This is set at the very beginning of Family Portrait. A 'what if they didn't wait for their wedding' idea that has been rolling around my noggin. It's just fluff.
I own nothing. Everything belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Just taking these two out to play. Rated K+. Enjoy.
Jean entered Lucien's room without knocking. He stood with his back to her, fumbling with something at his hands. "Ready?" She asked.
Lucien mumbled something under his breath as he turned, his thumb and index finger fiddled with his cufflink. Moving towards her, "Jean, would you mind?" He let his outstretched wrist fall into her open hands. His frustration slipped away as he watched her face; her eyes focused on her task.
He watched her eyelashes flutter as she glanced up at him quickly, a coy smile touched the corner of her mouth as she looked back to his wrist. With only a few weeks until their wedding, Lucien and Jean found themselves struggling to maintain a level of decorum fitting of their age and status; they carried on more like a pair of hormonal teenagers rather than two respectable adults in their middle age. Just the night before while enjoying a nightcap in the studio things nearly got carried away and ended with Jean straddling Lucien's lap, their clothing askew, mouths and hands needfully exploring one another, chasing an ineffable release that left them both breathless and aching.
Jean made quick work of fastening his cufflink and when she finished, she slid her hands over his and grasped it affectionately. Their eyes connected and she smiled sweetly, acutely aware of the desire building in his eyes. Without speaking he pulled his hand free and reached for her cheek. His lips smothered hers as his free hand ghosted over the bodice of her dress and settled over her hip. "Thank you," Lucien whispered as his mouth moved over her neck, nudging her head back he trailed kisses along the soft juncture at the base of her jaw. She sighed lightly as she worked to catch her breath.
A rustling in the hallway, followed by the distinct "ahem-hem" of a throat being cleared, startled them straight. Lucien's head sagged forward, and he rest his forehead against Jean's shoulder. "You two are going to be late!" Matthew snapped from the hallway before he moved deeper into the house.
Jean bit her lips together to suppress her laughter, as yearning simmered low in her belly.
Speeches ended and they caught one another's eye. Jean smirked and Lucien remained still, his arms crossed over his chest, subtly shaking his head in disbelief. She shifted in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs; Lucien nudged his knee into her leg, bringing her toes to rest on the side of his calf, her smirk became a smile.
"Lucien. Jean," Doctor Geoffrey Nicholson appeared next to their table, his own new, young bride at his side.
"Hi!" The young woman said, a bit too enthusiastically.
Jean gave a tight smile and straightened in her chair, angling herself to properly greet the Nicholson's.
"Geoffrey," Lucien stood to shake the other man's hand before turning to the young woman, "Amanda, is it?" He clasped her hand within both of his.
"Mmhmm," she nodded eagerly. "But everyone calls me Mandy!"
"Right," Lucien's eyes bounced quickly to Jean and then back to the freshly minted Mrs. Nicholson. "Mandy," he continued smoothly, "it's very nice to meet you."
"Dr. Nicholson." Jean nodded curtly, making note of his pink cheeks and loose hair, his relaxed posture, and casual manner. She realized that, like Lucien, the drink was making this social engagement and one another's company more tolerable.
"Geoffrey. Please," he tilted his head in a conciliatory gesture.
Jean smiled primly.
There was a moment of awkward silence. Things were still quite tenuous between the two physicians and everyone, except for perhaps young Mandy, knew it. Eventually, Lucien determined to reconcile the tension the best way he knew how, nudging to the nearest waitstaff, "buy you a drink?"
Geoffrey nodded and took a step away from his wife. Lucien glanced down at Jean as the other man side-stepped around him, following the direction of his outstretched arm. Her features were pulled in a way that the only discernable interpretation was a plead for him to 'behave'. He gave her a reassuring smile before he turned in pursuit of whiskey.
