Summary:

In which a rating is earned. Here be smut.

Notes:

The title of this chapter is based on the song "Nothing Matters" by The Last Dinner Party. Their album "Prelude to Ecstacy" has a TON of Eliza-coded bangers. Please give them a listen!

Last chance to turn away from explicit sexual situations, friends. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Chapter Text

Henry Higgins wondered, not for the first - second - fifteenth - or even seventy-fifth time in two years when the tinge of guilt attached to the feeling that he was entirely too blessed by half would begin to flee. It always arose at the most inopportune moments; for example, when cradling the face of a most beloved fiancée as they engaged in an enthusiastic celebration of their shift in status.

He was not worthy of her regard, of her forgiveness, thought the man who had once thought and behaved as though there wasn't a solitary thing in the world to which he was not entitled; a man that never sought nor required forgiveness because, when had he ever given offense? But he had offended her, and not just on the odd occasion… God, had he ever apologized to her, truly?

It was true he had taken pains to smooth out some of the roughness on the edges of his personality: He was more mindful with his words (with Eliza and the staff, at least); he took walks when the sharp, hot blade of his temper began to twist; he was rather a better listener (with Eliza), and had begun to understand the difference between talking with versus talking at a person… but had he apologized for his arrogance, and the name-calling, and the victory snatching?

Henry was becoming increasingly aware that his previous views on women had been, to put it plainly, abominable. The little whisper of self-awareness had trickled into his consciousness the day Eliza had returned; when he had accidentally played that damned recording of her voice and his very on-the-record evidence of his lack of regard for her feelings. It continued as she remained and toiled at reaching her full potential, and then doubled in volume as he became acquainted with her new circle of friends, most of them women; all of them driven and educated. He had called Edith a 'harridan' moments before this, but he rather enjoyed her company; he liked all of Eliza's friends when it came down to it.

He had been a jackass, and it had never been more apparent than when he saw his former attitude reflected back at him via a rather callous work colleague: The man, an up-and-coming agent, had been praised to the high heavens for a detailed and digestible report on a rash of vettings. Henry had seen, with his own eyes, that the report had not been written by this man, but rather a young secretary whose desk had been the unfortunate receptacle of a pile of borderline illegible notes. The poor woman had been close to tears when she observed the pile, and Henry took it upon himself to give her a handkerchief and a helping hand in tidying the mess. Needless to say, the agent soaked in the praise without so much as a backward glance at the architect of his success.

The woman had seethed quietly, her fists clenched as she resumed her workday, and Henry wondered why she did not speak up; he asked her as much during a quiet moment.

"What good would that have done? Why didn't you speak up? It might have meant more," the woman (Colleen, if he recalled) had snapped back with so much fury, that her face and Eliza's – twisted with fear and outrage after the Embassy Ball– had intertwined and resided firmly in his mind.

" I say, isn't it her job?" The agent had inquired after Henry cornered him at the end of the day.

"But it was a job done well; doesn't that merit at least a share of the praise?"

The agent laughed raucously in response.

Yes, Henry had much to atone for, and for reasons that were beyond him, he had been granted lifelong grace to do just that. He did not intend to waste the opportunity.

Henry switched his focus to the woman kneeling on the floor with him, and her increasingly apparent needs as she ghosted her lips along the side of his neck and worked at the buttons of his shirt with trembling and clumsy fingers. He clasped her hands between his to halt her movements, and their eyes met.

"Eliza-" he kissed the tip of her nose, and then brushed his lips against her knuckles. "-I'd be a fool if I proceeded without a proper apology."

Eliza gasped and chuckled, and her dark eyes narrowed as though she were trying to work out a particularly tricky equation. "For?"

Henry stood and helped Eliza to her feet. He took a step back and looked her up and down before closing his eyes, bowing his head, and pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a few steadying breaths as his thoughts raced about, chasing the words that had eluded him thus far.

"Henry." He felt a soft, cool hand against his cheek; he dropped his hand and opened his eyes. Eliza appeared lost and timid in that moment, and so damnably beautiful with her sun-kissed skin. There was a constellation of freckles forming on her nose and the tips of her shoulders; fitting, as she was his North Star in all matters.

"What could you possibly have to apologize for?"

He turned his face to nuzzle her palm, and reached to take the hand in his before leading her to the bed; they both sat on the edge, knees touching.

"I should not have treated you as I did, back when you approached me for lessons–"

"Wait; didn't you already apologize for all that?"

Henry reared back slightly, surprised by her interruption. "Did I?"

"Didn't you?"

