A/N: Thanks so much for the fabulous reviews, especially the guests to whom I cannot reply directly.

I realize that a couple of you found the last chapter a bit odd, but in this particular instance I think that a night of no sleep followed by a busy wedding day would have made Elsie just about dead on her feet, and that Charles would have wanted her a bit more awake in order to be able to enjoy their … activities. I like to think that despite what we saw in CookingGate, he truly would put his wife's feelings and needs ahead of his own, even forcing her to rest when she insisted she was fine.

That said, this is an *M rated chapter.* It's not over-the-top "M" and I won't change the rating of the entire story, but it's worth mentioning in case sex between over-60s squicks you.

Wishing all my friends a very Happy Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for all of you, and for this glorious Chelsie community.

xx,

CSotA


He'll sleep and he'll rise

In the light of two eyes that adore him.

In every way, every day I need less of myself.

I need more him ... more him.

'Cause his is the only music that makes me dance.


Elsie wakes beside her husband about four hours later. She knows instantly where she is, inhaling deeply and breathing in a somewhat new scent, a combination of her soap and his, added to the familiar smell that she thinks of as just him, something woodsy and reminiscent of home.

Home.

She's nowhere near any physical home she's ever had. Never before has she been surrounded by such elegance and fine furnishings, by linens of such quality and by a room so well-appointed - at least, nowhere that wasn't work. But she is home, more home than she's ever felt, for she feels so right, so perfectly right lying by his side.

She shifts a bit so that she can turn and look at him, realizing that at some point he rolled onto his back again, that he took his arm back instead of keeping her wrapped up tightly in his embrace. It doesn't surprise her, for they've spent their entire lifetimes sleeping alone and she imagines it will take some time getting used to sleeping with one another.

Something else is different, though, something she cannot quite place. Her mind is hazy, and as she replays the night in her head it takes her a moment to pull it forward.

Oh, the dear man.

She realizes she's watching the flicker of light moving along the wall in what should be a pitch-black room, realizes she's quite warm, indeed, and that Charles must have gotten up and started a fire in the hearth after she'd so unceremoniously fallen asleep.

Well, at least she's awake now.

He's got the blankets around his waist and she raises herself up on her elbow, propping her head on her hand as she glances over his peaceful countenance, smiling to herself as she watches him sleep. He doesn't snore, which makes her immensely happy, but his breathing is deep and even and she finds it calming.

Her eyes move down past his chin to the sparse, gray hair peeking out from the opening at the top of his pajamas. She sees that he's left the top two buttons undone, and it makes her smile more broadly because it's so opposite to how he's forced to wear his livery day in and day out. Thinking back to the handful of times she's seen him clad in pajamas at the Abbey, she realizes that this more relaxed way is new to her, and that he must keep himself properly buttoned even in his sleepwear when at the Abbey, when there's a chance that the staff would see him in his pajamas.

But he doesn't have to be buttoned up in her presence … now she gets to see him completely at ease. Before she knows it, her fingers are reaching out for that small patch of his chest, her touch brushing across the skin as she marvels at the softness of him.

He stirs, and she instantly retracts her hand. But it appears that he's still asleep and so she returns her fingertips to their previous location, now tucking them underneath his shirt. His breathing has changed and she thinks he's awake, but she is hesitant to verify that theory in case he's able to catch some more sleep than she was.

"Good morning," he mumbles, and she flushes a bit at how the deep, raspy tone to his voice stirs something deep within her.

"Good morning - I think. The sun's not up yet."

He opens his eyes and licks his lips before reaching to cover her hand as it lies on his chest. "I was having the most wonderful dream."

"Oh?" She smirks at him and twists her hand a bit, catching his fingers in her own.

"Yes. It appears I was married, can you believe that?"

She laughs. "As it so happens, I am having a bit of difficulty believing it, but it sounds intriguing."

"It was. My wife was the loveliest of women, inside and out, and I felt completely unworthy."

"Oh, come now," she chides softly.

"It turns out it wasn't a dream." He reaches over to tuck her long hair behind her ear and then lifts himself up a bit to capture her lips in a soft kiss.

