The Substance of Things Hoped For, 10/29
Title: The Substance of Things Hoped For (10/29)
Rating: M
Author: jlrpuck
Pairing: Rose Tyler, Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who and Blackpool are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; but Ruby, Elias, and Lucy are all mine. No personal profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1
Notes: Thank you to both
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta work-and to
chicklet73 for her encouragement and advice as this was written.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Peter was still asleep when Rose awoke the next morning-sprawled, as usual, across the bed, the duvet almost completely on his side of the mattress. Rose had managed to sleep for a few hours after making sure Peter was comfortably abed, but the sound of Lucy wreaking havoc in the loo caused her to finally decide to get out of bed around seven.
Lucy, when Rose found her, was adamant about going for a swim; if her da wasn’t going to be swimming early, then her mum surely was. Rose sighed, then changed into her swimsuit in order to join her daughter for an early dip in the still-chilly sea. Lucy, truly being her father’s daughter, had a grand time, splashing in the low waves; Rose tried not to think about how bloody cold it was, until she couldn’t think of anything else and told Lucy it was time to go inside and have a bath.
Peter slept through the sounds associated with Lucy taking a bath-the splashing, the laughter, the occasional shriek as Rose tickled a foot, or as Lucy splashed water on her mum. And he was still out after Lucy had been dried off and dressed.
Rose had just finished feeding Lucy an ersatz breakfast, cobbled together from things Peter had left behind-tea, potatoes, and some eggs-when there was a knock at the kitchen door.
“Mornin’, Rose,” Eirlys offered, placing a kiss on Rose’s cheek as she let herself in.
“Hello, Eirlys,” Rose replied, smiling with pleasure.
“Ah, there’s my wee Lucy,” the older woman said as she turned to the table. Lucy dropped her fork with a clatter, and scrambled over to where Eirlys was standing.
“Seanmhair!” Lucy wrapped her arms around Eirlys, giving her a hug.
Eirlys had asked, when Lucy was learning to talk, if Rose would object to her being called “grandmother”. As far as Rose was concerned, Eirlys was as close to a mum as Peter could get, and had told the older woman that it would be an honour.
“How’s the wee wain this day?” Eirlys asked, her brogue thick.
“’m nae wain!” Lucy protested, stepping away.
“Aye, and so ye’re not.” Eirlys looked up at Rose and winked. “Where’s Peter?”
“Still asleep. It was a bit of a late night.” Rose gestured towards the table. “Tea?”
Eirlys remained where she was, shaking her head. “Nae, ‘m fine. Joan was going to take me into town-it’s market day-and I thought perhaps Lucy might like to go?”
Eirlys’s casual air was almost too studied; Rose had the suspicion that Peter had told the Muirs that she’d gone missing, and that he most likely had rung the older couple at some point the night before to let them know the entire family would be arriving. Still, she was hardly going to turn Eirlys down if she was offering to take Lucy into town for a few hours-leaving Rose and Peter alone, together.
Lucy’s eyes were large-she’d never been invited into town by Eirlys, although she’d heard often enough about the market. “May I, Mum?”
Rose gave Eirlys one last glance, then turned to Lucy. “You may-on one condition.”
Lucy’s expression was sombre as she waited to hear the condition.
“You must promise me-and Eirlys-that you’ll stay with her and not wander off. D’you promise?”
Lucy nodded; at Rose’s continued stern expression, she clearly replied in a mixed accent of English and Scottish, “I promise nae t’ wander off.”
“Well, then-I s’pose you’d best go upstairs and put on your shoes.” Rose smiled as Lucy scurried out of the room, her breakfast forgotten on the table.
“How are ye, Rose?” Eirlys asked, settling into the chair Lucy had vacated.
“A bit knackered-we didn’t decide to come up until last evening.” Rose removed the plate and fork from the table, moving to the dustbin to clear the plate.
“Peter was terrible worried about ye, when he was here last.”
“I know,” Rose replied quietly, carrying the dishes to the sink.
“But you’re both well now?”
“We are, Eirlys.” Rose shut off the water after giving the plate a hasty rinse, and turned to the older woman. “Thank you.”
Eirlys nodded, satisfied. “We’ll only be able to take Lucy this morning, I’m afraid-we’re off to Largs this evening.”
“Thank you,” Rose stated again, giving Eirlys a smile. “We…we really do appreciate it. I know she’s a bit of a handful.”
Eirlys laughed. “She’s exactly like Peter was at that age. His poor gran-she used to be driven half-spare by how much energy that lad had.” Eirlys’s smile faded into fondness. “She’d like her iar-bhan-ogha, there’s nae mistaking that.”
Rose heard the sound of Lucy racing down the stairs, and turned a stern glance on the entrance to the kitchen. Lucy screeched to a halt as she reached the doorway, and offered a chagrined, “Duilich” as she entered. They’d been trying to teach her not to tear about the house; it was a lesson Rose suspected Lucy would never take to heart.
