Previously on Quiet Evolution:
Her attentions then turned to arranging the china inside the picnic basket, bringing order as her emotions and desires bubbled underneath her placid exterior. Each piece of china rattled as she arranged the basket for the short walk back to Downton, which is why she gasped loudly at the feeling of Charles Carson's hands resting on her waist and hot breath in her ear.
Charles Carson had watched her – a picture of domestic bliss – until a thought hurtled through his brain, making the leap from unconsciousness to consciousness.
How very real their future felt, to watch her at the sink - how stunningly real. He had stood motionless until that thought. Now, he could wait no longer to bridge the connection between dreams and reality.
When he reached for her, with his breath warming more than her ear, Elsie Hughes immediately stilled as nearly every sense was overwhelmed by the man standing behind her.
He didn't move just yet, and yet still managed to set her aflame with the heat of his breath. Moments ticked by, or so she thought, until she pushed her hands harshly along the edge of the counter in a bid to stay upright.
Their breathing grew more labored, even as his lower torso seemed miles away from her. But his distance was to their mutual advantage, allowing him to bend and finally whisper in her ear. "Do you remember what I said when you assumed I wanted to marry Alice," he asked before nuzzling her just behind her left ear.
Her eyes grew wide at the unexpected question. Of course, she remembered. His bashfulness, his complete honesty about his emotions, was not soon to be forgotten.
"How many years it took to truly learn how young and foolish I was," he continued as the sound of his low voice penetrated her skin and eardrum in waves, causing her to shiver. "We're so close to marrying, Elsie. There is nothing that could ever compare to how much I want that."
But you wanted to marry her.
So much I could taste it.
Just as she replayed the memory of his serious confession, he began to savor her neck with his tongue – tasting her skin in a bid to discover how it could endlessly entice him. He traced a long muscle – achingly slow – as far down as the collar of her blouse would allow.
The sound of her low moan in response – in acknowledgment of that memory and the desire it conveyed – set Charles Carson's hands in motion, yet again. There was no doubt in Elsie Hughes's mind. Despite the greying hair and being on verge of retirement, that young man of passion was present – lavishing her with skillful adoration. He gripped and stroked the unpliable sides of her corset, slowly moving his hands ever closer to her navel as he slowly kissed and tasted his way back to her ear.
His knowledge of the female body was limited. But his time spent on the boards left him with flashes of memories of spirited, loose dancers in larger acts on the boards, revealing bare shoulders, stomachs, and long, toned legs. The memories of that skin had compelled him to act shamefully, in his view, as a young footman and valet. But that scant knowledge spurred him to explore his betrothed with reverence and respect and barely-checked passion.
Elsie was almost grateful for the glaring afternoon sun, allowing their reflections to remain obscure in the window before them. Otherwise, she was sure in the fact that she would have completely come undone at the sight of him towering over her, his eyes no doubt darkening by the minute.
He finally tore his lips away from her neck, moving instead to trail the softness of her blouse as it curved around her shoulders. Lips alternating with kneading hands in turn, he couldn't help but gaze upon the skin revealed by the great distance between her collar and top button. He had tried to avoid gazing at her while on the beach as she wore that same blouse. But in this moment, he was almost consumed with want to kiss each freckle, to find every single mark on her skin made by pleasant memories and the passage of time. For now, he would gaze upon her décolletage and take in the perfume of her skin.
The onslaught of his ministrations caused Elsie to push even more violently against the edge of the counter top, bringing her enticing hips closer to his. Roughly breaking his focus on her shoulders and skin as her lower body arched involuntarily back towards him, he caught her hips before she made contact with his lower torso.
She could feel his heaving chest as he neared closer again, and her head drooped to her chest in a bid to prevent herself from responding in a way that would leave them both embarrassed and incapable of being alone together until they were married.
She gained perspective momentarily at the prospect of having a finite date to which she would count down the minutes. At that thought, she closed her eyes for a moment before focusing – on the sound of his ragged breath, on the feel and sight of his tan fingers on her greyish-blue blouse. Her nose filled with his unique scent, soon realizing what she was missing. The return of propriety could wait a few more minutes.