"No," he drawled. "No, Eliza, I did not. Not ever."

"Oh. Your behavior toward me has just changed so much, I rather thought… maybe you had? It was so long ago."

"The passage of time is not an apology."

"I rather think changed behavior is, though."

That caught him off guard.

"Have I changed so much, Eliza?"

Eliza shrugged. "I mean, you're still pretty ill-mannered; it's hard to take you anywhere because there's always a chance you are going to inadvertently offend someone–"

"I see."

"-but you're different , Henry. I'd never call you soft, because you aren't soft at all but you - you take more care, d'ya see?"

"Are you implying I've found a feeling heart?"

"Yes; I'd almost call you kind. Not nice, necessarily, but kind."

Henry blushed at her words, and reached over to place a hand on her knee; he gave it an affectionate squeeze. "Thank you, Eliza; those are all very generous things to say to an unworthy old man."

"You are hardly old," she teased.

"Only unworthy."

Eliza took his face between her hands and chastely brushed her lips against his. She pulled back, not removing her hands. "Not even that, 'Enry 'Iggins. Now–" she pulled away and stood. "-I think I'd like to wash the ocean from my hair before we do anything else; why don't you freshen up and meet me back in here? I'll leave the door unlocked."

Henry glanced at the door separating his room from hers. "Whose idea was that?"

"Edith's… but I didn't dare discourage her."

"That would be quite against the Bridesmaid Code."

"Just so."

The bathtub, once Eliza's greatest nemesis, invited her in like an old friend as hot water and a frivolous amount of bubbles rose to her collarbone as she reclined. A washcloth served as a cushion as she tilted her head back against the edge and sighed with her eyes closed. If, at that moment, someone had given her a map and asked what her favorite body of water in the whole world would be, she would reply that it was the bathtub in her Grand Suite. She allowed herself several long minutes of indulgent soaking before pulling herself to sitting, taking a bath sponge from the adjacent cart, and scrubbing the sea from her arms and neck.

When the sponge drifted lower, ghosting over Eliza's abdomen, the gravity of what she was preparing for began to set in. She and Henry had been dancing around a clearly defined line for years now. Cross here and everything changes! The warning bells rang over and over again; and yet, they always seemed to find themselves staring down that boundary. Propriety had done its best to keep them from staying safely to one side, but they were engaged now, and times were changing. Blimey, Edith's wedding dress was going through emergency alterations that very evening because she was going to be carrying more than her bouquet to the altar!

Eliza thought about their last truly intimate encounter: They had set out to have a very respectable, very academic night in Pickering's library, because he was their friend and, they both fancied, decent guests. There had been a bit of teasing on Henry's part when he spied her stack of books on the end table adjacent to a well-worn, overstuffed leather sofa. He had immediately plucked Lady Chatterley's Lover from the top of the pile and pranced over to the large, ornate rug in front of the fire, where Eliza had been reclining atop several cushions. When she saw what he grabbed, she leaped to her feet in mortification and attempted to wrest it from him.

Henry was only slightly taller than Eliza, so holding the book over his head only worked as a strategy for a few moments before she had him off balance by jumping against his chest and sending him slightly back. She had the book but had lost her own balance in the process, and the pair ended up tumbling onto the cushions in an undignified heap, both doubled over in laughter.

"Come now, Eliza; tell me about your progress with dearly departed D.H. Lawrence," Henry teased when she rolled onto her stomach and over the book, to shield him from it. He had been at her side, his lips scant centimeters from her ear as he attempted to cajole her with words. She recalled the delightful shiver that tripped down her spine.

She had turned and let him know that the book was very scandalous, but in a prettier way than Ulysses had been. Their faces had been so close that the tips of their noses had almost bumped together, so naturally he kissed her as a reward for her candor.

"We're here to read, Eliza… So why don't you be a dear and show me what you mean by that?"

"Read… this?"

"The part that's prettier than Ulysses."

Eliza had felt her world tilt and plummet at his request. She protested that she was a terrible reader, and Henry immediately called that " utter tosh" . She clarified that maybe it wasn't prettier, but it made her feel certain things that almost touched on beauty. An ache, she had explained.

"An ache? Like heartbreak?"

"Not exactly; it's more like… something that almost hurts only I don't know how to take relief for it; sort of how it was this past Christmas- his eyebrows rose at this, and she cut him off before he could seek clarification "- don't make me read it aloud, Henry; you will only make fun of the prose!"

"I shan't."

