Chapter 26: Last Christmas (Z is for Zany - go crazy - anything you want)
The slight delay for this chapter was because I was unsure how far to go with regards to sex scenes for our favourite pair. It's been a while since I've written pure smut and I didn't want to be vulgar (hee). Plus, the wordcount, again, got out of hand. Anyway, here is the end result (finally!). I hope I've managed to get the right balance for it. Thanks again for everyone's reviews, as well as the reblogs and likes on tumblr. I have been so busy trying to actually write this that I haven't really responded as I usually do, but please know you've made me very happy with the amount of positive feedback.
The second time Elsie roused on Christmas Day, it was to Charlie going crazy.
She'd slept naked for the first time in a long time but had stayed toasty due to Charlie's close proximity. Now, however, it was obvious from the chill creeping into her back and kidneys that he'd gotten out of bed.
She cracked one eyelid open and immediately saw him by the bay window. The sun was slowly rising, giving the room a muted blue glow. He was completely naked, and he was… Dancing?
Without announcing that she was awake, she watched as he twirled and shuffled around. Things jiggled that shouldn't be jiggling but she minded not one iota. She was totally in love with the crazy fool.
Next, he began to punch the air and mouth something. She peered across in the semi-darkness, trying to lipread. 'Yes' perhaps? Yes, it was, she decided. He was repeating that one affirmative word over and over.
She opened her mouth to speak, and then realised she probably shouldn't scare him. His heart had given them no trouble last night, but she didn't want to push things.
Instead, she gave an exaggerated yawn. Surreptitiously she watched him as he started from the noise. He searched the floor, for something to hide his nudity apparently, and snatched up his shirt from where they'd carelessly discarded it late last night. Clinging to his last shred of decorum, he placed it in front of his lower half and turned towards her.
"Whatever are you up to?" she asked lightly.
"Nothing," he replied, far too quickly.
"Dancing?" she teased. Then, it dawned on her. "Celebrating your exemplary performance?" she asked.
He gave her a sheepish smile.
She pulled back the covers invitingly. "Get in here you silly old fart. I'm getting cold."
"We can't have that," he said his tone full of importance.
They smoothly wrapped themselves around each other.
"This Christmas has been lovely. Thank you, Elsie."
"It's certainly been my pleasure, Charlie."
Such an understatement, she knew.
Their celebration had started on Christmas Eve.
At the base of the castle's grand staircase she'd nagged Charlie about whether or not he would make them wait until they were truly married before they had sex. He was inclined to be unreasonably old fashioned at times.
"Elsie, we don't have to climb to the top straight away, do we?" he asked.
She gripped her clutch purse tightly, suddenly uncertain again.
Charlie went on: "I mean, we can just take it one step at a time. That will be okay with you?"
"You mean…" She hesitated, running through the conversation he'd had with Beryl in her mind again. She should remember he'd had a heart attack not long ago. But...their kisses? Their close dancing? Could they not still do other things? That must be what he was saying; that he wasn't quite capable physically, despite his claims to Beryl. "You can't get to the top just yet?"
"No, no, I'm sure I can," he said, contradicting her thoughts, "but I just want you to know I haven't…" He bobbed his head, baulking for a moment before continuing: "I haven't taken the steps in...years."
She frowned, confused. "Maybe we should stop with the metaphors?"
He chuckled and then bent his head close so he didn't need to speak too loudly. "I mean I haven't slept with a woman for… More years than I want to admit. So I might be a bit...rusty. I just thought you should know in case I'm a bit of a disappointment tonight."
She drew in her breath sharply. "That's just silly!"
His thick eyebrows twitched. "But we have the rest of our days to get things right," he said pompously. "Practice makes perfect. Just tell me what-"
"No, I didn't mean you were silly. I meant I was."
He shook his head, obviously completely confused.
"It's more than a little embarrassing to admit, Charlie, that I haven't slept with anyone since I was divorced," Elsie confessed in a rush.
"You've not… Ever? Since?" His face creased. She could almost hear his brain adding and subtracting years, doing the maths.
"No. At first it felt too soon," she tried to explain. "Then, I concentrated on my career. I went on the odd date now and then. I might have kissed a man once or twice, but there was nobody that made me want to…" She waved her hand around vaguely. "Then, I just thought no one would bother. I'm no oil painting-"
"Silly woman-"
"-anymore. So it seems ironic that you should be worried by such a thing. I don't want to disappoint you."