Her breath catches when his lips separate hers, when she feels his tongue brush along her lower lip. When her mouth opens more and his tongue actually touches hers, she almost loses her mind. But she refuses to back away, and when he presses forward a bit more insistently she finds her hand leaving his chest and finding purchase in his hair as she holds him to her, her body reacting in ways that would previously have embarrassed her … but no more. She understands now the sudden heat between her legs, the oddly wet sensation that she feels there, understands that it's him that's making it happen, this one thing on a list of so many other things that she's only ever going to experience with Charles.

Charlie. Perhaps. She thinks so, though.

After a moment, the need to breathe becomes too great and she's forced to push him away. She wonders how people manage to do this all the time, how they breathe at all, and she finds she's rather looking forward to discovering the secret to it.

"Well," she manages. "That was something."

He waggles his eyebrows and she giggles, her fingers still carding through the hair by his temple.

"Is this how we'll wake up every morning, I wonder?"

"Well, I'd not complain," he answers, tilting his head so that her palm cups his cheek; he smiles when she brushes his lips with her thumb.

They stare into one another's eyes for a moment, until she needs to shift her position and get off of her elbow. She rolls onto her back and he moves up to hover over her.

"Did you sleep well?" His lips brush across her forehead and she sighs.

"I did. Very well, actually, and I didn't expect that I would. What time is it, exactly?"

"I'm not sure that I care," he answers, his voice deep, his eyes now fully awake. He's now entirely aware of the feel of her nightgown, of the silkiness of the fabric against his wrist, where his sleeve had ridden up a bit when he moved to lay his arm around her waist.

Elsie swallows a bit nervously and moistens her lips. "Well …"

"Well." He leans down and kisses her again, a gentle touch that slowly becomes deeper and more passionate, and she moans into his mouth, spurring him on a bit further and stirring him into a heightened state of arousal. Her hands move up behind his back, attempting to pull him down closer despite his efforts to not allow the whole of his body to touch hers just yet. His hand slides off of her hip, however, and slowly climbs up her ribcage, pausing before his fingers reach her breast, and her breath catches.

He moves away again, aware that he'll need to take his time in order to keep himself under control - and because it occurs to him belatedly that he may be scaring her.

"I don't mean to frighten you, Elsie. God knows I would never want to do anything you're not comfortable with. If you ever want me to stop ..."

"I know that," she tells him. "And you're not scaring me, not really, and I definitely don't want you to stop. I want this - all of this - so very much, but ..."

"But?"

She shakes her head. "I don't … It's just all so new, Charles. And, to be perfectly honest, it's a bit overwhelming."

And I have no idea what you want me to do, she thinks, but she can't bear to say that bit out loud.

He raises an eyebrow at her declaration. "It is for me, too. But we'll learn together," he reminds her, and she nods. "I've never … well, not like this."

"I know," she whispers, wondering what he meant by like this but most definitely not wanting to ask right now.

"And I've been looking forward to this for a very, very long time," he adds, dropping a kiss to her forehead.

"I hope you don't think that I haven't been looking forward to it," she tells him frankly, "because I have. Very much. I just … Well, we were off to a good start. Perhaps you could kiss me again?"

He smiles brilliantly. "It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Carson."

oOoOoOoOo

The next many minutes are spent kissing, exploring one another's mouths as hands roam over sides, arms, and more. At one point, Charles clutches Elsie to himself and, somehow, they end up facing one another, on their sides once more.

She feels his hand twitch at her side, just against her ribs, and she knows what he's thinking, that he's seeking permission from her. It thrills her that he wants to have his hands on her body, that he's excited by the prospect of it all and not appalled by the sight of her, by the sounds she's making.

She shifts slightly, ducking her body a bit further down, effectively placing the bottom of her breast into his palm. When he squeezes it, she lets out a sound akin to a squeal, causing him to break away suddenly in fear.

"Have I hurt you?"

"Oh, heavens no, Charles. Just … keep doing that." She blushes, the red spreading across her chest and throat, and he finds her embarrassment touching.

He's only too happy to oblige, of course, and dips his head to kiss her neck, brushing his thumb over her hardened nipple and smiling when she groans with delight and arches her back a bit, pushing herself more firmly into his palm.

Charles marvels at Elsie's reactions to his ministrations. It's more than he'd dared to hope for, that she'd not just give herself to him because she felt it was her duty as his wife, but also because she might feel that she, too, could find pleasure in it all. He looks in her eyes, noting the darker hue of blue that is now staring back at him; his heart fills with pride as he realizes that she wants to be his lover - not just as a 'wifely duty,' but as a true partner in all ways.

