A/N- You've all been so good and I may not be able to post tomorrow and this had been written for weeks, so….Update number 3 (a short one!
Honeymoon- Part 1. Mild T Rating. -
Charles kept looking at the door that led to the hallway that led to the stairs that led to his wife. What on earth was going on up there? He tried to focus on the whiskey he was drinking; it was another gift from Tom and was very fine compared to what Charles usually drank, on the rare occasion that he drank whiskey. With each sip, he would roll the amber liquid over his tongue, letting the fumes rise up his nostrils from the back of his throat. There were hints of caramel and toffee behind a fruity, spicy , he would swallow and feel the heat slide down his throat. These sensations distracted him somewhat, but paradoxically, they distracted him from thinking of Elsie by stimulated more thoughts of Elsie. It was a vicious circle. John was valiantly keeping up a one-sided conversation. Charles was trying to remember the advice that Fredrick, Nathan and John had given him during the stag night. "Take your time." "Trust your instincts." "Stay hydrated."
Mrs. Crawley had left a note for Charles reminding him that the only other souls in the house for the next three days would be the near deaf cook and her scullery maid. He and Mrs. Carson were to enjoy this little honeymoon quite undisturbed, he was assured. The last line of the note made him blush at her implication. "There are towels and robes in the bathroom. The boiler will be on, so no need to skimp on the hot water."
Finally, Anna and Beryl came back downstairs. "We'll be leaving now." Anna said without preamble. The ladies fought to keep their smiles natural, but the grins on their faces were too mischievous by half. Not that Charles noticed. Before he could form words of thanks, the entire party was out the front door and he was quite alone. No, he thought, they were alone.
He finished his whiskey quickly, not bothering to savor it, just letting it burn down to his stomach. He started up the stairs. Just the thought of what was waiting for him made him lightheaded. He forced his breathing to a normal pace. He could do nothing to control his heartbeat.
Charles had at first been put out that the women insisted on "preparing" Elsie for him. He had wanted to be the one to slowly undress her from her wedding gown, to draw out the process teasingly. Before the wedding, he had hopes of finding a way to thwart their plans; to magic her away from the reception before they could claim her. As soon as he saw her in the dress, however, he saw that they'd known better. First of all, she was so desirable that he was never going to be able to do anything slowly; not the first time, anyway. Secondly, there were about a thousand buttons and hooks that were too delicate for his fingers. The dress would be ruined if it was left to him to remove it from her. He knew she didn't want that, so he'd finally accepted the women's assistance.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped to still his breathing again. He looked down the corridor; it was short, but very like the attic corridor down which they'd both lived for over 20 years. But there was no locked door in the middle of this corridor. There was nothing keeping him from his Elsie now. She was waiting for him. He would not make her wait any more.
He knocked gently on the door of the largest guest room. Firelight glowed from under it.
"Are you decent, Mrs. Carson?"
CE—
It seemed like an eternity since Anna and Beryl left. Were the men having another round of drinks with the ladies? Were they discussing the wedding? Were they discussing the reception? Were they discussing her, up here waiting in the flimsy French negligée Lady Mary had given her? She could not resist a look in the mirror after the women had left her. She noticed how the dusty rose color of the silk mimicked the slight blush of her cheeks. She noticed how sheer the fabric was. She thought of Charles seeing her like this and she blushed more deeply. Elsie stilled her nervous breathing and took a drink from one of the bedside water glasses. One of Anna's bits of advice to her, "Make sure you both drink plenty of water."
She was on the bed now. Was this a good place to wait for him, she wondered? Should she be standing by the door? Should she be standing by the bed? Was it proper for her to be waiting for him on the bed? Was the negligée too revealing? Was it too much, too soon? Maybe she should be wearing the ivory robe that accompanied the slip. The girls insisted that she not wear it. But she was getting cold now. Or was she warm? She could not tell. Her face felt warm but her hands were cold. She was starting to panic a little. What is taking him so long?