So much I could taste it.
Charles had savored her in these glorious minutes. But Elsie needed to taste and relish, as well.
In a smooth motion, she turned to face him, barely sparing the time to connect with his eyes – dark as she had ever seen them. Instead, she spied the chain that held is watch along his waistcoat, and tugged on it gently. It was all he needed to bend and meet her waiting lips in a searching kiss.
His enveloping hands found hers, squeezing them in loving reassurance even as they continued their frantic exploration. It was such a subtle gesture, but it evoked a rush of emotion inside Elsie Hughes. Spurred by his loving touch, her passion soon imbued with the stirrings of confidence despite the boundaries of propriety.
Almost roughly, she moved her hands away from his. They trailed upwards along his waistcoat until straining in vain to reach towards his shoulders. As heady of a feeling it was, to feel his rapid heartbeat under her hand, she needed more contact than lips and hands. Abruptly, she ended their kiss only to be met with hazel eyes questioning and desiring in equal measure. She knew, conceptually, what she wanted, yet not how to articulate it. Not yet.
Instead, she pulled him towards her with one hand, relying on instinct to convey all that could not yet be whispered and moaned. Her hand reaching towards his neck was enough to convey her need for him to bend his head to the side, to give her contact with his lips and body.
But as he bent closer to her, she couldn't help but yelp in confusion as he lifted her to the waiting counter top behind her, the wicker basket pushed unceremoniously to the side by her bottom. As he had stood in the doorway watching her, Charles Carson had unconsciously calculated whether her sitting on the counter top would result in her not having to strain so much as they locked in an embrace. It was a wild thought, borne from a commitment to serving others in unparalleled fashion. As she had reached for his neck, his calculation surfaced in his consciousness to successfully bring about their more comfortable proximity.
Her lips were closer to his now, but he was focused more on her heaving chest and primly set-together thighs. In future, he thought with only slight embarrassment, he would find a home between her strong limbs. But for now, he gently angled her legs to his right, still together, by wrapping his hands around her knees. Once settled, he ran his hands up her thighs to rest on her waist. Only then did he move closer to the counter, hoping to fulfill her temporarily denied want. His arms wrapped further around her as he surveyed her face – becoming with her blushing cheeks and darkened eyes – before focusing all of his attentions on her slightly opened mouth.
Before he could descend upon her lips, she launched forward to nibble and taste his own. Her hands gripped his shoulders before stroking the sides of his face momentarily as they continued to savor each other. As she controlled the pace of their kisses, his hands roamed everywhere – squeezing hips and thighs, splaying across her back before tunneling into her hair.
During their more heated nightcaps, he had attempted to restrain himself when it came to her locks. But the sight of domesticity she posed earlier overrode any sense of care. He wanted to tunnel her tresses through his long fingers, to massage her scalp where it reached her neck, just as she was doing to him currently.
In a moment of self-awareness as her eyes were blissfully shut tight, Elsie Hughes knew she could salvage her hair using the abandoned mirror in the entryway of the cottage. But Charles Carson's now tousled hair could never be explained away once it was loosened from the hold of his pomade. Mrs. Patmore would never be able to contain herself at the sight of him. The teasing they would endure, however, would be worth it. She could feel that with each passing moment of bliss.
At last, he relented from his onslaught of her lips and hair, moving to return his mouth to lavishing her neck as his arms encircled her. Growing bolder by the minute, he dared to move his attentions down and past her collarbone to savor the skin he only previously worshiped with his eyes.
Charles Carson realized it would have been too much to actually gaze at each freckle up close. Even though the lines he refused to cross had moved over the past few weeks, they were near the outer limits of his self-control. Instead, he kept his eyes shut as he explored her with his lips. Only when Elsie gasped as his lips ventured just above her broach did he open his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Oh, Charles," she nearly whispered with an alluring, drawn out, yet somehow breathless burr.
He couldn't even manage to utter her name in return before returning insistently to her lips, their tongues tasting deeply of each other. He had perched her on the counter top like the goddess that she was. Yet she remained an earthbound creature, fulfilling needs and wants he knew never existed, not until the prospect of their marriage became reality.