He moves his hand to her shoulder, then brushes his knuckles up the curve of her jaw. "I'll do whatever you want me to, Elsie. I want nothing more than to make you happy."

She has no reply, biting back the words about how she'd be happy with any form of affection from him. It sounds trite in her mind, and it's not really the truth … not entirely. She would have been content to simply be his wife in a sweet, loving, warm marriage. But she's accepted it now, the chance to be his lover, to share this most intimate of experiences with him; it's already more than she ever thought she'd have in her entire life.

And now she finds that she's less and less afraid, and more and more excited by every touch.

"This makes me happy." She takes a deep breath and reaches for his hand, placing it atop her breast again before moving her own hand down to his side, pulling up a bit on his shirt and tucking her fingers underneath it to caress his warm skin. "I'm still a bit nervous, I'll admit. But this is heavenly."

"I'm a bit nervous, too, truth be told. But we're always rather good together, aren't we? I see no reason why this should be any different." He smiles teasingly at her and she bites down on her lip and nods somewhat excitedly.

"Charles?"

"Mm?"

"Kiss me again. Please?"

And so he does.

oOoOoOoOo

Somehow she's managed to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt without him realizing it. He figures it out when she slides her hands up over his shoulders to push the fabric off and he feels a burst of cool air, and he lifts himself up long enough to remove the shirt and toss it somewhere beside them on the bed. He'd not bothered with a vest underneath given the warmth of the pajamas themselves, and … well, truly, he didn't feel he needed it.

Her hair is in a right state, and he thinks she might be horrified if she could see herself just now: red, swollen lips, flushed skin (which he appears to have marked just below her left shoulder), and her nightgown ridden up to her thighs from his hand having bunched it up by her hip.

She's positively breathtaking, and he's overwhelmed to look at her and realize that all of his dreams are coming true.

"Charlie?"

The corner of his lip turns up at the question, at the name.

"Charles …"

"No," he tells her, brushing her forehead with yet another kiss. "I like it. But only from you, mind."

She beams at him, her eyes alight with passion and humor and love.

He glances down at her chest again and slowly lowers his head, his lips pulling at her nipple through the soft fabric and causing her to arch her back again, crying out at the overwhelming sensitivity. And then his hand is reaching for the tie at her shoulder, undoing it slowly as he stares into her eyes, always seeking permission that she's only too willing to give. As the knot comes apart, he peels the satin down, exposing her entire breast and inhaling deeply in order to control his reaction.

She can feel his reaction, of course. She's not acknowledged it aloud, but she's been feeling it since they began kissing in earnest. She feels him twitch against her leg now, before he bends down and his lips find purchase on her once again, his tongue circling gently and causing her to writhe beneath him … and making her feel trapped in the nightgown, which is now arranged and tucked awkwardly around her.

"Charlie, wait," she gasps, pushing him off of her. He moves over quickly and she kneels, steels herself with pursed lips and tightly-shut eyes… and reaches down to grasp the nightgown and pull it up and over her head in one swift movement. It falls somewhere on the floor.

"My God, woman," he moans. He sits up and reaches out to cup her breasts in his hands. "You'll be the death of me."

It's her turn to smirk. "I certainly hope not." She winks at him, and he nearly growls as he grabs her in his arms and they tumble back onto the bed, him ending on his back and pulling her down on top of him as their lips crash together once again.

Touches, caresses, kisses, moans … every sense heightened, every awareness shared. Fears discarded by the wayside as they explore one another's bodies, as they whisper words of love and adoration and desire. She discovers that his chest is as sensitive as her own when her lips travel across it, her tongue teasing him as he lies beneath her. She's careful not to lay entirely atop him, mindful not to hurt him or cause him any discomfort.

Minutes later she's somehow on her back again, and they've paused to catch their breath.

"Elsie?" His hand moves to her hip, to where the lace of her knickers rests against her skin.

She nods, afraid to speak lest her voice shake. She's not afraid anymore, not of it, but she is a bit nervous that if she speaks, she'll sound like some horribly wanton woman who will be a disappointment to him. She, who has always managed to hold herself a cut above, has been reduced to a puddle of love and lust in their marital bed.

Perhaps this is how it should be, she thinks.

As her husband removes her last vestige of clothing, followed rather quickly by his own, she knows she's right.

