#hi bye leaving now before i start watching this stupid app for reactions and ruin my life again

[carlisle980]

I don’t know why it’s happening or how long it’ll last, but I’m writing some Richard and Isobel all of a sudden. I blame the wonderful Jihope thing I’m in the middle of reading for the burst of inspiration.

And because I’m that bitch, I’m gonna tease.

(Here goes nothing ... pardon me while I vanish back beneath the rock from whence I came.)

Hot off the press:

She contents herself with his mouth: the taste of his breath and the curl of his tongue; he gives up the most delightful little exclamations —half a gasp, half a moan— when she nips at his lips. But soon she is tugging at his collar, pulling his shirttails free from the waistband of his trousers and yanking at the cuffs of his sleeves. It’s on the tip of his tongue to remark about her eagerness —get her blood up a little—, but when she pushes his vest up to his ribs, when warm palms skim along the vee where his abdominal muscles meet his hips, the cheek is swiftly and decisively silenced.

She swallows his sounds, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing between kisses. “Richard.” She sits up, pushing at his chest until he follows, the hem of his vest bunched in her fists. “Need to feel you.”

He grunts and it’s primal; he’d be mortified under any other circumstances but for now he sheds his shirt, unbuckles his belt, opens his flies. He can feel the heat of her eyes on him, doesn’t need to look at her to know, but oh!, when he does.

He watches her drink him in as he toes off his shoes —thank fuck for late spring and boat shoes because there is absolutely nothing sexy about socks, nor the shedding thereof in the heat of the moment. But as it is he kicks his shoes away and drops his trousers, stepping out of them with just enough bravado and swagger to leave her gaping. He has no idea what comes over him, but, spurred on by her response, he traces his palms over his abdominal muscles as he raises the hem of his vest, pulling it over his head and tossing it away.

She gasps, then giggles a little. “Are you mad? What’s got into you?” But when, not a moment later, he’s caught her about the waist and is lifting her dress overhead, she shivers in his arms. She’s had him in the palm of her hand all afternoon, but two can play at this game.

Her bra follows directly, and he is always so careful about these things: asking, and then asking again, whether she’s ready; peeling her out of her underthings with tenderness and reverence. But not today. He uses his proximity to propel her backwards again, her calves hitting the chaise, and she half-sits, half-falls down as he stalks towards her. He’s been hard, aching with it for hours now, and he palms himself over his shorts as much for his own benefit as hers.

“I was rather thinking I’d like to get into you,” he snarls, inserting himself into her space, chasing her down to lie against the throw pillows. And yes, it’s trite, and it’s got them both laughing because he doesn’t do this, but they’re tussling and kissing and good-naturedly battling for dominance and it’s everything: warmth and skin and sweetness, heat arcing between them as she pins him beneath her, pressed hip to hip. The joyous little cry of victory she gives; the smile that starts in her eyes and lights up her face. Love. This love of theirs that radiates from her every pore, that leaves him longing to gather her to him and shag her senseless in equal measure.

“Ah, fuck,” he declares, arms dropping to the cushion under him in surrender. The heat of her, damp through her knickers and his shorts, relentless as her hips begin to work against him in hypnotic little circles. He doubts she even knows she’s doing it, lost as she is in her appraisal of him. Strong, delicate fingers trail over his chest, tracing circles around a nipple. She hums in the back of her throat, knows that she’s driving him to the brink of madness.

“You are lovely,” he rumbles. His hands ghost against her hips as he rocks his pelvis against hers, desperate to hold her, contain her, and at the same time, let her fly. She throws her head back at the contact and now her torso is one continuous, graceful arch. The warm weight of her breasts fills his palms and he wants this image etched onto the backs of his eyelids, memorialised for all of time. He strokes her nipples, grinning at the way she writhes above him and murmuring filth in her ear. (“Oughtta put my mouth right there, reckon you can take it? Make you come just like that, so fucking pretty.”)

He’s wicked, and she’s weak for it. Entirely at his mercy. She’s given up fighting it; there are worse fates by far. She collapses against him, bare breasts to bare chest and even if they find themselves in this position a thousand times it will always feel like the first time to her. She breathes it in: the moment; the ache deep within crying out to be assuaged, and the conflict; yearning to remain exactly as they are now. And therein lies her rejoinder, and she curls close, the tip of her tongue tracing the shell of his ear. “Not if I get to you first.”

He pushes at her shoulders till she levers up, arching a brow at her. “Well, well,” he breathes, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Game, set, and match to Dr. Crawley. I dare say, very well played, love.”

She grins and it’s blinding. Thrilled with herself; thrilled with him. Grateful beyond measure for this evening, this life. This man; this love. “That’s Mrs. Clarkson to you.”

“Damn right,” he grunts, kissing her, and she giggles against his lips.

“Oh, do shut up,” she whispers, punctuating it with a kiss, “and let me put my money where my mouth is.” They’re absurd and giddy, breathless with laughter, and he thinks tipsy Isobel just might be his favourite.

“Sod the money. Just give me that wonderful proliferative mouth of yours, eh?”

#ejb actually still writes shit believe it or not #downton abbey #richobel #isobel crawley #dr richard clarkson #modern retirement au #yorkshire love song-verse #newtonverse #anéanti #eventually #hi bye leaving now before i start watching this stupid app for reactions and ruin my life again