She was just about to jump up and grab the robe from the back of the door when she heard his knock. It was the same knock that she had heard a thousand times. It had stirred complex emotions every one of those thousand times. How her heart grew whenever he leaned in her sitting room doorway. Sometimes he was wishing her good night. Sometimes he was bringing her tea. Sometimes he was updating her on the place settings. Sometimes he was coming to check on her after a hard day. Sometimes he was coming to apologize. Tonight he was coming to…
"Are you decent, Mrs. Carson?" his voice sounded tentative.
She was definitely warm now. "Far from it, Mr. Carson. Please, come in."
He didn't need to be asked twice. He leaned into the room as he pushed the door in front of him. Framed there as she always pictured him, but looking so very different tonight.
He had tried to prepare himself for this moment. He had imagined being with her like this so often over the years, often against his will, that he thought nothing could live up to the fantasy that he'd built up. He had seen plenty of flesh during his time on the stage, but those women were common, aggressive and available to the highest bidder. His Elsie was not like those women. Though in some ways, he knew she must be.
Upon entering the room, Charles Carson realized that he was a man of feeble imagination. His fantasies fell so far short of the reality that now faced him. The firelight made the sheer silk slip she wore almost invisible. Without a corset or a robe to hide them, he saw that her feminine curves were softer and rounder than he ever dreamed.
He'd held her in his lap so often lately that he thought he knew her body. Now he saw he knew as much about it as a child knew about a Christmas gift that was wrapped in a beautiful and intricately decorated box. The wrapping only teased at the toy it contained no matter what angle you examined it from and no matter how much you shook it.
She had her hands clasped demurely in front of her which had the effect of accenting her breasts, though he was sure it was not intentional. She was kneeling on the edge of the bed. It made her taller. Their faces would be almost level when he reached her; if he could reach her. His feet were stuck to the ground. His hand would not release the door handle. His body was so busy reassigning blood flow that his mind simply stopped working.
He felt the heat rushing through his limbs and flushing his skin. It was a strange sensation to let it wash over him unhindered. All the years of suppression and denial were over; if he could only manage to put one foot in front of the other.
And her hair was down. Lord, he'd never imagined how young she could look with her hair down. He had seen teases of tendrils fall loose on some occasions. But even when there was an emergency in the middle of the night, she took time to pin up her hair. Now he saw that there was more auburn color in her tresses than he'd realized. In the firelight, the grey looked like streaks of blonde. He could imagine her as a blushing bride of twenty. He could imagine himself as the young man who had been brave enough to win her. In this moment, they had a whole life ahead of them. All those years he had wasted were forgotten. Lord, he thought, there has been some great cosmic mistake. This woman could not be meant for him.
His eyes followed the flow of her hair to where a length of it curled teasingly at her bare collarbone. He saw the flush of pink on the skin of her face and neck and chest as she smiled at him encouragingly. Somehow, this broke the spell that bound his legs and he lurched forward ungracefully until he reached her.
His breathless voice sounded miles away. "Hello, wife." They were almost eye to eye. He still had not touched her.
"Hello, husband." Her smile was mesmerizing. "I thought you would never get here."
He brushed her hair back over her shoulder with his right hand, his thumb lightly caressing the hollow of her collarbone.
Rice rained to the floor from his collar and his coat pockets as she untied his cravat and pushed the coat off his shoulders. Finally, freed from these formal trappings, he wrapped his left arm around his wife possessively, caressing her face with his right which he buried in her hair. He smiled against her smile as he whispered. "I thought we would never get here."
A/N- Aaaaaand we will leave them here with their privacy. I will go more T rated in the next chapter, which should post by Monday at the latest, but it won't be too detailed. There are some lovely M rated stories on fanfic. net . I suggest you read some of them if you want a more vivid idea of what our lovely Carsons are up to.
I love to read the 'M' stuff, I just don't trust myself to write them within the spirit of this story. So, until HBO picks up the rights to the Downton Abbey Afterhours spinoff, I shall try to keep closer to the spirit of the show.