He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her hair as he did. "You could never. We'll get there in the end," he vowed. "I promise I'll try my hardest." He realised the innuendo attached to his comment only when she leaned back and arched an eyebrow. "I mean, my best," he corrected with a leer.
They both laughed and then they were kissing, and her hopes rose from the way their lips met naturally as if they'd been kissing each other like this for years. He claimed practice would make perfect and they'd only practised this three times and it was quite close to perfection.
She was going to whisper him this racy conclusion when another woman's voice interrupted.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Mistletoe Romeo." They separated, startled. Gladys had come up behind them, along with the moon faced barman that Elsie now knew was Septimus Spratt. "It looks like there's life in the old boy, after all."
"I apologise for Ms Denker," Spratt drawled. "I'm afraid her humour is understood by her and her alone."
"Septimus Spratt!" she scolded. "I can think of a few times you've found me amusing," she added brazenly.
Spratt made a 'hmph' noise before turning to Charlie. "Would you like me to wait and make sure you reach the second floor in the lift?"
Charlie puffed out his chest. "No, no. I think I'll tackle the stairs tonight."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gladys smirk as if she knew what the implication of the ascent. Luckily Charlie had turned his full attention to Elsie. "I like to think I can face any challenge with you by my side, Mrs Hughes."
So, his arm brushing against hers with every step, they'd climbed the stairs. He hadn't even needed to pause or rest once to catch his breath.
The Queen Anne seemed much smaller when they arrived. The period furniture and luxurious styling faded into the background until all she could focus upon was the large bed.
Removing her coat and shoes, she turned towards Charlie who also hovered awkwardly.
"Practice makes perfect," she supposed with a crooked smile.
And they certainly had a perfect start to the season. It was just after midnight when they had woken and Charlie had pointed out it was now technically Christmas Day.
"I promised you bling."
"I don't know if I'm the bling type, Charlie."
He rose and wrapped one of the towels which had been folded neatly on the bed when they'd arrived around his waist in one swift action. She wondered, not for the first time, if the acting classes he'd taken in his youth had taught him how to move around with such dexterity or if he was born with an innate ability. For such a large man, he was often graceful.
He switched on one of the desk lamps and rustled around in the corner as he kept talking. "You also told me you were too plain for men to look at, which is complete rubbish."
He turned triumphantly with the two red stockings in his hand, making her snort.
"What's so funny?" he asked in his usual blustery way.
"You," she confessed. "You look so silly. If I took a photo right now I'm sure I could blackmail you for quite some time."
He pursed his lips and dived into the 'C' stocking, ignoring her. Perhaps, she wondered, if she just loosened the end of the towel a little…
"Elsie!" he yelped.
He dropped the stockings and their contents in a heap beside the bed as he tried desperately to catch the falling towel. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed his hands that were flailing around, and held them tightly to the side so she could inspect him properly.
She'd never looked so closely to a man's body before, certainly not his nether-regions. Joe would have thought she'd gone mad if she'd wanted to look. She didn't even touch him much, just a quick stroke and never when they weren't actually performing a sexual act.
"Elsie…" Charlie's tone this time was much more guttural, quite similar to when he'd…
She smiled smugly, remembering. Of course, any superior attitude she might have was crushed when she thought about how many times he'd made her come throughout the night already. The ease with which he'd brought her to orgasm over and over was actually infuriating.
She'd made some stumbling apology the first time.
After removing her shoes and coat, she'd stood before him in her silver dress. He didn't seem to think the way its material clung to her curves made her look too chunky if his sweet scrutiny was anything to go by. His brown eyes darkened as his gaze travelled from her neck down to her stockinged feet and back again.
At an excruciating leisurely pace he bent his head and nipped at her earlobe before placing lingering kisses on her neck while turning her around. After a brief search, his fingers found the dress's hidden zip and lowered it slowly, massaging and kissing her spine as he parted the sleek material.
Once the dress pooled at her feet and she was clad only in her bra, knickers, and stockings, she made to turn to face him again, but his right hand cupped her hip, holding her in place.
"One step at a time, remember," he husked, pressing his bulk against her enticingly before his left hand crept around to cup her breast. He began to toy with the soft material of her bra. It was a plain bone coloured number which, knowing Charlie, probably turned him on more than any flamboyant piece of sexy lingerie. His touch was certainly working wonders for her too.
