Prompt 49: "You're so bloody (fucking) hot when you're mad."
Summary: Patrick quickly realizes that an angry Shelagh is easily turned into an aroused Shelagh early on in their marriage and decides to test his theory. M-RATED. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT. BE WARNED. This takes place post-them discovering the infertility, so Shelagh is on edge and being overly protective of TimTim.
A/N: Taking liberties with the prompt because I just can't imagine a version of 1950s/60s Turnadette that curses. Also, I'm so sorry! It's been 84 years, but Prompts is back!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
He probably should've been paying more attention to Mrs. Wilbury, but it was the third day in a row the woman had come into the surgery to try and convince him that her leg was broken (when he'd told her repeatedly it wasn't), and truthfully, even if she'd been bleeding out on his office floor, he wasn't sure he'd be focused enough to care. No, his mind was still whirling with the events of the previous night. If he let his vision blur just a bit and listened inside his head, he could still see Shelagh's tangled hair, and hear her moaning, and feel the sting of her nails in his back - the scabs of which he knew were still angry and red beneath the professional skin of his lab coat. He had no idea. He'd had absolutely no idea his wife had that in her, but he had an idea of what triggered it and the mere inkling that he could spark that untamed passion in her for a second time was completely shutting down his ability to do his job.
He'd started the day out much stronger. He'd done an admirable job of controlling his wandering mind for the better part of the morning. Then, just before lunch, the combination of Shelagh coming into his office followed by Fred giving him a firm slap on the back where the evidence of their activities lay proved just a bit too much. He'd winced as Fred left and apparently Shelagh had put two and two together because she blushed into the roots of her hair, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and scurried home.
That was hours ago and he was losing his mind.
"Are you listening to me, Doctor?" Mrs. Wilbury's wheezing high-pitched voice cut through his day-dreams.
"Yes, of course, Mrs. Wilbury, but as I said yesterday and the day before that, the leg isn't broken. If anything, you have a pulled muscle which will heal itself if you lie down and stop walking on it to come into the surgery." he explained, exasperated and desperate to get his last patient of the day out of his hair.
"Well, I never." She huffed and got herself up out of the chair with far more speed and ability than anyone with so much as a fracture would have had.
"Good evening, Mrs. Wilbury." he sighed. She did not return the nicety, but as the door to his surgery closed, Patrick couldn't have cared less. He threw his bag together and hurried out the door with a quick goodbye to his secretary and mumbled instructions to lock up after him.
"Shelagh, I'm home early!" He called out eagerly. His heart rate sped up as he heard footsteps rounding the corner, but instead of his wife, he was met with his son's unimpressed gaze.
"Mum's in the kitchen, but I'm here too, you know…" Timothy reminded him as he studied his father for an explanation for his odd behavior.
"Right, sorry, hello Timothy." Patrick stammered as he forced his hormones back under control. What was thinking? He needed to come up with an actual plan. Preferably one that involved Timothy being far, far away. If he was right about the previous night, Shelagh's breaking point happened somewhere in the middle of their argument about him throwing his work clothes on the floor. Somehow, she'd gone from telling him to get his pants off the floor to putting them there herself in a split second and lord, he needed to figure out how. His best guess at the moment was that since Shelagh didn't deal well with anger, she needed an outlet for it, and hey, if that outlet happened to be pushing him onto their bed, who was he to complain?
He needed to annoy her to test his theory, but… Just in case he was wrong and all he succeeded in was making Shelagh boiling mad, it was best Timothy was out of the house...or in case he was right...really either outcome of his experiment would be best without his son there as a witness.
"Is your schoolwork done?" Patrick asked innocently.
"Dad, you know it is." Timothy sassed. "I'm not allowed to do anything else." Timothy gestured down to his calipers. His attitude needed checking, but he had a point. Maybe a night at Jack's would do them all some good.
"Well, with a little less cheek, maybe you'll be allowed out tonight." Patrick suggested. Timothy's face lit up.
"Really?" he asked hopefully.
"Well, I was thinking maybe you might like to have dinner and stay over with Jack tonight since you're so keen on-"
"Yes please!" Timothy exclaimed.
"But not if you interrupt." Patrick countered. Timothy clamped his mouth shut, but his excitement beamed through his eyes. "Let me call the Smiths, go pack a bag." Patrick acquiesced with a smile. This was too easy.
The Smiths were delighted to take Timothy, especially since he hadn't been over in so long, and before Patrick knew it, the boy was out the door with Jack (dutifully sent to pick him up) and he and Shelagh were alone.
"Oh no." Patrick thought. "I forgot to tell Shelagh about Tim." A wave of panic washed over him. His plan didn't include him doing something actually wrong and her not speaking to him for the rest of the night. They'd just had a discussion about her being as much of Timothy's mother as Marianne and now he'd gone and made a parenting decision without her. On the other hand, maybe this would end blissfully and he'd have nothing to worry about?
"Patrick, Timothy dinner's ready!" Shelagh called out. He wasn't sure why he stayed quiet. It was just prolonging the inevitable. Sure enough, he heard her leave the kitchen and head into the hallway. "Patrick, what are you still doing out here? Where's Timothy?" Best to just bite the bullet.
"I, um, I said he could go to Jack's." Patrick said quietly, fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of his suit jacket.
"What?" Shelagh asked in disbelief. Patrick's heart sunk a bit. Her eye's held hurt as well as anger and that wasn't going to end well. "What were you thinking? How could you? He's not well enough yet!"
"He's not out playing cricket, Shelagh, he's just going to have a sleepover." He fought back. Well, he wanted an argument.
"And when were going to ask me?" she bit back. "Or were you even going to ask me before you sent him away?"
"I forgot." he replied lamely.