"You shall; You won't be able to help yourself. It isn't exactly Milton, and if you make fun while I'm reading, I'll feel humiliated. "

"Then I'll read it aloud. Only you show me the passage, and I'll see if we can figure out a remedy for this ache of yours."

So Henry read to Eliza; they sat together before the fire, his back propped up by cushions, and hers against his chest. He held the book before both of their lines of sight, and leaned forward so she could feel the whisper of his lips against the shell of her ear as he recited a particularly interesting piece of text in which Connie droned on and on about being like the sea, all waves and heaving and the like; the passage had initially confused Eliza when she had read it alone, but she was beginning to understand; and the deep, curious ache that had existed the last time was now back, but more intensely this time. She had tilted her head back and immediately felt his lips fall to the side of her neck, the book forgotten.

"Now, where is that silly little ache?" He had asked, before she felt the warmth of his right hand over hers, much like it did when he giving penmanship lessons; his long, elegant fingers were cool and smooth as he guided her hand to her collarbone, and then a little further to the left, where her heart beat rapidly against her chest.

"Not there," Eliza had murmured. She could feel that very prominent, very male part of Henry, pressing against the small of her back, and she wriggled her hips against it, prompting a sharp inhale from him.

"I daresay we'll need to find it."

"-And what shall we do once it's found?" Eliza had asked breathlessly, as he used his other hand to loosen a few pearl buttons from the front of her blouse before guiding her past the cotton material, and under the thin layer of peach taffeta that covered her left breast.

"I'll help you chase it away, of course," Henry murmured as he implored her fingers to brush against her nipple, which drew a sharp gasp.

Eliza slipped back into focus in the bathtub, pulled from her reverie by a timid knock at the door.

"Eliza, are you alright?" It was Henry on the other side of the door. Not that it would have been anyone else.

Eliza turned in the tub, so she was facing the door, resting her chin on arms that folded over the edge.

"Yes, Henry, I'm alright."

There was a pause. "Well, only you've been in the bath for a while now."

Eliza turned over her options and settled on a daring one.

"I just need to wash my hair, but I left my shampoo on the edge of the sink; could you bring it to me?"

The next pause stretched and pulled at something in Eliza's stomach; a feeling akin to falling a great distance and not knowing when the final destination would rise up to greet her.

"You would like me to come in?"

- " Eliza, I do believe the ache is…" fingers skimming over her thigh… -

"We are very much past the point of worrying about offending my slum prudery, Henry; yes, come in."

The door creaked slightly, and he was there. Henry had changed out of his stuffy work attire, and into his pajamas: a soft blue, long sleeve, button-up top with matching trousers. He was clad in slippers that had been a Christmas present from Eliza, a few years back. He froze at the threshold, his expression one of hesitation and wonder as he studied Eliza. She turned her back to him, feeling very much like a fascinating specimen under a microscope.

"It's by the sink," she reiterated.

"-by the…"

"The shampoo, you silly boy."

Eliza heard Henry's soft footsteps as he padded over to the side of the bathroom where the sink resided, and then felt his presence as he knelt behind her.

"How do you use this?" He inquired, his voice soft with reverence. She turned again to face him, and his face went from its usual fair pallor to scarlet red as he caught a brief glimpse of her bare breasts; her bottle of Drene was held in trembling hands as she reached over and took it.

"Why do you want to know?" She asked though she had some idea as to the answer.

"I would like to be of some service; perhaps it would help hasten your toilette," he teased.

"Eager, are we?" She shot back, granting him a dazzling grin.

"Extremely."

"Open your hand," she instructed. Henry did as he was told, and in no time, Eliza was indulging in the sheer luxury of his fingertips massaging her scalp as he worked the shampoo through, section by section. Eliza felt herself floating on a cloud of relaxation; she closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and sighed, frowning as she felt his fingers pause their ministrations. She looked up expectantly.

"It's t-time to rinse," Henry managed to say, rather breathlessly.

A little while later, when it was time for Eliza to drain the bath and dry off, she was hit with another wave of finality that crashed into her conscious thought, along with a sudden shyness. She made a blushing request for Henry to wait on the bed for her, and he acquiesced immediately.

Eliza wrapped herself in a towel, drained the tub, and set to finish her toilette. She took a blow-dryer to her hair ("What on earth is that terrible sound?" Henry had bellowed from the room), and attempted to style it into soft, waving curls with a round brush; she applied rose water behind her ears, and to the pulse points in her wrists; she decided she was dissatisfied with her hair, and took the brush to it once more, this time taking pains to create finger curls. She observed her efforts in the mirror, and sighed when she noticed the freckles on her nose; wondering if she ought to seek out Edith for some lemon juice.

