A/N: I upgraded the rating to M! The update happened first so the email went out still saying it's rated T, but if you've been following please note this chapter takes a bit of a ratings jump.
Once decided, her body relaxed as she let go of tension and eagerly molded herself to Rhett's hard chest. He seemed surprised by her surrender, drawing away so he could look in her eyes again. Fear that any interruption might cause him to change his mind gripped Scarlett and she followed him, pressing her lips to his. She felt awkward, undeniably out of practice and afraid that he would rebuff her when he realized how terribly inexperienced she still was. She tried not to think about that, for down that path were other thoughts, questions about what exactly Rhett had been doing all these years, for surely he was not out of practice-
Thankfully, after a brief moment of stillness, Rhett's mouth responded to her artless advances. The hard hand on the back of her head softened, his long fingers cupping her skull and gently coaxing her head to a better angle. His mustache tickled her mouth like the ghost of a memory. Worry and suspicion flew from her mind, chased away by the resurgence of forgotten sensations, the feeling of drowning in warm darkness with Rhett's solid body the only anchor to the world. When she felt the brush of his tongue along the seam of her lips, she parted them eagerly, welcoming him with an involuntary sound. It embarrassed her, but Rhett was undisturbed by the noise; if anything, he was encouraged, tightening the arm behind her back and pulling her so tightly against him that she could feel the buttons of his coat pressing into her breasts.
His lips traveled across her cheek and he pressed them beneath her ear. Frantic not to let reality intrude just yet, Scarlett turned her head, seeking his mouth again, but he slid his hand from the back of her head to cup her jaw and hold her still. Scarlett clutched his shoulders, digging her fingers into the hard muscle until they hurt.
"Rhett," she whispered, trying to urge him closer, to recapture that swirling darkness that drowned out thought and doubt. But Rhett would not be moved, could not be forced to proceed at any pace other than his own, deaf to her urgency. He kissed slowly down her neck to the high black collar of her dress, the brush of his mustache making her shiver. She jumped at the rough feel of his fingers at her throat. He unbuttoned the basque down to her collarbone, low enough that he could shove the fabric aside and bare the white column of her neck to her shoulder.
An absurd giddiness bubbled in her chest. This was ridiculous, absolutely and utterly ridiculous. They had hardly even spoken to each other, yet somehow exchanged enough words to end up in this improbable embrace. She found herself giggling, unable to stop.
"Don't giggle," Rhett scolded, and the words hummed against her skin. A simple admonishment that carried her back in time, back to a night as warm as desire, when he had pressed his lips to her skin for the first time. The memory sobered her instantly. She ducked her face against his head, closing her eyes to feel the softness of his hair on her cheeks. Rhett. This was Rhett, with his mouth on her skin and his arms around her.
Unsure of the rules of this encounter, Scarlett's hands were light and tentative as she brushed her fingertips across his forehead and along his cheeks and jaw. His skin was firm, rougher than her own, but his hair as she delved her fingers through it was much softer. His mouth was warm and insistent on her neck and throat, down to the collarbone bared by the open neck of her dress.
She gasped in shock at the feel of his open mouth on the rise of her breast. Somehow he had continued to unbutton her dress without her knowledge. Scarlett dropped one hand and felt along the buttons, learning by touch that her bodice was gaping open to her waist. She gulped, but did not protest, deciding in that instant that she would follow Rhett however far this went.
Rhett kissed the mounds of both her breasts, pushed high by her stays, nuzzling the edges of her chemise out of the way of his questing lips. His tongue pushed at the lip of the corset and he slid both his hands inside her open bodice, pushing her own inquisitive hand heedlessly out of the way. Rhett lifted his mouth and kissed her again, hard but brief, before he stood dragging her up with him. Scarlett stumbled against him before she found her balance.
"Which door," Rhett asked in a low voice, kissing her again.
"What?" Scarlett responded breathlessly, dazed.
"Which door to the bedroom," he growled into her mouth.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, and his hands tightened on her waist. "By the windows," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
Taking her by the hand, Rhett led her to one of the two doors off the suite's sitting room. Scarlett followed, breathing as deeply as her still-laced corset would allow, trying to settle the bubble of panic that was pushing at her chest, to quiet the hurricane of questions tearing in her brain, clinging to Rhett's hand as tightly as she tried to cling to her feelings of determination and recklessness. This meant everything to her; if it meant nothing to him, she would worry about that tomorrow.
Rhett nearly dragged her through the bedroom door. Scarlett frantically grabbed for the knob to pull it closed behind them. Wade and Ella were across the hall, and she had made it clear to Prissy that she would take care of her own evening toilette, but God help her if one of them discovered some reason to come to her rooms while Rhett was there. While she and Rhett-
The door closed behind them. After the quiet click, Rhett turned to face her again. He cupped her face between his broad palms, tilting her head back just slightly to look her in the eyes before he lowered his mouth to hers again. Scarlett slipped her arms through his to wrap them around his neck and, raising up on tiptoe, pressed herself up to his chest. They stood just inside the bedroom for several minutes, Rhett's hands moving from her face, to her hair, to her back. The soft kiss changed, gradually and in familiar fashion, escalating in intensity until Scarlett's hands were fisted in the shoulders of Rhett's jacket. She clung to his solid form while the world swirled about her senses and she swayed in his arms, dependent on his strength to keep her standing.
