Elizabeth shouldn't be staring. She knows she shouldn't be staring. She's annoyed. Henry is somewhere between frustrated and angry. She can tell by the way he's holding his book as if he's considering slamming it closed. She thinks it is actually a shame how good he looks right now—his hair rests messy on his head like he's run his hand through it a hundred times through the day, his reading glasses lie low on the bridge of his nose, his mouth is open in an almost perfect pout, his jaw ticks. He's in that grey, soft, v-necked tee that hugs his shoulders and arms so perfectly and those dark boxer briefs that make Elizabeth want to do unspeakable things to him. She really doesn't want to be thinking about these things right now. He's mad. She's mad. She should not be thinking about that mouth and what his hands could be doing.
"Quit staring," he mumbles from his side of the bed. She makes a show of returning her eyes to her briefing book on Conflict Prevention in Central West Africa, and her mind returns to the task at hand.
She should be focused on her work, especially with a meeting with the DOD and a briefing with the NSC coming up. But Henry's allure is a distraction she can't ignore, even when they're both still reeling from their argument over dirty dishes. He's right there, and they haven't been intimate in over two weeks.
She tries again to focus, but her mind and eyes can't help wandering. She finds herself staring at him once more while he reads; his biceps are less tense now, and his jaw, too. His eyes now scan the pages, obviously no longer merely pretending to read.
"Don't make me tell you again, Elizabeth," He grumbles, his eyes not looking toward her but a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"I'm Sorry for being attracted to you even in the middle of an argument," she mumbles sarcastically, flipping the page of her report dramatically.
His eyes flick over to hers nearly playfully as his hotheaded overreaction to her earlier frustration begins to be forgotten. She is leaning back into the chaise, her legs crossed at the ankles. He takes a moment to appreciate the curve of her calves, her bare feet, and the way she looks in her blue Frampton shirt and flannel pajama shorts. He knows his wife. He knows that she runs cold. He knows that the shorts are for him—now, whether or not she'd admit to that, he can't say. But her toned legs run for miles and miles in those shorts.
"You can be attracted to me any time you want. Just do your work, and I'll keep doing mine." His eyes read as playful, though his tone remains firm.
"I'd rather you be attracted to me instead," she grumbles as she flips another page and then whips her head to move her hair out of her face.
He has to stifle a grin as he becomes more aware of how ridiculous their argument has been. He's sure they haven't yelled at each other about dirty dishes in the sink in over fifteen years. But then again, a couple of dirty dishes don't usually trigger his wife into snapping at him about his "laziness" or her scrubbing hard at a bowl of crusted-over cereal milk remainders for fifteen minutes. Missing him because he was away for work, and then she was, and then they still kept missing each other for three extra days probably hadn't helped.
"I wonder why you are so snappy today?" he asks, his tone half teasing as if testing the waters. He closes his book softly and places it on his nightstand. He had caught her staring at parts of him. He's nearly fighting to keep calm right now as he looks at the way she's sitting. He knows that she wants him, and he wants her, too. Two weeks, in the scheme of things, isn't that long. It's definitely not the longest they've ever gone. That record is and hopefully will always be held by his longest deployment. But it is a lot of missing each other. He thinks it might've been better if they hadn't kept missing each other or if they had more than ten minutes at a time to catch up on the phone.
"I'm not snappy." She rolls her eyes with a flair of annoyance, not unlike when she saw Jason's unwashed cereal bowl in the sink next to Henry's unwashed pan from his Kraft Mac and Cheese dinner. She's still too annoyed to admit Henry was soaking the pan before she started scrubbing, and now that the pan is clean, she feels guilty for snapping at him. She should probably apologize, but the idea is too foreign at the moment. She's too frustrated and annoyed and horny and angry.
"Sure," he says with a chuckle, no longer able to be mad about her comments. He knows better than to think it came from anything other than being overtired and overworked and missing him. He's tired, too, and misses her, and she's right here.
"I'm not snappy," she snaps, crossing her arms and glaring at him.
"So I went on a trip. And then you went on a trip. We haven't been able to talk much in the last couple of weeks, but somehow, it's my fault Jason forgot to rinse one single bowl, and I was still soaking a pan when you got home from your fourteen-hour workday?" he repeats her complaints back to her in a light tone with some chuckling thrown in for good measure.