Mandy moved around the table and dropped herself into Lucien's recently vacated chair. She launched into a neat, one-sided conversation about the wedding; the bride's dress, the flowers, the food and music, and how 'wonderful' and 'lovely' everything had been. Jean did her best to stay engaged with the younger woman's excitement, smiling and nodding and occasionally adding her agreement when it was warranted; however, her thoughts kept drifting to Lucien and the ache deep in her core, to her fading resolve.
Now and then she would catch Lucien looking at her. Across the room and through the noise his thoughts were easily understood, he was not enjoying himself. Lucien lifted his chin and his eyes sparkled; she returned his gesture with a soft, deep smile of her own. And still, Mandy prattled on, drawing Jean back. The young woman, who couldn't be any older than her son, had said something direct. "I'm sorry," Jean responded with a shake of her head, somewhat regretful that she hadn't been paying attention.
Mandy grinned, "I said, your husband is very charming,"
Jean opened her mouth and promptly closed it, feeling too preoccupied with other matters to explain the complexity of their relationship. She accepted the compliment with a smile as Mandy kept talking. "Are you from Ballarat? I used to work at the Ballarat Hospital. Your husband looks very familiar. Is he a surgeon too?" She looked at Jean seriously. "They're so clever, aren't they?" Mandy smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes, "…and so very good with their hands." She wrinkled her nose, for added implication.
Jean straightened in her chair, a little taken aback by the bold direction Mandy had taken their conversation. Her cheeks flushed at the other woman's impertinence, and despite herself, Jean's mouth dropped open as a surprised smile lifting her cheeks and brow.
There was some commotion in her periphery, and she turned towards the movement, grateful for the blessed distraction. "Let's dance," Lucien urged, taking her tumbler of whiskey and finishing it in one swallow. He dropped the empty glass back on the table and held out his hand for her. "Please, excuse us," he smiled graciously at Mandy. And then he turned his attention back to Jean, "shall we?"
Jean allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor and pulled, somewhat aggressively, into Lucien's embrace. His hand settled over her midback, pulling her even closer, extinguishing the space between them. Together they began moving with the music. Lucien smelled faintly of whiskey, and his beard tickled her cheek as she moved in as close as she dared. They swayed, silently, in time with the beat.
"You look beautiful tonight, Jean," Lucien spoke loud enough for his voice to travel to her ear, and no further. There was something about his tone, the way his fingertips pressed into her back, the feel of his heart beating at her breast that sent a flutter through her body. She smiled and felt the ball of his cheek press into hers. "I love you," he whispered.
Jean pulled back, just enough so that she could look up to his eyes, a soft, hesitant smile flitted across her lips. Lucien's hand inched lower, pulling Jean's hips impossibly, scandalously, close to his own. She was no longer surprised by his arousal, nor did he try and hide it, in private, but this was something else entirely. She swallowed thickly before replacing her cheek next to his. Jean could hear his grin "sorry," he breathed into her temple.
"What has gotten into you," she asked, slowing but not stopping as the music began to fade.
"You." He answered matter-of-factly. The next song started, even slower than the last, and Lucien reinforced his grip at her back. He gently squeezed her hand, encouraging her to keep moving. "Always you, Jean."
Her eyes scanned the crowd of partygoers, as the knot tightened low in her belly. "You have no shame, Lucien Blake." She felt his chuckle roll through her chest. They danced; their bodies pressed tightly together. Hoping to bring their conversation back to a more modest topic she asked, "did you have a night chat with Dr. Nicholson?"
He tipped his head back and sighed. "Small doses, Jean. I can only take that man in very small doses." She hummed her response. After a moment Lucien looked down at her and continued speaking, more serious than before. "I don't think many have accepted his new wife." Jean gave a considerate nod. "He seemed a little too eager to socialize."
"With you?" Her brow furrowed.
"And you…" he stated. "He said we should get together. For dinner." Lucien's hand slid back up her spine, releasing her from his crushing grip, talk of Geoffrey Nicholson having temporarily dampened his enthusiasm. He scoffed, "not bloody likely!"
She smiled and followed Lucien's lead into a turn. They resumed their silent swaying. Jean watched the crowd over his shoulder, the faces of people she had known all her life, people capable of perpetuating hurtful, never-ending gossip. "Maybe we should," she offered soberly.