Her head lolled, giving him full access as his mouth continued to suckle on the delicate skin of her neck. Frustratingly, she could feel the stiffly starched material of his shirt. He needed to remove some clothing too, she pouted silently. She decided to wriggle her bottom around and do some provoking of her own. While doing so she felt the growing evidence of his erection.
"Everything's in working order, it seems," she said in her most businesslike tone.
In retaliation for her teasing he tweaked her nipple. Instantly, it hardened obediently.
Then, far too abruptly, he removed his hand from her breast altogether. He also stopped pressing kisses into her neck.
Panicky, she sobbed his name, her tone so needy already as blindly, desperately, she reached for him.
"It's okay," he rasped near her ear, his other hand soothing her by rhythmically stroking her hip. His thick thigh shimmied under her grip.
Soon he returned his hand to her breast, this time sliding it under the material of her bra and touching her bare skin. His thumb was now slightly damp. He brushed it back and forth across her nipple.
"Heaven help me," she gasped.
Every nerve ending pulsed. His leg became her mainstay and she clung onto it tighter.
The hand on her hip opened wide and moved lower.
Her neck fell forward, limp like a rag doll's, so she could watch. His wide palm lay flat beneath her navel. One of his knees had nudged between her legs. The contrast of her whiter than white thighs was startling compared with the darker band of nylon which was holding up her stockings. She cursed herself for not daring to wear suspenders. He must think her a frump.
"You're beautiful," he contradicted softly as if reading her mind.
She kept watching, mesmerised. Her bottom lip was now clenched so tightly between her teeth she could taste blood. His large masculine hand skimmed along the top of her knickers before reaching inside. A hot flood of moisture rushed to meet his seeking fingers.
His chest rumbled. "And here I thought we might need to purchase some sort of lubricant," he chuckled.
"I'm-"
"If you dare say you're sorry, I'll…" He made a grunting noise. "Well, I'll do something you won't like," he settled on saying with a grumble.
She expelled a snort of laughter and relief at his crazy threat. Her humour didn't last, however, because his fingers had resumed their course and within seconds had zoomed in on their target.
And like that, she came with the force of too many dry years. She moaned his name, her accent stretching it out until it had at least six syllables. Her head slammed back and her eyes shut to reveal a kaleidoscope of colours dancing behind her now tightly closed lids. She floated through the air on a wave and then was drowning, fighting for breath. Her knees buckled and she was falling. Charlie was there though, catching her, pressing against her pubic bone, rubbing it with the base of his palm, prolonging her orgasm.
When she caught her breath finally, she opened her eyes and reality set in. She was semi-naked, their legs were tangled together, one of his hands was inside her bra, the other was down her knickers.
Mortified, she struggled to be free.
"Elsie?" He let his hands drop away and allowed her to turn. Her face was flushed, a mixture of her shame and (still) arousal.
"I'm sorry. It was probably because it's been so long and…"
"Whatever would you be sorry about?"
"You must think that I'm…" She didn't finish that statement. He knew she wasn't some sort of slapper, but surely he wouldn't appreciate her being so…
"I think I'm the luckiest git alive."
Her eyes widened. "Language," she muttered.
"How I've convinced you, the most charming and loveliest woman I know, to be here, like this, with me, I'll never know, but I'll just say a quick prayer of thanks and leave it at that."
Then, with strength and agility belying his age and recent illness he pressed her onto the mattress and manipulated her limbs until she lay prone whilst he undressed. "I think you're very pretty, Elsie Hughes," he promised a few minutes later. "Now, be quiet, lie back-" He pulled the duvet out from under her so that she laid on a cool crisp sheet only- "and think of England. We need to practice some more."
She flushed now with the memory. What sort of soft fool called a woman of her age pretty, for goodness sake.
His age had caught up with them when she'd flicked the towel to the floor earlier. He'd jerked his wrists, trying to free himself without hurting her, but she held tightly even though he was obviously much stronger.
"Elsie," he murmured, his tone deep yet sending a shiver through her body, like the second time she'd come, his head between her legs, his mouth lapping at the physical confirmation of her first orgasm. Joe had always been reluctant to go down on her, but Charlie had dived in, so to speak, with such enthusiasm that she nearly came again now with the thought of it.