He watches as she has to bite back a smile, and her eyes turn brighter as they flick to him for a moment. She shakes her head, and her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she looks away from him. "That was very annoying."
He grins, turning toward her, more obviously readying himself to stand and walk toward her. "You know, all you have to admit is that you're snappy because you're horny. And instead of letting me take care of the problem, you're still ready to yell at me about dishes,"
"I snapped, you yelled. There's a difference," she counters in a matter-of-fact tone as her cheeks darken in a deeper flush.
"Fair enough," he shrugs, beginning to stand.
"Why do you assume that I'm horny?"
"Because you are." He grins and starts walking toward her, her eyes tracking his every move.
"I'm mad," she states with a glare, her eyebrows scrunching up and her voice firm. Though her body- gives her away in the way the tips of her ears redden and her thighs clench together.
"You're mad and horny," he says as he climbs onto the chaise lounge, forcing her to stretch her legs out and lie back.
"You're being an asshole," she growls, not moving to touch him.
"So are you," he whispers in her ear before placing a small peck on her neck below it, "What if I told you that I'm horny, too."
She tries to keep up the act that she's still upset, but her eyes are darkening, and her hands have already made their way under his shirt and are traveling the planes of his back. Her light, relaxing scratches serve to urge him on.
"It's never good when we're apart for too long, is it?" he asks her softly.
She shakes her head and then kisses his mouth. "I missed you," she mumbles before pulling him back in.
"I'm sorry we were apart for so long," he tells her as he kisses her again, and his hands travel up her shirt, his fingertips barely ghosting along her stomach.
"This frustration is what we get for making this our only stress relief since we both went back to government work," she sighs as his fingertips allow goosebumps to travel across her skin.
He's aware she's speaking the truth that's gone unspoken since they moved back to DC nearly four years ago. At the farm, she had the horses and, in the summer, her flower garden. He had time to cook, paint the shutters, and do other home improvement projects he liked to do. Now, they have more responsibilities, and they haven't had the same amount of time or energy to put towards any hobbies. Sex has become their go-to for relaxing or simply having fun some nights, and they haven't gotten around to anything else.
She presses her open lips against his more insistently as if her body has suddenly decided she needs him more than either of them needs air. She hears his moan of surprise and then the deep rumble from his chest when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth. He moves his body to pull them both to standing, knowing this chaise lounge is way past being able to take them roughly on it anymore.
He lifts her as her legs wrap around his waist, and her fingers pull his hair, making him groan into her mouth. They make their way to the bed, falling together in a mess of limbs, tongues, and wandering hands. They bring heat to each other's bodies and passion to each other's minds.
She can't get enough of the feeling of his skin. She's running her fingers up his spine and through his hair, eliciting the vocal side of Henry she finds absolutely intoxicating. Henry has never been afraid not to hide the pleasure being with her brings him. She's grateful that he isn't ashamed of his reactions. It makes her feel sexy and wanted and turns her on more than she'll ever admit.
He kisses his way to her ear and whispers, "Tell me what you need,"
A shiver runs down her spine. There's always something about how freeing it is to be with him. She's known to be preppy and sometimes a bit anxious and uptight. But he knows better than to assume that's all of her. She has an entire other side, a side that she reserves only for him. He knows her deepest, darkest fantasies. Letting go with him for nearly thirty years has been a liberating experience. He makes her feel like anything is possible. It's no secret she loves to be in control, craves control even. But Henry's the one person she allows to take the lead, and she never worries because she knows he would never push her too hard or too far.
"I want to be fucked," she whispers, allowing herself to use the language she only ever uses with him freely.
"Is that so?" He asks. His mouth begins to move along her jaw, sending a wave of shivers across her skin. His breath is hot, and his mouth is hotter. She remembers being in college the first time he kissed her neck, and for the first time, she was turned on by the hot, wet nature of the kisses. It took her a little longer to realize how good his tongue felt as he sucked a bruise into her neck. She was never the girl who got hickeys or liked another person's spit on her skin. But there was something special about Henry even then when they barely knew each other.
"Henry, please," she moans as his hand trails under her shirt and up her stomach, stopping just below her breasts. She takes a sharp intake of breath as his teeth sink into her earlobe.
"How do you want it?" He mumbles against her skin, his teeth lightly nibbling, knowing he can't leave marks on the Secretary of State but still likes to tease.