"You forgot?" she asked incredulously. "I was around the corner in the kitchen, Patrick, you didn't forget, you just assumed you knew what I would say, so you didn't ask."
Patrick felt the sting of irritation. This was really not how he wanted this evening to go.
"I made no such assumption, Shelagh. I just had other things on my mind." he muttered through a rapidly tensing jaw. Despite the risks of their spat turning into a full-blown yelling match, he couldn't deny that he was getting increasingly distracted by the way her voice was deepening and her breathing quickening. Both were symptoms of her frustration, but with where his thoughts had been all day…
"Like what?!" she nearly shrieked. Her voice only hit that pitch normally when she was coming apart beneath him and he snapped.
"Like this!" he shouted back before shoving her against the wall and kissing her with all the pent up frustration of his day. He felt her tense in response and he went to pull away in apology, but her arms quickly wrapped around him and pulled him tighter against her startled frame. His body hummed with relief and he felt the entire day melt away under the insistence of her lips as her hands pulled frantically at his dress shirt.
"Shelaaagh." he murmured against her mouth. "Upstairss?" he barely got the question out as her tongue pushed past his lips to find his and she pushed her pelvis against him, seeking friction she couldn't find in their current position.
"Mmm-mmmm." she shook her head, but refused to pull her lips from his skin and he groaned as her mouth trailed down inside of his shirt collar to find his pulse. She needed more, but she couldn't fathom letting go of him in order to get it and he knew it. Patrick tried to pull away, just to carry her upstairs, but her eyes flashed at the separation and before he knew what was happening, she was pulling him through the door to the sitting room and pushing him down on the couch. He fell backwards and barely had time to register where he was before Shelagh was straddling him and yanking at his tie.
"You're so bloody hot when you're mad." he growled. He moved quickly to match her pace and let himself give into his own urges. They'd been so careful with each other until the previous night and now it was as if they were truly free - as though all of the lingering stigma and worry about their relationship that might have been hanging over their heads was finally washed clean and they could give into their passion without hesitation. His hands moved to bury themselves in her now-unpinned tresses and he yanked her head back, groaning as she gasped and her neck thrust towards his waiting lips.
They'd never done this outside their bedroom before. In fact, he recalled Shelagh explicitly telling him she couldn't because she wouldn't be able to look at the room the same way, but apparently proper-Shelagh's rules didn't apply to angry-Shelagh. The certainly didn't apply to the Shelagh who was raking her nails up his thighs and pulling at the button of his trousers.
She finally pulled hard enough that the button came clean off and she nearly threw herself off him with the force of it. He caught her as she yelped and tossed her sideways onto the cushions.
"Christ, Shelagh, what's gotten into you?" He asked, voice heavy with awe and lust. She didn't have answer, or at least not one she wanted to break the mood to give.
"I'll fix it." she replied breathily, referring to the button, and she pulled him down on top of her. His weight fell against her and she cried out happily when she felt him hard and hot and wanting her. "Patrick...need you."
He sat up just enough to pull himself out of his pants, ruck up her skirt, and slide her panties aside before thrusting himself inside of her. "God yes." he choked out against the flushed, skin of her cheek. He'd been so desperately in need of whatever this was all day and based on her reactions, he could only imagine how distracted she'd been herself. He didn't think it was possible, but she felt more aroused around him that he could ever remember and she was practically whining as she strained her legs to drive her hips up again and again.
"More, please, Patrick, more." she panted. His arms were burning and his breath was short, but she could've asked him to leap to the moon in that voice and he would've done it. He was lost and drowning in her eyes, her sounds, her smell, and his hips pistoned faster, driven forward by the mad bubble of lust encasing their bodies. He felt her tense impossibly tightly around his throbbing length and she held onto him for dear life as she road out her orgasm, nails cutting new wounds next to day-old scabs under his vest. A dark part of his mind wanted his body littered with them and the thought sent him over the edge, his own fingers bruising his release into her as he grabbed at her waist.
Their heavy breathing filled the room as they slowly came back to reality and he gathered her up onto his lap.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently. He was concerned when she didn't answer him. "Shelagh?"
"I'm sorry." she whispered. His brow furrowed. That was glorious and that last thing she should be was sorry.
"Darling what on earth are you sorry for?" he asked.
"I'm so embarrassed." she mumbled into his chest. "I didn't mean to."
"Oh, Shelagh, there's nothing to be embarrassed about." he assured. They'd been so tired the other night that he hadn't noticed her feeling unsure about her behavior, but it made sense that she would. She loved being with him, but he knew she still struggled with her desires and giving into any sense of primalness must've rattled her considerably. "I really like it when you do that."
"You do?" she asked hesitantly.
"I think you could tell I did." he teased. She blushed, but smiled and kissed him lovingly. "You know, you don't have to be angry for us to be together like that."
"I didn't know I was capable of acting like that." she admitted. "And I don't want to be angry with you, Patrick, not ever. Maybe that's why it happened?"
"Perhaps." he agreed. "We can keep exploring it together," he stroked her tangled hair and relished in the soft sigh she gave against his shoulder. "And I will never laugh at you or judge you for anything you try, not with me."
"I know." Shelagh replied earnestly. "I love you, Patrick."
"I love you too." he kissed the top of her head and the two sat peacefully for a few moments.
"We should eat dinner before it gets cold." she whispered after a while.
"We should." he agreed, then paused. "I'm sorry there's going to be extra." he added guiltily.
"It's alright." she forgave. "You can wash up after to make it up to me."
"You sure you wouldn't prefer another method of making up?" he grinned as he caressed her thigh.
"Maybe later." she blushed before hurrying away to the kitchen. She couldn't bear to forget herself again quite so soon, but the night was still young.
49 down, JUST ONE TO GO! Hope you enjoy!