Take Me With You
[insert appropriate apology here for how late this is, followed by your choice of excuses about a new job, a new man, new heartbreak, and family drama]
Here we go, guys, the third and final part of my Clawen 60s AU that grew exponentially into a trilogy of lengthy fic… this one's not going to be as long as A Secret I Can't Keep, but definitely a few chapters and therefore longer than Hot Blooded Creatures. As I promised you all, it's going to be full to the brim of sickening fluff, I'll be teasing you with a few odd and possibly unexpected spots of angst, and of course the smut that has been pretty characteristic of this fic – I didn't start with ANY plot intentions at all, smut was the original goal – this scenario seemed to turn itself into a story!
As previously stated more than once, these characters don't belong to me. Their situation in this fic, however, that's entirely my own creation.
One
As he lets her through the door, into the little one bedroom flat he's been keeping afloat on a weekly basis, she can't help the little smile that makes its way onto her face, despite the shudder he'd been expecting. It's a homely kind of untidy, it's hardly big enough to breathe in, and it looks like it could use a coat of paint and a few cupboard doors fixing, worlds away from the big house on the Dearing estate.
Still, she smiles.
Owen's a little red as he shrugs his shoulders at her, almost apologetically, setting her little suitcase down on the floor beside the door as he closes it behind them. "It's not much, I know, but it's just-"
She smiles at him, taking his hand, and there's something in her eyes he can't quite decipher. Because it looks like excitement, awe, and that doesn't even make sense.
"It's very you." She grins, running her thumb across the back of his hand gently.
He raises an eyebrow. "What, a complete mess and in need of a lot of work?"
She laughs, and she leans into him, kissing his jaw lightly. "A little bit outside everything I've ever known, but safe, and welcoming, and… right for me."
He can't argue with that. He presses his lips to hers, letting his tongue snake entry into her mouth, and he pulls her flush against him, every inch of her body up against every inch of his. She feels that fire that has become, in the last weeks, so beautifully familiar, ignite inside her.
Pulling back, breathless, he leans his forehead against hers. "How about I show you the bedroom?" he breathes, and she lets him take her hand and lead her through.
As the sun sneaks through the window, between the two threadbare curtains that don't quite reach each other, Claire stirs slightly, finding her legs entangled with Owen's, her head resting on his shoulder, and a slight twinge in the muscles of her neck where she's curled around him slightly haphazardly. Despite the thin, cheap cotton that makes up the bedding, she doesn't think anything could feel softer, more welcoming, so caressing against every inch of her completely bare skin. As she drifts in that place between sleeping and waking, wishing she could join him back in that sleeping place for a moment, as his chest rises and falls with the deep breathing of almost-oblivion, she considers how unimportant thread count and feather pillows really are when you're in the arms of someone you love.
Her little chuckle at her own silly romanticised thoughts draw him up a little from the deep, and she feels his fingers started to trace mindless patterns on their resting place just below her hip. She tilts her eyes lazily up to him, and his are still closed, with his mouth slightly open. She takes that opportunity to lean up and press her lips against his, expecting him to respond. But she supposes maybe she'd tired him out more that she thought last night (and most of yesterday afternoon – they were christening the flat, at the end of the day), because all she hears is a slight grunt and his breathing seems to deepen again, his fingers stilling on her skin.
But they were drawing their usual tantalising patterns on her skin, and suddenly she's awake, and every completely bare inch of him is pressed against every bare inch of her; that fire resting low in her belly that she didn't even know existed until she met him is rising within her, and she needs to do something about that.
She presses a kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and then to his collarbone. As she gets no response she slides down his body, kissing a trail down his chest, towards his belly button, and then beyond.
He's half hard already as she kisses his tip, and then as she takes him deep in her mouth, all in, she's sure she hears his breath hitch – he's suddenly very awake. As he hits the back of her throat she feels his hands tangle in her hair, and imagining the smile she would have managed if her mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, she starts working her tongue, snaking it around him, before pulling right out and kissing the tip gently. She looks up from his now rock solid member and meets his eyes, if only for a moment, and his are so black she feels her heart racing slightly more before pressing gentle, tantalising kisses along his shaft.