She lets out a small sigh as he begins what she always refers to as Socratic foreplay. She finds this mental foreplay to be so Henry. He is a man of words. He is also a man of big questions. He's spent his adult life studying God and religion and has spent years reading the most influential minds throughout history. His questions are always designed to make her think. However, when he does it in their bed, she knows it's him easing away her WASP tendencies of being a perfect woman who doesn't crave things like being fucked stupid by the man who loves her and allowing her to embrace her desires fully.
"Hard," she admits, her hips jerking slightly at the thought of taking his cock the way she wants to, the way she needs to right now.
"How hard?" He asks, his fingertips grazing up and down her sides providing some friction to her sensitive skin.
"Rough," she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut and her hips bucking up into his pelvis in a hard thrust as if to explain her point with her body.
"What do you want me to do to you, Elizabeth?" He asks.
She's not sure if the question is rhetorical. Sometimes, he asks her questions just because he likes working her up and making her wait for them. Other times, it's to provide her with the control she craves before he takes over and leads her where she needs to go. She doesn't know which Henry this is right now, and she's not sure she cares.
"Rough," she repeats her answer, "In doggy." She adds that she wants that particular angle.
"Yeah?" he encourages her to keep going. He had once in a book, or more accurately a Playboy article, about how important it is to make your wife feel like a sexual being who can be free with you. True it was written in a way that even then he found derogatory. But the idea is one that he has always made a point of giving Elizabeth the power to express herself sexually and to feel safe to do so.
"I want your hand in my hair for leverage, and your other hand reaches around—" she sighs into a moan as his fingertips begin to tease the underside of her breasts.
"Reaches around and what?" He begins to pull her shirt up and over her head. He is already rock hard and ready to take her, but there's nothing more erotic than hearing her dirty talk as she lets go of her inhibitions and the stress and anxiety of the world outside.
"Reaches around," she repeats, her thoughts getting hazier the closer he gets to touch her breasts. "circles my clit. And you fuck me. Fast. Hard. You don't stop. Not when I cum. No, you push my head down into the bed, and you take everything you need from me until you fill me with your cum."
"I can do that," he growls. There is a very clear part of him that loves this. For him, it's always been about more than the slow and sensual, though that can be exactly what is needed between them sometimes. This is a type of emotional intimacy that tells him how safe she feels when she is alone with him. She lets herself come undone and can reduce herself to the primal desire of wanting her man. The way her words can make his heart race and his body harden in response is an incredible gift she gives him.
His hands massage her breast over the piece of stretchy cotton that covers them, feeling her nipples become sharp under his palms. He pulls his shirt off, and his skin comes into contact with hers, sending sparks along both their spines. Their mouths find each other once more as her hips rise to rub against him. He works his hands under the sides of her sports bra, pushing it up toward her head as she runs her hands over his chest. He pulls it off of her and tosses it somewhere on the floor.
Once her breasts are bare to him, he takes a moment to appreciate them. It's no secret that his wife is beautiful. But her body is a map that only he can navigate. Every scar, every freckle, every mole—he has spent a lifetime memorizing them, and he's done so with the utmost attention and love.
"You're so perfect," he tells her. His hands run over her collarbones, watching as her nipples stiffen under his gaze.
"You're the perfect one," she tells him, "I want you,"
"I'm yours," he promises, cupping her breasts and squeezing them in his hands. He massages gently, bringing more heat to her skin, "I'm going to take care of you."
"Henry," she pleads, her body rolling into his touch.
"Elizabeth," he says in the same tone, his hands squeezing her nipples and rolling the buds between his fingers, "My perfect Elizabeth,"
Her back arches, and her mouth opens in a quiet breath. His fingers work alternating between soft rolls and firm pinches, mixing the pain with pleasure. He can see the flush on her cheeks, and his eyes flick up to meet hers, which are squeezed shut. His mouth moves down her throat and along her sternum. He loves the way she moans and squirms.
His mouth latches onto one of her nipples, sucking as if she could provide him with the life force he needs. Her hands thread through his hair and tug gently. Her breath comes in shallow pants, and she's struggling not to writhe underneath him. Her eyes squeeze shut, and her brain goes blank. What she wants is for him to take her and not make her think anymore. His mouth moves across her chest to her other nipple.
"Henry, please,"
He's never been able to deny her when she says his name like that.
