk, she begins to roll them down methodically. She glances at the mirror glass and watches his eyes trace the path of the stocking as she slides it off her foot. She is pleased with the full effect of her dress and it is exactly as planned.

He is agape, and his skin shines with perspiration. He moves his lips as if to speak but no sound comes out. He steps closer and runs his fingers over the slippery material of the gown at her shoulders and lets out the lightest groan.

"You're still dressed." Cora pouts and reaches for the other garter but Robert stills her hands. He carefully unclips it and kneels beside her to roll the stocking down gently. With her toes poised on his knee, she shifts just a little and her foot slips into his groin. "Why are you still dressed?"

Kneeling between her thighs, Robert can't quite think of an answer. To be honest, he is having extreme difficulty forming a coherent thought. Instead he runs his fingertips up her calves making a lazy traversing path. He cups her knees and pushes his palms up the inside of her thighs, spreading them wider. Cora is forced to grip the seat of the chair to keep from falling over when he places several open mouthed kisses along her inner thigh.

"Clothes." Cora mumbles incoherently. "Shirt? Pants. Why...oh, God."

The whole of her skin, usually the most delicate pale porcelain, is flushed delightfully and it feels as if she is radiating heat from every pore. She is reduced to base noises, grunts and sighs, as Robert sets to the task of pleasuring her. Her toes are curled in delight when he scoots her forward on the seat and buries his face against her, his tongue moving so fast she begins to lose her breath.

Suddenly she is sightless, her vision gone white as she tumbles into bliss. Which truly is a tumble as she slides bonelessly from the chair and into Robert's arms. She is panting, having a difficult time catching her breath, when he lays her back onto the floor.

"You win," He mutters, reaching between them to loosen the buttons on his pants. "You win. I yield. You win. Good God."

He is still dressed as he slips inside her, and they both sigh with contentment. Weeks of games and duties and the tasks of being parents melted away as he begins to move against her, hips undulating deeply. He has little control left, having spent nearly two months in a heightened state of arousal.

Her teeth on his throat are so surprising he shouts - not the guttural groan but a true holler of surprise and pleasure. He quiets himself by drawing his teeth over one of her nipples through her nightgown, and she bites down on her lip hard to resist from crying out as well.

He holds onto tenuous control until she palms the roundness of his buttocks and her nails dig deeply. He is momentarily thankful for the material protecting him until she slides her fingers beneath and presses even more violently.

He rocks twice more against her before he can't hold on any longer. He isn't the least bit quiet as he groans into her bosom, rasping her name over and over.

When he is able to focus his eyes, he glances into his wife's smiling face. She brushes her knuckles across his cheeks and offers a sweet kiss on his lips.

"Why is it always the floor?" She whispers, thinking back to their meeting in the shadows and grass. It is uncomfortable with the hard wood pressing into her back, but the gentle arms of her husband make her loathe to move.

"I might have taken you in the foyer had you not immediately called for O'Brien." Robert rolled with a groan until Cora was perched on his chest.

"Scandal aside, you would have shredded a perfectly gorgeous new dress in the process. I adore you, my love, but one of us has to uphold propriety."

"Speaks the woman who fondled me openly in the library and started this whole thing." When his back finally protests with a spasm, he urges Cora to sit up and guides her beneath the covers of the bed while he finishes undressing. He doesn't bother with nightclothes, as he is hopeful that once he recovers they will be able to enjoy a second round. "Are you ever going to tell me what in the world has gotten into you?"

"Besides you?" She whispers scandalously, and Robert tries to look shocked. But the truth is he finds her desire to speak so freely with him tantalizing. They have earned this ease and trust. It has been years since she was a nervous bride who could hardly look at his nude body without blushing furiously. Now her hands wander over his skin boldly, as she asks him to guide her, following his groans and whimpers.

"Besides me." He admits, stilling her hands and tucking her still-lithe body against his, curling around her and burying his nose in the tumble of hair on the pillow. Her rear is nestled against his groin, and he begins to feel the first stirrings of renewed vigor, but it would be a while longer yet.

He can sense that she is weighing her response, her fingers tapping lightly on the back of his hands resting on her abdomen. It is unlike her to be so uncomfortable and when she speaks it is a low murmur.

"I think..." She trails off for a few moments of silence. "I think I won't be a mother again."

"Does that bother you?" He asks, though it obviously does.

"I just...I suppose I needed to assure myself that I was desirable to you. Your mother made it very clear that my value to this family can be measured in heirs. And with Sybil's presentation I suppose it reinforced the truth I'd been avoiding."

He wants to turn her to face him, but will not relinquish his hold on her for even a moment. "Do you honestly think I would put you aside?"

"No." Her answer is firm, and he relaxes some. "I don't think this was about you, my love. *I* needed to feel desirable. I needed to remind myself of the strength of our marriage. I had to remind myself of my worth, beyond my fertility."

He can avoid it no longer and pulls away from Cora long enough to turn her towards him, using a palm at the small of her back to tuck her closer to him.

"Never question your worth, Cora." He speaks in a low, measured tone. "Because that means I've failed. As a man and as your husband."

Her arms curl around his neck and pull him close and she peppers kisses over his face.

There is another fear she cannot express, one she has only just begun to realize herself and isn't ready to share, even with her husband.

It has been years, nearly eighteen, since she last felt this way. But she can recall the unending peaks and valleys of emotion and the nearly insatiable desire for her husband that accompanied them.

She has fleeting thoughts about arranging for a doctor when they return to Downton. Thoughts that flee when Robert rubs against her seductively, allowing his hands to roam freely.

She surrenders to the feelings he stirs within her; desire, love and need.

It will be hours yet until the rest of the family returns. Hours they will spend alone together.

Alone together, and in a game they will both win.


A/N - I didn't mean for this to end quite so seriously but yeah. I'm going to pretend that Cora was aware of her pregnancy a lot earlier than simply meeting with the doctor. 4 months! Also, I meant this to kind of set up Apogee/Perigee as a contrast between how Cora seeks to evaluate her worth vs how Robert tries to do the same. I also wanted Robert to begin to have nigglings (little tiny ones) of doubt about HIS worth and HIS failure as a husband. Because one doesn't just decide to start fondling maids out of the blue. And now I shall shut up before my notes are longer than the story.

Special ups to subtle tea for this whole challenge, which has been a win-win for all of us. Now we just have to wait for the finish of "French 75", which will no doubt be spectacular. AND DELICIOUS. Now I challenge all the people. MOAR PR0N for Robert and Cora. You know you want to. :D