"Eliza!"

"Yes, here I come," Eliza shouted back, matching Henry's impatient tone. She dropped her towel, grabbed her blush-colored satin dressing gown, donned it, and walked into the bedroom.

Henry was sitting on her bed, his back against the middle of the ornate headboard, and he was reading. He had brought along his tortoise-shell spectacles, Eliza observed with a great deal of fondness swelling beneath her chest. The picture was almost domestic; he looked very much the part of a dutiful husband winding down at the end of a tiring day. He looked up at the sound of the door creaking open and immediately moved to place his book on the right side table, along with his spectacles. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and waited.

After an uncertain pause that stretched on, with the two of them staring silently at one another, Eliza found the confidence to approach the bed. She decided, in that split second, that what she was about to do was rather like jumping into the sea for the first time; when Monty and Edith were guiding her to the water, they had advised her to cease thinking and just do.

Eliza approached Henry until she was so close he would easily be able to reach for her; she untied the belt of her robe, and shrugged the thing off and onto the floor. She did not have much time to agonize over whether or not Henry was enjoying the view; he pulled her onto his lap after mere seconds of removing her robe, and his mouth was on hers with a new ferocity that was in equal measures terrifying and thrilling. Eliza's lips immediately parted, and she tilted her head to allow for a deeper connection as their tongues met and caressed.

Eliza felt Henry's hands ghost aimlessly over her back as she writhed against the very apparent evidence of his arousal, the beautiful friction causing a flicker of heat to burst low in her abdomen, and then intensified when he thrust up against her and moaned into her mouth. She whimpered as his lips drifted from her mouth, and downwards to the curve of her jaw. His hands had moved away from their restless exploration of her back, one coming to rest on the nape of her neck, the other cupping her right breast – it brought a vague awareness that her hands ought to be doing something, anything other than hanging uselessly at her sides.

"I don't know what to do with my hands," she sighed, as his lips closed over her nipple. Her vision blurred as a shot of something pure electric raced to the already acute ache between her thighs.

In response to Eliza's conundrum, Henry carefully maneuvered her onto her back, so she was resting against the pile of pillows near the middle of the bed; that being done, he moved so that he was above her, propped up on his elbows. She instinctively bent her knees and parted her legs to give him space between them. The position was stunningly intimate, and she watched as the fog of desire left his face, replaced by something akin to uncertainty.

"You've never done this before," he stated.

She nodded in confirmation, prompting a sigh from him.

"I've never done this before," she echoed. "but I know you are rather too overdressed for what is about to occur… have you done this before?"

"Not for ages and not often."

Eliza nodded. "Well, now that's established; I'm quite cold and would like to… to not be cold." She put on a mildly theatrical shiver that made him chuckle.

"Of course." Henry began to work at unfastening the buttons of his pajama top. Eliza rose to assist him and swept her tongue into his mouth in a scorching kiss. Henry cupped her face between his hands and responded with renewed eagerness, but left the task of the buttons entirely to Eliza. She managed the last one and pushed his hands away so she could remove the garment and toss it to the floor. His trousers soon followed, and after, she was pushed back against the pillows, able to contemplate the naked man before her.

Henry was a slender man, wiry and lean from hours of walking the streets of London with his little notebooks; these were all things Eliza had observed while he was fully clothed, no mystery there… but she had never had occasion to observe the dusting of hair on his chest, which was slightly darker than the hair on his head, nor the thin, raised scar on his lower right abdomen ("I had appendicitis as a child, it's nothing, Eliza."). Then there was…

"Oh." Eliza felt herself begin to tremble with anticipation at the – here she circled over all of the colloquialisms she knew pertaining to that particular appendage (they all seemed so crude, but she supposed she had to pick one) – at the sight of his cock , as it stood at full attention. "It's rather large, isn't it?"

Henry sputtered at that. "I-I don't know, I don't have a basis for comparison."

"Neither do I – well, no, that's not true; there was one loony bloke what lived across the street from me in Angel Court; every morning half past six, he liked to run around with-"

"My love." The endearment yanked Eliza from her tangent entirely and left her reeling. Her mouth fell open as she studied Henry's face; his eyes were soft and pleading. There hadn't been a trace of sarcasm in his tone when he said what he said.

My love.

"Yes, Henry?"

"I don't wish to talk about other men's penises right now."

Eliza nodded slowly and felt a scorching, humbling heat fall over her face.

"Too right. We'll only talk about yours from here on out." She gave the appendage in question another appraising look. "Blimey, do you think it will fit?"