"Please," she whines, her hips trying to roll up against his, but he's not allowing her the contact she seeks, "Hank, Jesus, quit teasing me,"
The desperation in her voice makes him release her nipple with a pop. He looks at her, her blue eyes darker and pleading. He loves her like this, and she knows it. His eyes are bright, and he looks at her with adoration.
"Tell me," he says, his fingertips moving over her stomach and along her waistband.
"Fuck me now," she commands, and his hands curl around the waistband of her shorts and panties, at the same time pulling them down her legs quickly.
He stands from the bed and watches her, his eyes drinking in her body and the way she's breathing heavily. Her skin is flushed, and her lips are swollen and red from his kisses.
"Turn over," He breathes and puts his hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to roll over so he can give her exactly what she asked for.
She complies, moving quickly so that she is on her stomach and her knees are underneath her. He takes a moment to look at the perfect roundness of her ass and the curve of her back. This position does more for her than him, but he does like being able to clearly see his cock moving inside of her.
He pulls his boxers off in order to release his erection. She hears the sound and can't help herself. She looks back over her shoulder to see him slowly stroking himself. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. She always admired his body in the same ways he admired hers. The way his cock is thick, the veins visible along the shaft, the way his balls hang full and tight beneath it.
"Eyes forward," he warns.
She swallows, feeling a rush of heat between her legs, and turns her head to face forward.
His hand tangles itself in her hair, and she lets out an excited breath. His palm is rough, and she loves the way his skin feels against her. He leans forward, pressing his tip into her wet folds. She lets out a sigh and presses her hips back.
"You're so wet I can smell you, Elizabeth," he rasps. He has always loved the way she tastes and smells.
She doesn't respond. Her body is thrumming with need, and the only thing she can think about is him finally filling her and fucking her until she forgets her name. He pushes forward, and she lets out a groan.
"So eager," he comments, rubbing the tip of his cock between her folds, teasing her entrance, and circling her clit. He guides himself in at an excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly moving a single millimeter every two seconds, causing her to whimper with need.
"Henry, please," she whines, "I need you,"
He pauses his movements, using every single ounce of self-control he has, "Is this not enough for you, Mrs. McCord?"
"Please quit teasing me and fuck me already," She groans, her body becoming so hot she feels like she's going to burst. She can't stand his teasing, not when she needs him this much.
"I'm not teasing," he says, his tone mostly amused, though she can hear his near-desperate arousal as well.
"Yes, you are," she whines
"I'm savoring," he corrects.
"I'm going to kill you," she tells him, though it doesn't sound very threatening with her desperate tone.
"Mmm," he hums, his cock halfway inside of her before he pulls it out completely. He pulls her hair gently, pulling her head back and then wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her back on her knees until her back sits flush against his chest.
His hand gently gropes at her chest once again, slowly rolling a nipple between his fingers, "This is teasing,"
"Hank," her voice is desperate, and her hips squirm.
"I'm going to do as you asked," he promises, kissing her neck. "But first, I want to enjoy you."
One hand keeps firm in her hair as the other travels down her body. His fingertips are dancing happily over her skin, and her hips squirm against his. He can't resist touching her. The smooth, silky feel of her skin, her warmth, and the way she's reacting to him make him want her all the more. He cups her sex, and she lets out a breath. He can feel the moisture between her legs.
"You're soaked, Elibet," he breathes in her ear as he softly runs his fingers through her folds. She lets out a long moan and rolls her hips into his hand. "I love feeling you get so wet. It's all for me. I love knowing how much you still want me after all this time."
"Hank," she begs, her body beginning to writhe in his hold, "Please."
His index and middle finger begin to work her clit as if he is strumming an instrument he's well practiced in. She cries out, and her hips buck. He holds her close as his fingers move over her most sensitive flesh.
"Are you going to cum for me?" He rasps, "All over my fingers and then again all over my cock?"
"Yes," she pants, her breath coming in short gasps. He can feel the tension rising in her. Her thighs are squeezing together, and her back is arching. She's close, and he's going to bring her there. His fingers keep their expert pace, knowing never to create a variance when she's this close. He's so well-versed in the way she reacts that he can nearly anticipate the moment her body tenses before it does.
