I have no idea where I'm going with this: I could end it now or I could turn it into a sort of behind-the-scenes epic, going on through the two series? What do people want? Please tell me!
M, by the way.
Left unattended to after being washed, her hair seemed to have the habit of lying in surprisingly thick waves, falling down her back. He buried his face in it, breathing in the its smell, his nose just touching the skin of her neck. It was wonderful, for the second time that day, not to wake up alone. Then, he felt the softness of it vanish from beside his face. He opened his eyes to find Isobel, lying in front of him, still in his arms, craning her neck around to look at him enquiringly.
"You know, you should see someone about that," she remarked lightly, "Your fixation with my hair."
He laughed, pulling her more firmly into his arms, wrapping one across her hips and letting the other lie across her breasts, pressing her back against his chest.
"When it comes to that, I would have thought you were more worried about my fixation with your body in general."
She laughed softly.
"Well, there is that as well."
He kissed the side of her face contentedly as he felt her hand latch onto his arm, holding it steadily. They lay there quietly for a while, neither wanting to move or feeling the need to speak. Just revelling the feeling of each other's skin and presence.
"You know," she said again after a while in a quiet voice, with that unique air of hers that made him feel as if she was speaking the words as they formed in her mind, no alteration to make them anything other than absolute honesty, "I don't do this all of the time."
He waited for her to elaborate, but when she did not he sensed that perhaps she was waiting for him to help her along a little bit.
"Well, I didn't have you down for the kind who went around regularly seducing unsuspecting medical men," he told her softly, "Successful as you were with me."
He felt her smile a little bit before continuing.
"Good, I'm glad. Because you're the only one. I'm not one of these women who go around jumping into bed with every man they find. And I can't quite explain why you were different, I don't know myself; except to say that I love you." She had said it before, but somehow it felt as if it carried a different weight this time. "It's only you that I'd let you be with me like this."
He sensed a slight discomfort about her, and without thinking about it stroked her hip for a moment to soothe her.
"This is a bit strange for you, isn't it?" he asked gently.
"Yes," she admitted haltingly, "But you wouldn't have thought it the way I went on the other night, silly old tart that I am."
"Stop it," he told her firmly, kissing her again, "I won't have talk like that from you, you're beautiful, Isobel, really beautiful, and I'm sorry if you haven't been told that enough in the past because it's absolutely true."
"Just sometimes it feels as if it was more true in the past than it is now."
He thought back; the memory he had of seeing her fleetingly when she was younger and how it had stayed with him all this while. Yes, she had been outstandingly beautiful then. But it had not gone, he decided, changed perhaps, grown into a wiser more contained, refined beauty, but it was still very much alive and vehement. The vivid memory of what had happened before they went to sleep; her above him, her hips bucking, head thrown back as she tried to repress a cry at the height of her climax seemed to flash behind his eyes.
"Well, you're just going to have to take my word for it that it is," he told her plainly, "I'm not saying you're perfect, just as I very much doubt that you'd say I was, but you're beautiful through and through."
He suddenly realised that perhaps her assurance her being here with him was a special case was an indirect plea for a similar assurance in return.
"It's only you for me as well," he told her in a low voice, "You're not just some..."
"Floozy?"
"Yes, if you like, floozy. I've loved you for a long time."
"Two months?"
"No, much longer."
She laughed softly, a slight note of incredulity, raising herself up onto her elbow to look at him.
"What aren't you telling me, Richard?"
"I saw you once. At some kind of party in Manchester. We were both quite young, and I didn't dare speak to you because I caught one look at you and knew I didn't stand a chance. Then I heard that you were engaged and I was even more convinced that you wouldn't give me a second look. But I remembered you. I knew it was you as soon as I saw you, I couldn't forget your face. It didn't take much, I was waiting to fall in love with you properly and you happened to make that very easy for me."
He reached out and smoothed the skin of her face, so happy that she was staying here with him like this.
"So now you know."
"Yes. What time is it?"
"Oh, now you know you've got me safely captivated, you can't wait to get away?"
She laughed heartily, scrambling a little to reach the little clock on his beside table.
"No, I want to know how long I've got left to be here with you. Half past ten? Damn! Richard get up! You'll be dreadfully late!"
He smiled at her, not moving.
"It's my half day," he told her, laughing a little at the look of shock on her face.
"Really?" she asked, "How long do you have?"
"Until two o'clock."
She gasped her delight, almost throwing down the clock and rolling joyfully back across the bed to lie back in his arms. He smiled into her hair again as she settled herself back against his chest. He would happily hold her like this for the next three hours and fifty-five minute, then throw on his clothes and run to the hospital if only to spend as much time with her as possible. But judging by the way she was pressing her behind back against him, she clearly had other ideas. He groaned, putting his hand softly on her shoulder to roll her over, but she stopped him with her fingers on his.
"Richard, would you mind very much if we... like this?"
She gently lifted her leg to rest on his, taking hold of his hand back into hers and drawing it back around to her front, to rest on her ribs. He felt her waiting, divinely open for him, but still did not dare move until she asked him to.
"Please," she told him shyly, "I've never before. I've always wondered..."
He stopped her talking, his lips on her neck, one hand moving to cup her breast, the other trailing slowly down to rest over her hip bone to slip between her folds and excite her. She gasped in surprise at these sudden sensations, throwing her head back to allow him better access, her hips arching automatically backwards to grind against his own excitement.
He could not restrain himself for long, the sounds she was making driving him dangerously close to the edge. He was about to thrust forwards and take her, when he found her hand tentatively slip down to join his, covering it, and adjusting his fingers ever so slightly to press firmly against a certain spot. The desperate whimper she gave, the erratic jerk of her hips at that was so much that for a moment that he thought for a second she was going to climax already, but when she did not start to tremble he slipped gently inside of her to find her muscles still gradually tightening. A few short thrusts, and she had cried out aloud and he had followed her over the edge.
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