Rhett pulled away with a fistful of her dress in his hand. "I loathe seeing you in mourning, Scarlett." Looking up into his dark eyes, bottomless black, unchanged and unchanging, Scarlett drew strength. She took a step back and turned around as her nimble fingers made quick work of the few remaining buttons of her bodice. Scarlett slipped the black crepe from her shoulders and, in an expression of her own distaste, dropped it carelessly on the floor. Her hands were busy next with the hidden buttons and fasteners of the skirt. She felt Rhett step closer by a sensation of pressure against her bustle, and then the familiar pull and tug of her corset being unlaced. Holding the loosened garment to her chest with one hand, Scarlett stepped out of her skirt and left it. The corset, however, she unhooked and placed carefully on a chair.
Trembling, clad in just her chemise, Scarlett turned back to Rhett. Her knees sagged at the sight of him, a sudden dizzy rush of feeling threatening to buckle them entirely. While she had fumbled with her own clothing, he had removed his cravat and stripped out of his shirt, waistcoat and coat. His suspenders hung loosely around his thighs. She placed her hand gently in his outstretched palm and he pulled her towards him as he backed toward the bed, then motioned for her to sit. When she did, Rhett knelt and, running his hands down her calf, made quick work of the buttons on each shoe in turn. Scarlett was glad she had given in to her vanity that morning and opted for the low-heeled walking shoes, because it had made her feel pretty to know she was at least wearing something fashionable under her black skirts. The shoes were far easier to deal with than her tall buttoned boots.
Rising from his knees, Rhett's hands moved to his waist. Before she could second-guess herself, before shame at her own lustful motives could stop her, Scarlett kicked her shoes out of the way and slipped off the bed. Boldly meeting Rhett's smoldering gaze, she pushed his hands roughly aside and undid his trousers, though her clammy fingers struggled to grip the smooth buttons. With her eyes on his, she could see the small raw flame in their depths, a light that flickered with every movement of her hands but never went out.
It had an intoxicating effect on Scarlett, more potent than brandy. Never before had Rhett been so blatant in his desire. Except, perhaps, that one night...but for most of their married life, indeed for all the time she had known him, he had hidden his true feelings from her behind a blank wall of indifference and even scorn. Oh, why couldn't he have been like this years ago, back when it would have made a difference?
Scarlett set aside the useless questions of the past with her characteristic single-minded determination, and barreled forward with a capitalistic drive to profit from this unexpected situation. Rhett's gaze gave her the strength to continue when, having felt the hard evidence of his arousal against the back of her hand, the old Scarlett would have drawn back. If Rhett could behave like a new person this night, so could she. And so instead of moving away, Scarlett tugged the long tails of his pleated shirt free of his loosened pants and slipped her hands underneath. Rhett exhaled loudly, stirring the hair at her temples with hot, brandy-scented breath. Scarlett pressed her palms to his smooth abdomen and slid them upwards until her fingers were buried in the thick mat of hair that covered his chest.
Rhett leaned forward and kissed her, and she felt his shirt falling away as he unbuttoned it. The urgency in his kiss was contagious, and when cool air flowed over the backs of her hands she shifted them to his shoulders and roughly pushed his shirt back. He shrugged the garment away and then his bare arms came around her, their heat and strength easily sensed through the thin layer of her chemise. Scarlett dug her hands into his neck and shoulders and rose up on her tiptoes, yet it wasn't enough. She wanted, needed, to be closer to Rhett, to press herself into his skin so he could never be parted from her. She clung to him, tighter and tighter, nearly lifting herself off the ground.
He seemed to feel the force of her need, for his hands - such large, strong hands - cupped her rear and brought her up against his chest. Responding to the suggestive pressure of his hands, she wrapped her legs around Rhett's bare waist. A brief pang of shame at her actions, that might have derailed her in the past, only served to spur her on. She opened her mouth under Rhett's, wordlessly asking him to deepen the kiss, welcoming the sensual invasion of his tongue.
The sheets were cool against the backs of her thighs where the chemise had ridden up as Rhett lowered her to the hotel bed, his weight pressing her into the soft mattress. She arched her back, welcoming the sensation, surprised at how right it felt - surprised too, to realize how she had missed this. I missed him for years, even when we were still living together, she thought with a wave of sadness that made her go limp beneath him. Remembering what Rhett had said out in the parlor, she turned her head and kissed him beneath his ear, whispering, "I missed you" against his skin.
She was disappointed that Rhett did not return her words, but they seemed to spur his passion to greater heights. His knee slid between her legs, the wiry hair gently scratching her bare thighs. He must have kicked aside the trousers when they fell to the bed. Scarlett moaned into his hair as Rhett moved his mouth down to her jaw, then her neck, moving ever lower as she undulated her hips against him, frantic to increase the delicious sensation of pressure between her legs. She was chasing a memory, a feeling such as she had rarely felt before - that night, that night she couldn't think of now, for it would only make her fearful of the morrow.