"That's it, Elibet," he encourages, his voice hot against her ear, "I love feeling you get so desperate,"
"Oh god," she moans, "Hank, I'm- I'm,"
Her head falls against him, and her eyes squeeze shut. Her mouth falls open in a silent cry. He's amazed at her beauty while her muscles contract. He loves how her orgasm consumes her entire body. He doesn't move his hand away until her legs begin to shake.
"Henry," she rasps breathlessly, allowing him to hold most of her body weight.
"Shh," he whispers, gently turning her head to kiss her. "Just rest a moment."
He lays her gently on the bed and kisses her shoulders, her back, her arms. He's not surprised, given how worked up she's been with how quickly her body goes from post-orgasm exhaustion to the desire for more. Her breathy moans fill his ears, and she reaches behind her to grip his hip.
"Please," she pleads, her mind hazy from the endorphins and her body still pulsing with desire, "I need you."
She moans as his hand returns to her hair, pushing her face down into the pillows. He pulls her hips back and slides himself back inside her. She's warm and wet, and the sensation of her tight around his cock makes his head fall back. He savors the feeling of being inside her with a couple of minutes of slow, deep thrusts. She squeezes around him, keeping time with his movements, and the sounds of her soft moans fill his ears.
Her muffled noises of pleasure and nearly delightful squeals encourage him to push further, faster, and harder. He's not going to finish this slowly or gently. She asked for rough, and he's going to give her that.
"Oh fuck, Elizabeth," he grunts, thrusting into her hard and fast. He reaches around her, knowing he can't last too long going this fast and this hard, which is always the downside of her asking for this.
He begins circling her clit as he slams into her. Her back arches and her noises grow louder. His hips jerk, and he lets out a guttural groan as her cunt squeezes around him.
He holds off until she gasps for air, signaling the end of her second orgasm before he releases inside her. Her knees give out, and his follow.
He's careful not to let his weight crush her as they both fall onto the bed. He can hear her panting, and his chest is rising and falling heavily.
She sighs so contentedly, "You are always so good at that,"
He places a kiss on her shoulder, "Only because you are such an enthusiastic participant,"
"You've made a slut out of me, Hank," she jokes, alluding to the actual language of the Playboy article she pretends she never found tucked away in his dorm room desk. It was always funny to her because it really was just the article crudely ripped out of what issue of the magazine it was included in. It always made her wonder where he hid the rest.
"I prefer a woman who is open to owning her sexuality," he says, completely serious.
She smiles, her voice soft with admiration and love, "Always the feminist,"
He shrugs, "I try,"
He rolls off her, laying on his side, facing her as she rolls to face him.
"I love you, Elizabeth," he whispers
"I love you too, Henry,"
They lay there for a moment, and she watched his features relax into contentment. He looked over at her, taking in the look of her messy blonde curls, her slightly sweaty skin, and her eyes sparkling in the way that only hers do. She's beautiful, and he's so lucky to be the one who gets to see her like this.
He reaches out to her, wanting her closer. His hand finds her hair, and he brushes it away from her face. He leans forward and presses his lips to hers. He's never been able to help himself when it comes to her. She is truly everything to him, and he is to her. The life they have built is one that many spend their whole lives looking for.
"I'm sorry I called you lazy because there were a couple of dishes in the sink when I got home," she says softly, her eyes stinging with the beginning of tears, "It was stupid and mean. I know you work hard, too,"
"You were frustrated, it's okay. I shouldn't have fought back. I'm sorry I yelled at you and told you that you were being ridiculous," he kisses her temple. She closes her eyes, moves into his arms, and rests her head on his chest.
"I love you so much, Henry," she says, her voice waving slightly. "You mean the world to me. Are we okay?"
"It was a stupid tiff over dishes, babe. Of course, we're okay. I mean, hell, it's been what a good seven, maybe eight years since we headbutted over a chore? We're golden," he chuckles, "Besides if I weren't so busy catching up on paperwork when you got home, I would've realized your mood wasn't really about the dishes earlier than I did. I'm sorry I wasn't a little more sensitive,"
"It's not your fault. I didn't tell you anything was wrong. We know each other really well, but neither of us are mind readers, especially when we haven't gotten to really talk in a couple of weeks," she says, snuggling in closer, "I missed you,"
"I missed you too," he replies, holding her tighter.
She looks up at him, her blue eyes full of the adoration he knows she has for him, and a smile stretches across her face, "Thank you for understanding me,"
"Always," he promises, his lips finding hers again.