He turned his head and followed her gaze. He hummed his understanding and conceded to think about it, "…maybe."
"I can only imagine what people are saying," Her tone a bit forlorn.
"Jean," Lucien squeezed her tight and swayed them into another turn. "He chose this."
"Hmm," she agreed considerately as she watched the couple in question join the dancefloor. "She's so young."
Lucien pulled their clasped hands towards his mouth and kissed her knuckles. They danced silently for a moment.
"She thinks you're charming," Jean teased with a grin.
"Does she?"
"Mmhmm."
"Because I am," Lucien's thumb moved slowly over her back. "Just ask anyone here."
She smirked and continued, "she asked me if you were good with your hands…"
Lucien barked out a laugh. Jean grinned, her eyes sparkling as she watched him. Heads turned in their direction, but Lucien kept them moving. She continued smartly "…because you're a surgeon."
"Right," he grinned deeply, and his cheek dimpled. Slowly he dropped his chin towards her ear. "And what did you say?"
He was teasing her now.
"Nothing," she answered honestly. Once again, she felt his cheek tighten with a smile at her temple. "I.." she stopped. Closing her eyes, she started again, "I couldn't answer the question she was asking." Jean lowered her voice, "not really."
Lucien straightened as they moved together, pulling her closer.
"But," she inhaled steadily. "I think it's about time that I could." Her heart was pounding, her core was pulsating. She opened her eyes once again and looked around over his shoulder. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, which made her confession easier, better.
"Jean." A question. A statement. A promise. Lucien stumbled, halting their movement. He looked down at her, his eyes widened with excitement and longing. His brow furrowed, seeking clarification. Jean pushed on his shoulder to keep him moving, her face flushed by her admission and his dumbfounded reaction. Lucien quickly resumed his pace, getting them back in time with the music, and a quick glance around them proved that no one noticed their stutter. He dropped his mouth towards her ear, his eyes followed the plane of her back. "Are you sure?" Hesitation hitched in his throat as he tried to hide his eagerness, "we're so close to the wedding."
They moved with the music as she considered her answer. After a moment she looked up and stared directly into his eyes. "I don't want to wait anymore."
There was a finality in her tone, telling Lucien that she had made up her mind and he dare not question it. Without missing a step, or a beat, he squeezed her hand and whispered, "let's go."
Jean laughed as she gripped his shoulder. "No!" She briefly took the lead and kept him moving with her. "We can't. Not yet! I haven't had a chance to speak to Patrick."
Lucien groaned emphatically. "Right. I'm sure he's fine." He shrugged, "let's go!"
"Lucien!"
"I spoke with him earlier," he amended. "The usual strife. Edward causing him trouble, that old chestnut."
Jean sighed sadly, knowing how much trouble Edward caused his father. The music softened and the song came to an end. They stopped moving and stared at one another, a cheeky grin spreading across Lucien's face. "I think we should sit," Jean motioned towards their table.
"I think we should leave."
Jean smirked over her shoulder, excited by his eagerness. "Soon," she promised.
"Good evening," Lucien nodded happily to a young couple they passed as they left the dancefloor. He smoothed his hand out over Jean's lower back, perhaps a bit lower than what might be deemed appropriate. However, she didn't stop him, and he risked allowing his fingers to graze a little lower still.
No sooner were they back at the table, making superficial and painfully safe small talk when a commotion broke out behind them. The shouting and shattering glass were enough for Jean, and it was time to go.
Lucien jumped up, not even trying to hide his excitement. "Not a moment too soon," he grinned as he reached for her hand, his other coming to rest on her hip. Jean led the way out, with Lucien in step at her heel. They exchanged farewell nods with the Nicholson's, who sat at a table near the door. After they passed the other couple, Lucien leaned in and whispered, "let's have them over when we're back from Europe." Jean smiled up at him as she linked her arm around his and he continued, "hopefully you'll be able to answer her questions by then."