Rhett tugged at her chemise and she lifted her shoulders so he could pull it off over her head. Her modesty, which had ever only been a thin veneer of decorum imposed by the dominant forces of her childhood, was now falling away completely. She did not protest her nudity, did not avert her gaze from Rhett's bright black eyes. Her green eyes met his with a challenge meant only for him, for the only man who had ever been stronger than she. And she reveled in his strength, surrendering to him utterly.
Rhett took his weight on his elbows and moved fully over her, slipping his other leg between hers. He lowered his hips to hers and she could feel him, seated at the apex of her thighs. Scarlett wrapped her legs around his hips again, and lifted her own hips in silent encouragement. But Rhett had his own agenda. He hovered over her, staring, that eager flame still twisting in his black pupils - but something else, besides, something she did not recognize. He drew his thumb gently across her lower lip. With an impulse that came from some deep, instinctual place inside herself, Scarlett lifted her head and, opening her lips, bit the pad of his thumb.
Again a change seemed to come over Rhett. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. The heel of his hand fit against the dip just below her shoulder and he held her there, keeping her still, while he lowered his head to her breasts. He did not try to tease her, but took first one, then the other nipple into his mouth, tracing them with his tongue before sucking with a sinful force that made her gasp and arch up to meet him.
"Rhett," she whimpered, gripping him with her thighs and rocking her hips to try to draw him in. Still he resisted her wordless demands, and finally her need humbled her to whisper, "Please. Rhett."
His thumb caressed her collarbone before he moved his hand away from her shoulder. Reaching between their bodies, she could feel him positioning himself at her entrance. Scarlett gripped his shoulders as Rhett left her breasts to bury his face in her neck as he slid inside her.
It had been so long, too long. The sensation felt as novel as her first wedding night, though intensely pleasurable instead of shockingly painful. She was grateful that Rhett seemed to know what to do, moving slowly enough that her body could adjust to the unaccustomed intrusion. Her fingers tightened with every inch until, when he was fully seated inside her, she felt sure she must be marking him with her nails. But she couldn't help it; every nerve in her body seemed to burn, burned with a fire that flowed to the same spot, until desire overwhelmed her body's initial resistance. Moved to action, Scarlett rocked her hips with a miniscule movement, hoping it would inspire Rhett to take the lead again.
For once, Rhett behaved as expected. When he felt the slight but welcoming shift of her body, he seemed to spring into action, with all the graceful power of a panther pouncing on his prey. His hips rocked against her, slowly at first, until her desire grew to match his movements. As she came alive beneath him, Rhett plunged into her faster and faster, filling her over and over again, filling a need gone unfulfilled for far too many years.
Something was knotting in her belly, some nexus of desire and pleasure drawing tighter and tighter. Scarlett threw her head back, straining for the release of that delicious knot of tension, yet it stayed just out of reach. Then Rhett moved again, with his hand on her hip, shifting them both until the angle of his movements changed. She gasped, and felt his mouth move on her neck as if he smiled. There, she thought, "There!" she cried, unaware she had given vent to the exclamation out loud.
Rhett grunted in her ear, indistinct words in an encouraging and demanding tone, and her hips jerked reflexively until the knot finally unraveled. Shimmering, electric pleasure streaked through her from the place where they were joined so intimately, shooting sparks of release along all her nerves. She stiffened in his arms, her hips rigid against his even as his movements reached a feverish peak before he groaned into her shoulder and held himself still inside her.
Rhett's upper arm shook where he had braced himself on one elbow. His breath was damp against her own sweaty skin, coming in uneven exhalations over her neck. As the waves of release ebbed, once again, fear came creeping at the edges of Scarlett's thoughts. Her hands, which had loosened on Rhett's shoulders, clutched him again, hoping against history that he would not leave her yet.
After several minutes, Rhett shifted to her side and dropped onto his back. Scarlett lay where she was, beside him, their shoulders and hands just brushing. When Rhett did not speak or make any move to draw her close, she began to sit up. She would find her nightgown, and a wrapper; and at least be fully clothed for whatever came next.
But Rhett stopped her with a loose hand around her wrist. Still without a word, he drew her arm across his abdomen, tugging until she lay back down. He pressed her head to his chest and she relaxed gratefully against him. His hands moved gently through her hair, tugging out the pins that hadn't already come free, until he could run his fingers from scalp to end. She sighed, relaxing as his hands played with her hair. This was familiar, wonderfully so. It called to mind their honeymoon, those unspoiled days in New Orleans. She had failed to appreciate it at the time, but now - after Bonnie, after Ashley - Rhett's embrace meant everything. With her own fingers stroking his chest hair with a faltering rhythm that fell off as sleep won over, Scarlett let the peace of the moment claim her.
When we met again, and we made love, I thought: Maybe here it is at last - a chance to turn back, to find some sort of coherent existence after so many years of muddle. - A Little Night Music, Stephen Sondheim