She couldn't allow herself be distracted, however. Returning the favour was only fair.
She crawled up onto her knees so she could get a better view.
He was smaller now that he wasn't hard but it was still clear he was much bigger than the norm. "The height size ratio mustn't be a myth," she noted, her tone scientific but still he twitched and made a grumpy noise at the back of his throat.
She didn't have much to compare, of course. Joe, obviously. She had one boyfriend prior to her marriage but, as a mere lass of sixteen, she'd only indulged in a little heavy petting, stopping short of 'going all the way' for fear of pregnancy.
His skin was much darker around his genitals and that excited her more than she cared to admit. There was something erotic about Charlie's olive skin interlaced with her Celtic paleness.
"Elsie, what are you doing?" he groaned as she tilted her head this way and that.
"Just looking." Checking out the goods, the young ones would say.
"It's rather disconcerting!"
"Yes," she replied, vague. Surely one small touch… Letting go of his hands, he relaxed somewhat. While he was lulled into a false sense of security, she reached around so that she could gently squeeze his butt cheeks.
Again, miraculously, he twitched.
He'd been inside her the third time she'd climaxed. He'd been rocking unhurriedly, gently sliding against her clit with each long stroke, kissing her freckles almost absentmindedly when she'd cried out and come with a burst of emotion.
"This is getting a little crazy now," she'd breathed after she'd returned to (almost) normal from that high.
"I'm going to join the new craze for adults. Dot-to-dot." His fingers laid a path for his tongue. "Only I'll use your freckles rather than anything in a book."
She found some trace of strength to slap his chest ineffectually.
The freckle game had given her some time to compose herself and she was ready by the time his gentle strokes became much more assertive. He gradually picked up his pace along with his force until he came, not with a roar as she might have supposed, but with tears in his eyes and a plethora of whispered endearments.
It hadn't been the least bit silly.
But just the once for her poor man.
She felt his fingers thread through her hair which now fell in haphazard waves around her face but he applied no pressure to draw her closer.
She licked her lips at his restraint. Then, slowly she took him into her mouth, tasted his musky maleness. She felt his nails scratch along her scalp as she tightened her lips the smallest amount. Her mouth slid along until she was dangerously close to his coarse pubic hair before returning to the soft tip of his penis. She released him with a popping noise and peered at her quarry analytically. This was much more comfortable while he wasn't fully erect, she realised. He was rather large; she'd have to work up to something more daring in the future.
"Elsie…"
Startled at the way his voice was almost a strangled cry, she looked up. Charlie's eyes were rolled back in his head. His face was bright red and a lather of perspiration.
"Oh! Charlie! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you feel sick!"
His head snapped and his eyes opened fully. "Are you crazy?" he puffed. "I'm not sick!" He took a deep steadying breath. "I like it. Very much so."
She flushed with pleasure.
"But I'm…older. And was in hospital a few weeks ago. I can't cross everything off my bucket list in one night."
She patted his thigh. "Silly," she mock scolded. "Hop back into bed then and we'll have a cuddle. My knees aren't up to these crazy shenanigans anyway." Yes, she'd have to take the bull by the horns another time, she giggled to herself.
"It's after seven. Do you want to order some breakfast?" Charlie asked now, snapping her out of her reminiscing about the night. "We need to keep our strength up."
"I never thought I'd ever have such crazy conversations with you, Charles Carson."
She'd settled into a comfortable position - her head propped on his expansive torso, one leg looped across his. She brushed the back of her hand across the small sprinkling of hair on his chest. His lack of body hair had been surprising, given the thick thatch on his head and his bushy eyebrows.
"I'm so happy we never did this sooner," he murmured.
"Really?" she snapped.
He kissed her firmly on her pouting mouth. "I just mean meetings could have become quite uncomfortable." His hand came around to massage her breast, almost without conscious thought. "I would have spent my time testing desks for their sturdiness."
"Charlie!" She slapped his chest. "You're crazy," she admonished, letting herself relax again.
He leaned over and switched on the radio. George Michael's Last Christmas was playing.
"More Christmas songs!"
"I loved you last Christmas," he promised.
"Yes," she agreed. It was crazy that they'd taken this long to act on that love, but she now knew for certain it had always existed. "But this Christmas, Charlie… This Christmas has been perfect."
~~The End~~