Oddments Reprise
Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.
Pairing: Thomas Boleyn/ Katherine of Aragon
Prompt #35: Impostor
"Thomas! Thomas, Thomas." Katherine screamed as her most intimate muscles clenched around him. Thomas. There was only one man whom she called that name. Thomas Wolsey was his Excellency or your Eminence. Thomas Cromwell was Mister Cromwell. He… he was husband, said with a sneer and sarcasm. Or he was her Lord. Boleyn was often snapped at him. To her only the good Mister More was Thomas. She'd sigh his name often enough as they held private conversations. Ones that persisted despite his forbidding her from seeing the former Chancellor. She loved him, she had to, Boleyn knew this as much as he did not like it. And yet she had every reason to, More did not set out to pull her aside, bring her down, More treated her as a Queen. He was not bent on making her life a living hell. Bolen, even when he did not actively try to make her unhappy still managed to. Even when he tried to make her happy he made her sad. It was perfectly logical for the Spanish beauty to love the Englishman that treated her well. He knew this, he understood this. He hated this.
She was his wife, goddamnit; she should call his name when they experienced coitus. She should love him. It was a little voice in his head. An even smaller one recognizing that the sentiment rang in his heart as well. He did not finish, he did not cum. He completely shut off. Katherine did however, soft, strong muscles clenching around his depressed member. He rolled off of her walls as thick as the Tower erecting around him. She curled to him, curves pressing to him in the way he used to love – warm and soft. He was nothing but cold and hard. That one name ruined the antebellum of their bed.
"Husband?" Katherine asked softly, she now noticed his change. The absence of his arms, the feeling inside her of his release. "Husband, what is the matter? Did I not satisfy you?" If she had not ripped out his heart it would have broken. Her concern for satisfying her husband, not her own satisfaction.
She was probably still wishing to satisfy More – not you. A voice said harshly in his head.
"You do not have to pretend, Katherine, I am not your precious More." Katherine looked sharply at him.
"More? What of him, I do not understand." Heartless woman, forcing him to outline her love for another.
"You called his name! You cried his name while I made love to you." He was angry and he was hurt.
"I asked you for more, to give me more, I did not ask for Lord More." She denied it! Thomas sprang from their bed.
"You called me Thomas!" she looked at him. She blinked, and then her eyes hardened, her nostrils flared, cheeks and breasts flushing an indignant pink.
"Unless there is an impostor in my bed, I believe your name is Thomas as well. At least when I took those heretical vows I married Thomas Boleyn. Are you sir not Thomas?" He paced a little, tunneling his fingers through his snowy hair.
"You never call me that, I am never Thomas to you. More is the only man who you call Thomas."
Katherine pondered; he could see her thoughts behind oceanic eyes. He was on edge, her thoughts putting every muscle in his body into a knot. The anticipation was like that before a joust, it had his heart rate up.
"You were the Thomas I was calling for." She finally said. "I called for you and you alone. I called you Thomas because for a moment I let myself believe you love me. That you cared. That you were human. I was mistaken." Her words were not angry but even, sad and soft.
He was her Thomas. He was Thomas when she pretended they were in love, when she subscribed to the same glorious fiction for a moment. All of the tension and anger and hurt evaporated. He crawled back onto their bed and embraced her fiercely.
"Catalina, Oh, Catalina," he murmured into her hair.