"Fuck, Claire." She hears him hiss, and a small smile quirks one side of her mouth as she brings her head up slightly to take him all in again, considering how much everything's changed in so little time. In just months, everything's been flipped right around and she's finding herself waking up in the tiny, slightly endearingly scruffy one bedroom flat belonging to this man, with no idea where she's going to live after this week, no idea where she's going to find herself, other than right by this man's side. And she's decided to wake him up in a manner that quite honestly is still somewhat unspeakable.
But apparently very enjoyable, Owen indicates as he starts rocking his hips against her mouth, his hand tightening in her hair, the curses cascading somewhat uncontrollably out of his mouth. She brings one hand up and brushes, a fleeting touch, across his balls before mirroring the action of her lips, of her mouth, with her hand at the base of his shaft. She hears his head hit the pillow as he flings it back, completely out of control, and she can feel his orgasm building, he's pulsing in her mouth, and he feels harder, hotter, than moments before.
He makes a half hearted attempt to pull her up by the shoulders, muttering something about being close, and finishing inside her, but she makes eye contact with him one last time and gives him a tiny smirk before taking him as deep as he can reach in her mouth.
When she feels his thick spurt in her mouth, accompanied by at least four dozen curse words and a gentle softening between her lips, he tastes tart and salty but not altogether unwelcome. As he looks down at her, from almost looking paralysed with exhaustion on the threadbare mattress, his chest heaving, she pulls away from him gently with a small pop, and makes sure he's watching her as she swallows.
"You, Claire…" he manages, as she shifts up on the bed and folds herself around him, ignoring the embers burning between her thighs for the moment, nuzzling into his neck, "You are more than I ever deserved…"
She presses her lips against his skin, without the words in her in that moment for everything, all those feelings, bubbling up inside of her. He heaves a deep breath, lacing his fingers, gently this time, into her hair, and she feels every muscle in her body slowly relax.
Like she's exactly where she's supposed to be.
Between dozes, he must have gotten out of bed, because the next time she registers anything in reality, she's alone between the sheets and she can hear bustling in the kitchen. Smiling, possibly wider than she ever had when she was Miss Dearing in the Dearing estate, with everything anyone would ever expect her to want right in front of her, she slides out from under the covers, searching for something in the little bedroom to wrap around her naked form.
In the end, she settles for Owen's raggedy threadbare robe hanging on the door, and she chuckles a little to herself as she steps through into the kitchen, at where she is and what she's doing and somehow who she's become.
Because she's built her own kind of haphazardly perfect little life where she never would have expected.
In the kitchen, dressed only in his long underpants, Owen is working at the stove. Hearing the bedroom door creak behind her, he turns around, a wry half smile resting on his face.
"Morning, beautiful." He half whispers, and she feels something zip through her again – this man, shirtless and gazing at her like she's the only woman in the world – she's not sure it will ever let. "I had a couple eggs… I'm making omelettes…"
He lazily does something with the frying pan, and she feels her heart swell, yet again. This is all so beautifully domestic she's not sure whether to keep grinning slightly maniacally or to stop breathing for a second. Because nothing's this right, nothing makes this much sense, nothing ever has done.
"What?" he suddenly looks worried. "Don't you like omelette?" Clearly all the emotions that she's feeling are reflecting slightly in a slightly nonsensical manner in her face. Because to hear that much confusion in the voice of the man who can read her better than anyone she's ever met, she must be somewhat illegible in that moment.
She laughs lightly, and steps towards him, brushing her fingertips down the side of his face and pressing her lips ever-so-lightly to the side of his jaw.
"I like omelette." She whispers, bringing her mouth slightly closer to his, but not quite reaching. "You're perfect."
With that, her lips graze his, and for a moment it seems the omelette will burn and fill the little flat kitchen with smoke, forgotten amidst their other activities. But, sighing deeply, he gently pushes her away from him, gathering her hands and pressing his lips gently to her forehead.
"I'm cooking, Claire. You…" he threads his fingers through her morning bedhead, "… are a terrible influence.."
One side of her mouth crooks up as she presses her lips to his one last time and steps back.
"I love you." She breathes, like it's the most obvious thing, and the simplest thing in the world. The words flow from her with an ease she once hadn't even been able to imagine, and the smile he gives her in return says I love you too in a thousand different ways without actually saying anything.
Again, my apologies for the lateness of this! But never fear, I have all the chapters written, they're just in final edit stages, and so will all be posted in (relatively) quick succession!