Oddments Reprise
Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.
Pairing: Thomas Cromwell/ Elizabeth Wyckes Cromwell
AN: This was originally supposed to be part of a full length traditional fic, which I realized I will probably never actually write, and so, I am recycling. Happy Earth Week.
Marmoreal: adj. made of marble, or like marble, especially in being white, cold, or aloof and impressive.
Prompt #51: Marmoreal
King Henry VIII collided with something soft, yet solid as he took his leave from his Secretary's office. A quiet 'uff' reached his ears and he looked down into clear blue eyes that widened before adverting. He'd run into a woman.
"Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, "Prey pardon me, your Majesty, I am so-"
"Tis quite alright, milady, and entirely my fault." Henry charmed, large hand extended, pulling her from her deep curtsy. He looked at her.
She was not beautiful enough for him to make one of her liaisons, but she was a pretty piece of scenery none the less. She was fair, her eyes were a clear blue, from under her green velvet cap a few blonde curls spilled out. Her dress was flattering, a fine shade of green velvet and cream silk, the neckline giving a nice view thanks to their striking height difference. Who was this woman with the delicately featured face? Why was she here?
"Is there something I can do for you, Mistress?" The King asked, his eyes looking her over from hat to heel. The woman smoothed a hand over her skirt in a nervous gesture, the King's critical eye catching a sparkle of sun reflecting off of a poor lover's token, a Latin inscription looking vaguely familiar, encircled the band.
"Is Mister Secretary Cromwell engaged?" She asked, her voice held spirit and the tones of a local accent.
"Mister Cromwell?" Henry asked in mild shock. What could this woman want with a secretary and a lawyer. He was not nearly as handsome as Brandon or as powerful as the King. Secretary Cromwell was simply an unimportant man, a cold, hard working Raven. The woman smiled at the name.
"Yes, Mister Cromwell, is he engaged?"
"No, he is not engaged, but he does not like surprises." A pretty, knowing smirk parted her full lips.
"I am aware."
"Elizabeth?" In the door way the secretary himself stood; a tall impressive figure in harsh black. His face was an unreadable mask as he looked at the petite woman before him. The woman, Elizabeth, blossomed. Her smile was like the sun, bright and radiant. She would be considered average by many, except for when she smiled, the happiness beaming from her made her absolutely stunning.
"Thomas!" She exclaimed taking a step forward and throwing her arms ups to embrace him. A look from his onyx eye brought them down again, her expression slipping. He looked down at her cold and closed.
"I did not expect you until this eve." He said in his dark voice, onyx flicking towards the King. "I see you have already met his Majesty." Henry watched her petite ears turn a soft rose.
"I was so excited to surprise you, but it seems that I was the one who received the surprise." She said taking his large hand in both of her smaller ones. It was as if she were trying to hold the hand of the statue David, the man was as cold and aloof as marble.
"You always did know how to make a first impression." It was a dry humor the secretary possessed. "Your Majesty, may I present my wife, Elizabeth Cromwell." The Lady curtsied again.
"Your Majesty."
"Mistress Cromwell." The King bowed, he would perhaps take the woman as a mistress just so that she might receive some affection, Secretary Cromwell resembling a marble statue more by the second. "I am sure you have more catching up to do." Henry bowed. "Mister Secretary, Mistress Cromwell." The King was off; he had to find his Anne, to shower her with affection – lest she think him a cold Cromwell.
"We are alone now." Elizabeth said closing her husband's heavy office door. "You may greet me properly." The stone mask he wore shattered into a million pieces as Thomas smiled and swept his wife up in his arms, spinning, her feet off of the ground, he then sat her on his desk and kissed her soundly, tongue sliding betwixt the lips he'd been missing for so long. He pulled back, kissing her in short pecks, peppering his words with the sound of their lips meetings.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I-" She cut him off, kissing him deeply, her fingers in his short hair.
"Thomas, if the one grievance I have with you in our marriage is your dislike of public displays of affection I am a most blessed wife indeed." She kicked off her shoes, her bare feet swinging from the desk on either side of his hips. "But if you would like to make it up to me I would not be opposed." She smirked at him and he smiled wolfishly, an idea aglow in his dark eyes. His hands sliding up her legs, he pushed her skirt up and out of the way before dropping to his knees on the plush rug, his head following his hands up her skirt, farthingale obstructing her view.
