Chapter 10 – Between This & That

A/N: Honeymoon chapter, loves! And yes, this chapter takes place in that little light blue cabin from AHoM where our pair shares on their honeymoon in Scarborough. This is a couple days (erm, nights) into their temporary sanctuary from the everyday. ~CeeCee

May 1925

His mind and body swam to consciousness slowly, in fits and starts, weaving towards wakefulness through a watery, hazy near-sleep. He became aware of certain things as he headed towards consciousness, because they were so different than nearly any night prior to this one: the feeling of the pillow beneath his head, softer than he expected; the distant tumble and rumble of the surf, mixed with the wind zipping lightly around the corners of the tiny beach cabin.

But as he blinked his eyes in the near-darkness of the bedroom, which was bathed in pale blue moonlight, what he became aware of was the differences in himself, the mind and body that was waking, at this unusual hour. He sighed, yawned. Blearily gazed out the window, at the rectangle of sky, watched the wisps of grey clouds sift past the moon.

He shifted his eyes lower, in front of him. There she was. His heart thumped strongly in his chest, languidly, but fiercely. Not two fee in front of him, the rounded point of her shoulder sloping towards the dip of her hip, swathed in light white cotton, her hair, oh, her hair, loose on her pillow, a wavy dark stream spread across her pillow. She was here, sleeping peacefully, not an arm's length from him. He wanted to reach out, pull her close, but –

Would she wake? Would she mind, if she did? When…when they…had been together, as husband and wife, he'd been so overwhelmed with desire, with want, with the ability to fulfill that desire, he'd been completely overcome, responding instinctively to her body, her breath, her words, and his own. And during the day, walking along the beach, exploring the castle on the hill, chatting, laughing, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, stealing a kiss as they stood in the waning sunlight, by the sea.

But, this…this was one of those hazy, uncharted areas that kept appearing for him, these past few wonderful, confusing, breathless days. And even as his mind was trying to sort through what he should do, his body moved of its own accord, his hand reaching out, slipping around her waist, belly. Pulled her sleep-warmed body towards him.

She emitted a drowsy, murmuring sound that was nearly words, and he pressed his face against her hair, breathing in the smell of soap, and sea salt, and the musky, feminine smell of her. She rolled over, facing him, her eyes still partially closed, pulled his face towards hers. Her lips were warm and blooming, and he responded in kind, his free hand combing through the tangled waves of her hair.

"Charlie…" she sighed when her mouth was free of his. He lay his head against her breast, and her hand alit on his temple, stroking, stroking, gently.

"Elsie," he answered, running his hand up her leg, under her nightgown, stopping when he reached her stomach, stroking that soft area above the most feminine, private part of herself, that had been hers alone, until two days ago. Her other hand fluttered down to meet it, pressing against it, the thin material of her nightgown between them.

"'Tis the middle of the night," she finally said, and she could feel the puff of her breath against his head. Her voice sounded amused and confused and husky all at once, and he was reminded of the spare handful of times he'd been around her when she'd had a third glass of wine, one more than her usual limit.

"That it is," he replied, commencing the unhurried stroking of her middle again. She laughed a little, but it was a laugh unlike anything he'd ever heard from her, throaty but somehow light. He was glad he'd woken her, enjoying the nearly unreal quality of these moments. Was he really awake? Or still dreaming? How could he be anything but awake, when the touch of the soft skin at the base of her stomach was like nothing he'd ever felt before? What could be more real than that?

"What can I do for you, Mr. Carson?" That voice again, on the edge of something, nearly intoxicated, and also, intoxicating.

"I don't quite know, Mrs. Carson," he replied, and he lifted his head, caught her gaze. She raised an eyebrow at him. He swept his hand slightly lower, and she gasped a little, a sound emanating from the back of her throat. He thought of their deliberate lovemaking in the past day and a half, and then of their deliberate, appropriate signs of ownership of each other in public. This...this is something between those two.

He pulled his hand from under her gown, and stroked her face, kissed her. He'd contemplated both of those things, both of those ways of loving her, in the days and weeks leading up to their marriage, but he'd not thought of this, these minutes, these moments, that were a tipsy combination of lust, and love, and companionship, and intimacy he couldn't quite imagine, not until it was here, with him, in this wide bed in a cabin by the sea.

"I woke up, and I just wanted…" he trailed off. That was all there was to say, wasn't there? He just wanted.

"Yes," she answered, and propped herself up a little. Her eyes bright in the moonlight, her hair a dark cloud around her head. "You just wanted, and you could." She smiled at him. "I didn't really know…" she trailed off, shook her head. "I thought I was rather smart, you know, Charlie. I thought I understood things, the ways of the world. But I'm a bit of a fool, after all." She laughed again, as if insulting herself tickled her mightily.

"I like to think you're rather smart, too, Elsie. I'd not care for a stupid wife, I don't suppose," he felt his eyebrows furrowing, not entirely sure of her meaning. But he knew this: he loved that she was sitting her, in bed, in their bed, her hair around her shoulders, smiling at him, her lips inches away from his face, the sensation of her skin still clinging to his warm hand.

"Just as I'd not care for a foolish husband," she retorted, then leaned over, her lips on his again, her hair curtaining his face. "But, what I thought marriage would be like, I didn't account for these moments, Charlie." He put his hand back on her calf, began sliding it upwards again. She grinned at him.

"Something…that is both a little of this and that," she smiled, shook her head. He was just as aware of the curve of hip as he was of her voice, her gaze on his face.

"I think I understand, Elsie," he intoned, in faux seriousness. "You're saying you're not upset I woke you." He raised an eyebrow at her. His hand had completed its journey back to its original resting spot.

Her laughter, her lips on his, were all the answers he needed.