A/N: So I woke up early and this happened.
One thing she always despised was an atmosphere, and there is definitely an atmosphere in the small spare room. She is tense, prickly; he is uncertain, awkward. They avoid looking at one another; she fusses with the knick-knacks on the vanity; he pretends to hang his clothes again. He turns to her, clears his throat. She stiffens and curses herself for doing so.
"It's late," he rumbles, and gestures to the bed. "Shall we?"
"Yes, yes, it's late. I suppose we should go to bed." She fixes him with a steely glare. "To sleep, mind you."
He raises his hands. "Of course!" He takes a furtive look at the bed. "I think you should get in first; you should be near the wall, that is, in case…"
"What?" she asks sharply.
"Well it's not a large bed. I wouldn't want you to fall out. I should be on the outside, in case…" He sighs irritably. "Or perhaps I should just sleep on the sofa tonight."
"Nonsense," Elsie replies briskly. She takes her dressing gown off, hangs it on the post of the bedstead and turns the covers down. "No need for that. Will you turn out the light?"
"Of course, yes." He allows her to settle herself in the tiny bed, then extinguishes the light, fumbles toward the bed and stubs his toe painfully against one of the legs. "Damn!"
She giggles in spite of herself. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes. Not so sure about my toe, but the rest of me is just fine." The bed creaks dangerously as he gets in. That simple laugh has diffused the tension between them and she relaxes into him as he spoons around her. Well, he thinks. We actually do fit in this bed. Somewhat. He feels her body curl into his and he settles himself more firmly in the bed. "Are you…I mean, do you have enough room?"
"Yes, I do, surprisingly." They laugh together at this.
"I wasn't sure whether we would fit in such a small space."
"Nor was I, but I notice you weren't too eager to be out on the sofa."
"I notice you weren't too eager to have me out on the sofa."
"There is that. I've grown rather used to you these past few months."
He smiles, squeezes her to him gently. They lay together companionably for awhile. His breathing is beginning to slow. He is beginning to relax, the tension of meeting Elsie's family today is beginning to drain from his neck, his shoulders. She shifts against him, her bottom pressing into his groin, and his eyes fly open, his arms reflexively tighten their grip around her. Surely she's not doing that on purpose. He's learning to read her signals every bit as attentively as he ever read the signals of his employers. Certain gestures, certain looks tell him when to proceed, how far to go. Get ahold on yourself, man, he admonishes himself. You're in her sister's home; her sister's small home, sharing a small bed with your wife, your warm, soft, sweet-smelling wife. Concentrate on three days hence. No, no that will never do. Count the silver, lay a place setting or five. Calm yourself. But all the while he can feel his arousal growing. The more he tries to ignore it, the more urgently he feels it. She shifts again and he nearly groans aloud. This will never do. He's going to have to speak to her, but how? What can he say?
"Charles?"
"Yes?"
"Did you ever, in all those years, did you ever…" she hesitates. This is sentimentality of the worst order, something he's always chided her about. At least he used to chide her about it, before. She never permits herself to look back, and yet being here, in her childhood home has brought up all sorts of questions. Questions she saw in Moira's eyes: when did this all start between you? How did you know? When did you know? Why did you never do something about it before? She finds she wants to know; she finds her curiosity cannot be redirected. It's clear they'll not get much rest. She can feel him against her and the fact that they are married now and don't have to show restraint, yet they are guests in her sister's home and ought to show restraint has her feeling very…very conflicted about her earlier admonitions against showing affection. This is childish, she thinks. Just like a child to want something now just because you can. His breath is warm against her ear, his body solid behind her. She knows, now, how his fingers feel as they skim her face, her body. She knows how his body tightens before his release, knows the sounds of pleasure he makes. Sounds she causes him to make. She shifts again and this time she's certain she hears a slight groan of dismay from him. Calm yourself, lass, or neither of you will make it through tonight, much less the rest of your stay. But there's no way to get away from his scent, his warmth. Not unless she goes out to the sofa, and he'll never allow that. Not that she'd want him to. She smiles, presses his arms more closely to her breast. The more she thinks on it, the more she thinks they could.
"Did I ever what, love?"
She'd almost forgotten she'd spoken aloud. She ducks her chin, embarrassed that she wants to know so much of him, even the parts that aren't hers. "I just wondered if you'd ever thought of us, I mean, before."
"I never allowed myself to think of you," and he kisses the back of her head softly, gently. "But that doesn't mean I didn't. I admired you, I esteemed you, but I never dreamt I could have you. Not like this. At least, I never dreamt of it in the daytime." And he pulls her impossibly closer.
"And when did it all change?"
Dangerous territory, this. He sighs. "I dunno. I suppose I was made to realize how brief our time is on this earth and how very much I wanted to spend the rest of my time with you. And you? Did you ever think of me?"
"The ego, Mr. Carson," and they laugh together. "I knew we were well-matched, but I never dared to think what might happen between us until…until I thought I was dying," she finishes softly. He tightens his hold on her and buries his face in her neck.
"I was so afraid," he whispers, and she turns over to face him. They kiss for a long, lovely moment.
*CE*
He is the first to pull away. "Now, Elsie, it was you who said…"
She cuts him off. "I know what I said, Charles, but I think we could. We could be quick about it, and quiet." Her face is burning. She's never spoken so frankly before.
Oh, gods, he thinks. Oh, gods, oh gods. He'll not last like this, not with her so close and now she's as good as saying she wants him. She's implied it before, many times before, but she's never actually said the words. He thought he could control himself, but he's altogether unprepared for this Elsie. And now she's kissing his face, his neck, burrowing in closer, as if they can get any closer in this damned small bed. He pushes her back.
"Elsie, we can't! You're sister and brother-in-law are in the next room and this bed." He scoffs. "I'm too big for this bed. I don't think it was made for anything much besides sleeping."
She looks at him, her eyes hooded with desire and he is lost then, lost. Whatever she wants, he'll give to her. Whatever he has is hers. She looks away for a moment, bites her bottom lip again. She looks at him again and slides her leg over his thigh, his hip. "What if…what if..." She's not sure how to say it; she hopes he'll understand what she's asking without words. She's wondered about it, wondered if there could be other ways between them. And suddenly she wants to find out very badly. She slides her hips over his and he automatically rolls over onto his back.
"What, what are you… Can we?"
"I think we could, like this, I think," she whispers. "Do you?"
He can't think properly, can't think at all. Once she sat astride him (something he'd wondered about, dreamt of, thought about asking but was afraid to frighten her), all he could do was grip her hips and nod like an idiot. "Quiet, we'll have to be so quiet. And careful, Els" (he's picked up the nickname from her family, finds it suits her, finds he likes the way it rolls off his tongue). "This bed," but his words are swallowed as she leans down, kisses him hard, opens her mouth and his tongue darts in, the feel of kissing him like cool linen, like silk. The heat between them flares and the bed squeaks as they struggle to take their nightclothes off.