The color in his face matched hers entirely, and she looked on as he sat back, ducked his head, and took three deep breaths. At last, he spoke:

"I certainly hope so – Eliza, actually, I don't wish to talk at all, if that's alright."

"Oh. Have I done something wr-"

"No. Of course not. You are perfection-" Henry brushed his lips over hers, briefly, and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "-but I'd rather use our time in a way that's more fitting to this situation."

"You mean you wish to ravish me?"

"Yes."

Eliza grinned and cupped his face between hers. "Well then."

Henry urged her back against the pillows and lowered himself so the length of his body was flush against her own. They kissed at a leisurely pace this time, taking time to rekindle the energy that had flagged slightly moments ago. Eliza felt her hips rise and meet his own in a slow, rocking motion that gained momentum as she found herself wanting to chase the exquisite pressure building between her legs, as his cock slid against the slickness of her quim and bumped against the bundle of nerves they had discovered a year earlier, in Pickering's library.

Soon, it became too much for Eliza to bear. There was a prevalent feeling that something was missing, an ache that could not be chased away merely by the slow grind of their bodies. Henry must have sensed this as well; Eliza watched as he slid two fingers between her thighs and pressed them into her quim, a delicious feeling of fullness overcame her, as she stretched to accommodate the two digits.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, his lips brushing against her ear and causing her to shiver.

"No," she replied, rewarding him with a sharp cry as his thumb circled her clitoris.

"I don't wish to hurt you, please let me know if this is uncomfortable." He added another finger, drawing a gasp. His fingers paused in their ministrations at once, to her dismay.

"I'm fine, Henry," she insisted breathlessly, "please don't stop."

He resumed, and soon she was bucking beneath his hand, making the most unladylike utterances as the tension built up, up, to a soaring pinnacle. She came crashing down very suddenly, her nails digging into his back as she shuddered against him. Once she had caught her breath and her senses, she kissed him thoroughly, nipping his bottom lip for good measure.

"I-I need to get something," Henry stated, pulling away suddenly, and rolling out of bed. He crossed over to where his sleep shirt lay and rummaged through the front pocket. Eliza propped herself up on one elbow so she could fully admire the view. He pulled a small, square piece of foil from his front pocket. Eliza was no fool, and she gave silent thanks that Henry was not one either. He tore the packaging, and turned his back to her; Eliza suppressed a giggle at his odd show of modesty at the eleventh hour of…

Henry was back on the bed and moving over her, nudging her legs apart with reverent hands. She accommodated him with a bend of her knees, bringing them up slightly so he could fit himself between her thighs. There was pressure as there had been with his fingers but with more fullness than before. Unlike in the novels given to her by her school chums, there was little pain; just a push and a slight burn as he became fully seated within her, and that was it. They were - as it went in those cheap little stories - one flesh.

It occurred to Eliza, that Henry was waiting for some sort of signal, an affirmation to let him know it was safe to proceed as he trembled silently above her, his hands clutching the bedclothes on either side of her. There was an expression of open tenderness on his face as he gazed down at her; it was almost adoring and utterly adorable. Eliza nodded. He began to move.

The pace was agonizingly careful at first, and Eliza knew he was putting in a herculean effort to be gentle; she felt the strain of it in his arms as she slid her hands upwards. She decided, at that moment, to hasten things along by wrapping her legs about his waist and giving an encouraging little moan. Henry, ever sensitive to her non-verbal cues, took note and increased his pace. Eliza felt herself begin to climb the summit of lust once again, and her hands lowered to clutch at his buttocks, encouraging him to help her along. She cried his name, cursed and praised God in equal measure, and then, just as she began to feel the beginnings of another shattering moment, he stopped with a shuddering gasp, thrust three or four more times against her in a rough staccato pattern, and collapsed atop of her. She could feel him still inside of her, pulsing slightly, but the fullness abated as he gasped for breath and peppered the side of her neck with kisses. Eliza frowned and thought about scolding him for not allowing her another moment to reach her own climax, but something in her whispered sharply that it simply was not done, that it might damage his feelings somehow, so she refrained and opted instead to let him take his rest against her breasts. She stroked his hair thoughtfully and stared at the ceiling.

"Are you alright, Eliza?" He inquired at last.

"Never better," she replied, "You?"

"I'm quite shattered, but still in one piece."

Eliza smiled and kissed his forehead. "That was a bit brilliant, wasn't it?" she asked, her heart bursting with fondness for the strange little man at her side.

"An understatement if ever there was."