“Be good for Eirlys, Lucy. And what did you promise?”
“Nae t’wander off.”
Rose nodded, then bent down. “Kiss?” Lucy reached up, wrapping her arms around Rose’s neck before kissing her cheek; Rose, in turn, placed a loud kiss over Lucy’s cheek, causing her daughter to squirm away in laughter.
“We’ll take care of lunch, and see you around half-one,” Eirlys said, taking Lucy’s hand and reaching for the door.
“Thank you.” Rose watched as they walked out the door, Lucy trying to skip up the path as Eirlys strolled next to her.
She turned the lock, took one last look around the kitchen to make sure nothing had been left on, and made her way upstairs to her sleeping husband.
Peter hadn’t moved since she’d gone downstairs with Lucy; he was still sprawled across the bed, the duvet dangling precariously off the side of the bed, threatening to give up its last bit of fight against gravity before puddling on the floor. The room was filled with light, illuminating his pale skin-almost the shade of the linens on the bed-and catching the colour in his hair.
She walked to the bed, gently settling onto the mattress and leaning forward; Peter slumbered on, utterly oblivious to her presence. He looked years younger than he had just two days before, when she’d found him sleeping in the infirmary-his mouth was relaxed, the lips slightly parted; his hair, even in sleep, was unruly at best, and utterly chaotic at worst. She enjoyed having the chance to simply look at him-to run her eyes over the freckles covering his skin, to take in his long eyelashes and the shadow of beard that seemed to be omnipresent, in spite of how closely he shaved. This close to him, she could see evidence of him having nicked himself, several times, right along his jaw; she once again considered that he’d been using a dull blade while he was without her, a habit so very unlike him.
She reached forward, threading her fingers through Peter’s hair; it had far more grey than brown to it now-a reminder that neither of them were getting any younger-but it still felt like silk as it slipped across her skin. He’d always had laugh lines-a minor miracle, in her opinion, given the challenges he’d faced in the years before they’d met-and she loved ghosting her fingertips across them when he wasn’t awake to protest that he was getting ‘wrinkly’.
He turned into her light touch and she turned her hand, cupping his jaw, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone. He let out a soft sigh, and clumsily brought an arm towards her, unconsciously reaching out to pull her to him.
She snuggled against Peter, draping her arm over his chest, and felt herself begin to slide towards sleep.
~ - ~
Peter jolted awake, confusion briefly washing through him; he was in Croy and it was far later than usual for waking up.
He raised his head, noting the open door to the bedroom, and the fact that Rose was curled next to him but fully clothed. He, oddly, was wearing pants…and it was alarmingly quiet in the house itself, which made him wonder where Lucy was.
He moved to untangle himself from Rose’s embrace, wincing when she let out a sound of protest and tried to scoot closer to him. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, gently moving her arm.
“Don’ go,” she replied blearily, cracking open an eye.
“I have to see what Lucy’s got into-it’s too quiet.”
“’s’with Eirlys,” Rose mumbled, her arm tightening around him. “’til midday.”
Peter glanced down at Rose, then back to the open door-such a rarity for the two of them in Croy-then back to Rose. “Lucy’s with Eirlys?”
She let out an exasperated sigh, and rolled onto her back. “She is. Went t’market in Ayr.” Her lips quirked. “Lucy was quite keen to go.”
“How very convenient,” he offered, leaning forward to brush his lips over Rose’s cheek.
“I thought so,” Rose replied, turning to gaze at him.
“Whatever shall we do with the time, Mrs. Carlisle?” he asked mischievously, his fingers dancing along her throat.
Rose gave him a slow smile. “Fancy a bath?”
They’d had the bathroom redone when the central heating had been installed, several years before; the bath tub was the same as they had in the house in Greenwich, and they’d used it several times for more than just bathing. On this morning, however, he was disappointed to discover that Rose appeared more interested in its prosaic uses; she steadfastly refused to tease him as she gently washed him, and only sparingly placed kisses across his shoulders or his neck.
“Are ye mad with me, Rose?” he finally asked, tilting his head back to rest on her shoulder. Rose had draped her arms around his stomach, and her hands (frustratingly) rested over his belly-button.
“No!” she replied, surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“Ye’re nae allowing me to seduce you,” he replied sulkily, closing his eyes.
“We’d shag non-stop, if you had your way,” she replied, her voice teasing.
“Aye, and what’s so wrong with that?” He turned his head, opening his eyes to look at her.
“Not a thing,” she replied, giving him a gentle smile. “But…’s nice, just bein’ able to relax here, together. Yeah?” She rested her chin on his shoulder, tightening her hold on him. “I like it, just bein’ able to hold you against me. I mean, I like the shagging, too-love it-” She placed a kiss against his shoulder “-but I also love jus’ bein’ with you.” She sighed, her breath cold against his damp skin.