"Thomas, wha-" her question was cut off by his long, writing callused fingers touching her most sensitive area. His tongue slipped between her folds and she sent a stack of papers flying from his desk as she writhed, fingers searching for traction, for leverage, for something to hold onto as his lips brought about such sensation. Pleasure hummed in her blood making her body sing until she saw stars. He lapped at her like a cat, tongue taking little strokes, building tension, tasting her thoroughly. Her fingers dug into his hair, tugging at his curls mindlessly as he inserted two long fingers into her warm channel, stroking her inside and out until her most intimate muscles were clenching around him, her arousal coating his fingers, playing across his tongue, his name moaned low and guttural.
Thomas extracted himself from her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, licking his fingers as if they were covered in sweets. Her orgasm had made her limp; her taste had made him hard. She wasn't immobile for long, soon her tongue flicked over the roof of his mouth behind his teeth, her hands sliding to the waist of his breeches. With a few quick flicks of her wrist the satisfying sound of lace through leather rang throughout the office. She shoved the constricting fabric away and he sprang forth, his cock a proud arch to his stomach. Her slim hand took him in a fist as if it was a handle and pulled his hips gently to hers, he smiled, blessed to have a wife as insatiable as he. Hooking a shapely leg over his shoulder he thrust into her, slowly, fully, her lock a perfect fit for his key, as it was in the beginning, as if it was divine design. She moaned, another pile of papers flying, with what little part of his brain left to be dry he thanked God that there had not been any open ink on his desk when his wife arrived, the papers would be a big enough mess. He paused at his hilt, enjoying their connection, perfect every time they made it.
"I missed you. Oh how I missed you." Elizabeth whispered over and over again until he took her voice with the tilt of his hips and a deeper penetration as he rocked her back slightly. All the better angle for her pleasure and thusly his own. The surge of power he felt as she cried his name to the ceiling was as potent as sight of her body or her touch on his skin. Harder, faster, deeper. In and out, swivel of hips, clench of muscles. He nipped and sucked at her neck, feeling the vibrations of her throaty pleasure under his lips, her fingers scoring down his back, tunneling through his hair, her legs holding him tight, one foot pointed straight up by his ear, the other heel digging into his flanks urging him on. Coherent thought was not to be had until the blinding flash of light and his release, her most sensitive feminine muscles clenching around him until they were both utterly spent and he dry.
A knock at the door came with her last quake, husband and wife looked at each other wide eyed, how long had that been going on? Elizabeth tried to run, flushing hot pink but Thomas held her fast,
"Don't move," he whispered, "I need you for cover." He wrapped his arms around her waist and positioned her so her skirts, back in place, covered the fact his pants were still down around his knees. Elizabeth looked from him to the papers, thrown around his desk like a dusting of snow, to the door. Her husband barked,
"Enter." She began to laugh, silently, her body shaking from the bottled mirth.
A boy, tall and thin entered, his eyes growing as large as the badge on his chest as he looked in amazement upon the stoic secretary entangled with a woman. Elizabeth laughed harder, how they must look! Thomas gave her a squeeze; if he intended it to silence her he failed. He looked at the boy,
"Yes Caleb," he said sternly, although slightly undermined by the woman shaking in his arms. He could feel his trousers sliding further down his legs. "What is it?" Caleb, the boy, stared for a moment more before remembering his place and purpose.
"The King invites you and your…wife to dine with him tonight." He said with only minor hesitation, 'wife' seemed to be a foreign concept to associate with the King's raven of a secretary.
"Thank you Caleb, tell the King that it is our greatest honor to receive his invitation." The boy nodded but did not leave to inform his sovereign. Rooted he stared at his master and the woman in his arms, Wife, if he allowed logic to dictate his guess. Thomas stared right back at him.
"Is there something else?" He asked with a barbed tongue, his wife giggling against him, the smell of her hair, their long absence had him excited once again. The boy blinked, snapping out of his daze.
"No, no sir. I shall inform his Majesty of your acceptance." He turned to the door before turning back, "Good Day Mister Secretary, Mistress."
The door had barely latched behind the boy when a booming laugh resounded from Elizabeth's chest, it had been held in too long. Her eyes streaming with mirth she looked up at her husband who was more reserved in his amusement.
"We'd not had a shave that close in a while." She chortled, whipping her eyes she looked between them and then at the desk, papers strewn about. "What a picture this is. I hope those weren't important." She nodded towards the mess. He kissed her temple.