The thought of soon becoming her husband, of chastely expressing their love before God and everyone in their small parish church, caused him to return from the near abandonment of propriety. Elsie could feel his passion waning slightly, but she was unwilling to lose contact with his lips completely. With one hand at her neck, and the other fixed firmly on her waist, Charles helped to slow their racing hearts with soft but longing kisses.
As their pace diminished, it was clear Elsie and Charles were decidedly off-kilter. Emotions of desire and worshipfulness alternated and combined until they were nearly indistinguishable. They simmered for a few moments.
That is, until Elsie locked on his lower lip, sucking and nibbling with considerable force. The moaning, fervent response she received revealed a passionate Charles Carson – one she was astonished to learn was completely new to her. He had pulled back a moment before returning her kiss with abandon. His urgent gaze was filled with a wildfire, fanning the flames deep inside Elsie Hughes. She was ablaze with passion.
But his overwhelming presence – insistent, powerful, and dizzying – was fleeting.
"My darling," he gasped while forcefully resting his forehead on hers as he recovered. He raised his trembling hand, which had been clutching her waist possessively, to cradle her head with his thumb resting on her cheek.
"Do you…," Elsie faltered as her whole body hummed with the coursing of blood through her veins. She was usually so self-assured, but this was completely new territory for her. No one had ever dislodged her from any sense of propriety in this manner, not even Joe Burns. She swallowed before asking, "Do you want us to…"
"Not quite yet," he responded before pulling away to look in her eyes. His own were now clouded with conflicted emotions – the receding of desire and the creeping sense of alarm at how quickly and easily it was to lose control with her as they were completely alone. "I could never…"
"I know," she assured him as he took a few depths. "I know, and I love you because of your" – she couldn't help but smile – "properness." It was with no small amount of irony that she acknowledged that the most proper man she had ever known had brought her so stunningly close to the edge of propriety.
"It will be different, soon," he alluded vaguely as he briefly directed his eyes upwards towards what could be their bedroom before focusing on the sink to his left.
As she softly responded, he couldn't help but finding solace in her kind blue eyes. "Different, perhaps frightening and exciting at first," she acknowledged with an amount of modesty. Yet she was steadfast in the vow that followed, a mere prelude to their wedding day, "But we'll figure it out – together."
After a moment, he nodded with a soft smile as he moved his hand to reverently and gently trace the juncture of her collarbones.
"And in this house," she finally concluded.
"So you like it, then," he asked as his cheeks tugged his smile into a grin.
"After this," she indicated with a pointed look at their proximity on the kitchen counter top, "I would never be able to set foot in this house as a mere visitor. I would blush at the thought of helping someone arrange a tea tray for an afternoon visit if it was their kitchen and not ours."
He couldn't help feeling uncomfortable at the thought, but her joyful voice and laughter chased away his embarrassment temporarily. It was yet another way in which she brought security and happiness to his life.
As their working relationship slowly turned towards one of mutual respect and fathomless adoration, Elsie Hughes continued to find ways that allowed Charles Carson to embark on a path of self and mutual discovery. Her love and passion, and needling, had provoked corresponding emotions within him, in addition to fleeting moments of bewilderment.
But her offered hand at the beach instilled courage to acknowledge the pangs of longing in his heart were not for a distant memory, but for her alone. And her lilting voice and mere appearance of belonging in this cottage led them to this moment, in which joy and honesty bookended untold moments of heated passion. Only their wedding remained to usher in the culmination of their entropy – towards basking in heat and light as they transitioned into retirement.
At that thought, Charles Carson retrieved his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket to determine how much time they had before dinner services began. Though their time secreted away was soon coming to a close, all thoughts of work and their successors – Mr. Molesley and Mrs. Bute – fell away from their minds as they savored each other once again.
Did I make up for my evilness?
As always, your thoughts, follows, favorites, likes, reblogs, PM's, and fan mails are appreciated more than I could possibly articulate.
P.S. In some time zones, we're already into September! How glad I am for it to *finally* be here. I can't wait to share thoughts with you all as Series 5 gets underway!