"I'm afraid to cause you pain," he admits, now hovering above her, his knees between her legs.

"It'll be alright," she reassures him, her hand caressing his arm.

He tilts his head in acknowledgement of her words before slowly moving his hand along her hip and across her thigh, pausing once again until she nods her approval.

As his fingers move between her thighs she mutters something unintelligible, but he's encouraged by the look of pleasure on her face and continues to touch her gently, attentive to her reactions and filing them away for later but not stopping until she reaches out and pushes his hand aside.

She can't believe how suddenly she needs him, needs more from him, finally understanding how it is that people would give up almost anything for a chance to feel the way she feels in that moment.

"Charlie," she whispers huskily. "Please …"

It's all he needs to hear, and he shifts himself a bit, supporting himself on one arm as he positions himself where he needs to be.

He whispers her name in one long, drawn-out breath as he joins their bodies together at last, just a bit to allow them both to get used to the sensation, and she inhales sharply.

"Are you alright?"

She's overwhelmed, but manages to nod a few times. There's a bit of pain, but nothing like what her overactive imagination had feared. "I'm so much more than alright, love."

He gently pushes in deeper, pausing again until she reaffirms that she's not in any pain, and then slowly begins to find a rhythm.

She's fascinated by the sight of him hovering above her; as for the feeling of having him within her, that is absolutely nothing like what she'd ever imagined.

For his part, Charles is moved by the trust she places in him to care for her and to keep her from harm. She's giving herself to him in mind, body, and soul - he can read it in her eyes, which aren't closed as he'd so often imagined they would be, but rather are wide open and staring into the depths of his own, making the entire experience even more intimate than either of them had dared to dream.

It's not long before he feels himself losing control. He doesn't want to, tries to slow himself down to prevent it all from ending too quickly for her.

"Charlie?"

"I don't .. I don't want … I mean, you haven't …"

She's clearly confused, and he shakes his head. But he can't hold himself back any longer; as his movements speed up once again, he's spurred on by the feeling of her legs moving, wrapping around his own.

"Oh," she gasps, the deeper sensation gained by moving her legs entirely surprising to her. "Charlie ... " She can feel something deep inside of her beginning to stir.

With one final motion forward he stills, his body shuddering. She is a bit taken aback that she can feel him spilling inside of her. Certainly no one had ever prepared her for that.

She moves her head and reaches up for his face, looking past the exertion and the sheen of his brow and reading the complete bliss in his expression. She leans up and kisses him fully, squeezing him with her legs as well as her arms, embracing him in as many ways as she can.

"I'm sorry, love," he's saying.

"Don't you dare apologize for even one thing, Charles."

"But you didn't …" He can't bring himself to say it aloud.

Elsie is puzzled, knowing there's something he won't say. "I feel incredible, Charlie. That's all I know. Whatever is worrying you - don't let it."

But he shakes his head. "You'll see," he promises, stifling a yawn.

He shifts, and Elsie feels his body slip from hers.

"Ohhh."

She reaches out and grasps his arm, not willing to completely relinquish him … not yet.

Not ever … not anymore.

"What is it?" His face is full of concern, always.

"I didn't expect … never mind," she says, blushing.

Concern melts into love as he reaches to brush her mussed hair from her forehead.

"I know." He reassures her with a kiss and then rolls onto his back and opens his arms, and she readily tucks herself in once again. She squeezes him tightly, smiling as he peppers her hair with kisses.

They lie like that for a while, with Charles growing drowsy once again before her sudden giggle startles him.

"Elsie?"

She looks up at him and smiles. "I think that, in the end, you were more afraid of how that would go than I was," she teases him, her fingers trailing through the sparse hair covering his abdomen.

"Perhaps."

"Well," she adds, a satisfied smile playing about her lips, "I can safely say that I now know what the allure of it all is."

But her husband, keeper of the secrets of a life on the stage, of stories told by women much less restrained and refined than his wife, just shakes his head as he holds her more tightly.

"You just wait," he says, nodding off once again.

She wants to ask ... but then again, she really doesn't. She's felt so incredible this entire beautiful night (and morning, she remembers) that she doesn't wish to push her luck.


Please leave a wee review and let me know what you thought! It's so hard to write the wedding night, honestly, especially as I've done it before and didn't want to make them exactly the same. x