"Nothing is more important than you." She smiled and kissed his cheek.
"I am going to return to our room."
"What? Why?" the moment he had envisioned, a second position involving his wife and his desk, was dashed. She cast her eyes down to his member and quirked a brow with appreciation in her eyes.
"We are to dine with the King! I need to get dressed! And by the looks of things, so do you." She smiled, picked up her hat and headed for the door.
"Wicked woman!" He called after her; she paused and threw a smile over her shoulder.
"Would you have it any other way?"
No. No he wouldn't.
Thomas cooled, remaining in his office until he could walk to his chambers without embarrassing himself. When he did finally return to his rooms Elizabeth was before his vanity, dressed in a new gown of slate blue, comb gliding through her curls as she prepared for their dinner with the King. He came behind her and moved aside her blonde mane, kissing along her neck. She looked ravishing, the slate blue of her gown brought out her eyes. She giggled a little, fingers curling in his dark hair. He didn't want to go to dinner. He didn't want to share her. Thomas loved the King, loved his Majesty with the entirety of his loyal heart, and yet, Henry liked beautiful things…
After several minutes and the undoing of all her hard work Elizabeth put a stop to his most ardent worship of what little skin he could lay his hands on.
"Dinner. Thomas, Dinner. Thomas – stop. Dinner." He did not listen. She took him by the ear and pulled.
"What?" He snapped in pain, jarred from his private devotions.
"God, you'd think you're ears are big enough you'd have heard me the first time. We have to have dinner. With the King." She turned on the stool, looking mussed and wanton, hair well loved by his fingers, lips swollen by his kiss, a dark circular bruise forming at the junction of her neck and her shoulder. "We haven't the time to finish what we're starting," She looked pointedly to his crotch, a proud bulge in his breeches. "And we don't want to be an embarrassment." He shoved his hands in his pockets, frustrated.
"I'll wait outside." She smiled and turned back to the mirror, picking up her brush to begin anew.
He was barely in the next room when
"THOMAS!" Roared through their chambers, turning back to the door he found Elizabeth filling the space, hands on her hips, full breasts heaving. "What is THIS?!" she pointed to the proud hickey on her neck, one that she couldn't hide. He smiled, rather satisfied with himself.
"What's what, my heart?" She marched to him, by far bigger than her five foot stature.
"Don't you 'my heart' me, Thomas Cromwell, I look like a French Whore." He knew her distain for lover's marks, she found them trashy. He tended to agree but he could not help himself. He had longed for her to join him.
"No, you look like my wife." He took her by the narrow waist, the one thing she hated more than lovers' bites was the idea that a man could posses a woman – that a woman was anything less than human. Looking into her blue eyes spitting fire, showing the spirit he loved, the spirit he married, he spoke softly.
"You are my beautiful jewel, and I am simply your husband how am I to compete? I bring no ladies to their knees in a swoon, most look at me as some sort of over grown bat, others a statue, too boring and stiff to be alive. I want to show them that I am alive." She raised a hand and cupped his square cheek, she spoke with a teasing smile,
"You brought me to my peak again and again, I will attest that you are very much alive, Thomas, and anyone who does not see that is not worth our company." She gave him a chaste kiss, "You are forgiven – this time." He moved to kiss her but she pressed a pale finger to his lips, a small smile quirking her own. "Ah, this time I really must get ready to go." She retreated back into the bedchamber.
King Henry VIII found it very strange indeed to see his cold, calculating secretary with a woman on his arm, especially since she was by far more attractive than he. But on his arm she was. She had changed out of her traveling dress and into a dress of slate blue, the color brought out her clear blue eyes, her blonde hair was up in a bun under a matching blue French hood. He could not find one way that she and her husband were not opposites. Her husband, Mr. Secretary Cromwell was dressed in his usual dower dark robes; he towered over his petite wife. The King smiled at them both. This would prove to be an interesting evening.
It was then that Henry's regal eye noticed something about Mrs. Cromwell. Something he'd not seen when he met her that morning. A dark circle had appeared along her clavicle near the junction of her slender neck. It was a lover's bite, something he himself was familiar with. He looked upon his secretary again, this time in a new light. Perhaps he was not as cold as the King once thought. An interesting evening indeed.
ANII: Yes, yes, I reused the hickey scene, it's just that I find it so… versatile? Perhaps I'm unimaginative, but I thought it applicable both here and in Lady.