He slid his hands over hers, threading their fingers together over his abdomen. Rose had a point-as he thought about it, it felt like it had been years since they’d just been quiet together, enjoying each other’s company without expecting it to lead to intimacy, or knowing they had to get up for work or errands or any of the million little things which filled their days.
He felt his lips curve in a smile. They used to be so good at enjoying the quiet together; maybe it was time to get back into that habit.
“Hello, stranger,” he whispered, squeezing her hands.
“H’lo,” she replied, giving him a slow smile in return. She leaned forward, kissing him softly. “Missed you.”
“And I you.”
Peter closed his eyes, simply relaxing against Rose. His Rose; where would he be without her?
He was gently dozing when she brushed a kiss against his temple, causing him to sigh; and then she leaned forward, whispering, “Y’miss me enough to give me a bath?” He felt her smile against him, and laughed gently in response.
“’s that a request, my dear wife?”
“Seems only fair. Quid pro quo, ‘n all that.”
“Quid pro quo indeed.” He squeezed her hands one more time, then sat up. “Alrighty, ye demanding woman, let’s see about giving ye a bath, eh?”
He turned, leaning against the opposite end of the tub, giving her an expectant gaze; she grinned, then slid to lean against him, the water in the tub gently sloshing.
“We’re going to have to warm the water up a wee bit, I think,” he observed, reaching for the sponge floating near the top of the water.
“’s that a metaphor?” Rose asked, sighing gently as he squeezed some water across her sternum.
He smiled. “No, not in this instance.” He found the soap-Rose had left it almost out of reach, but not quite-and began to slowly create a lather. Rose relaxed into him as he started to bathe her, lifting her arms out of the water, one by one, to wash them, then gently rinsing the suds away. She tilted her head for him as he washed her shoulders, and let out a small giggle as he ran the sponge over her torso, following its path with his fingers to swirl water against her.
He finished, squeezing the water out of the sponge and setting it aside before leaning down to kiss Rose’s neck. “Ye ready to be done with the water, mo gradh?” He was growing chilly, now that the water had cooled.
“Mmmm,” she replied, completely relaxed.
“Then let’s towel off and get properly warm,” he said softly. The lever for the drain was just out of reach; he heard Rose huff in annoyance as he shifted, straining for it before finally flicking it. “C’mon, Rose,” he whispered, placing his hands on her shoulders and guiding her to sit upright.
She slowly stood, and didn’t protest as he towelled her off; he was surprised, then, when she lazily opened her eyes as he finished, taking the towel out of his hands.
“Your turn, then.” She wrinkled her nose at the dampness of the towel, and tossed it aside before taking the last clean towel off of the heating rack. She reached around him, wrapping him in the warm cloth, and he let out a sound of contentment.
“Not so bad, is it?” she asked, amusement in her voice. It had taken a bit of convincing on her part to get him to agree to install something so ‘frivolous’-the floor of the bath would be heated, why would he need a heated rack, too?-but he mentally thanked her for her stubbornness every single time he took a bath in the cottage.
“Not at all. My lovely, smart, clever, wife.” He relaxed against the towel, causing Rose to tut.
“Now, now, can’t dry you off if you do that.” She leaned up, kissing his jaw; he inhaled deeply, loving how Rose smelled when she was fresh from the bath. It was odd, how erotic he found it-it never failed to make him want her, immediately.
“I’m going t’make love to you now, Rose,” he murmured, unable to keep from pressing into her, his hands sliding across her waist. She paused in towelling him off, and he leaned back to catch her eye. “That alright?”
She looked up at him, her expression thoughtful; he felt a chill pass through him, the niggling thought that perhaps she didn’t want to make love to him at all, that perhaps her comment in the bath about not spending time quietly together had been a way to push him off…
She reached up, cupping his jaw with her hand; she held his gaze as she replied, “Tha.”
He felt the towel, held in her other hand, slide down his skin as she released it; her hands together now cupped his jaw, bringing him towards her for a kiss. He pulled her to him, returning the kiss, savouring the taste of her, the smell of her; his Rose, his wife.
She deepened the kiss, flicking her tongue across the roof of his mouth; he growled in response, turning, moving to press her against the lone bare wall of the bath. Her hands drifted to his bum, pulling him flush against her; he drifted the backs of his fingers down her side, causing her to sigh.
He broke the kiss, placing tiny kisses over her jaw, down her neck, whispering to her in Gaelic of how much he loved her, how much he wanted her, the mother of his child; she moved her hands, sliding them into his hair, guiding him further down. He continued to whisper to her as he moved, now nipping at her skin, now dancing his tongue in lazy circles as he slowly shifted his attention to her breasts.
She arched as his lips found a nipple, playing with it, flicking the nub of flesh with his tongue; he rolled it between his teeth before suckling at her, drawing a throaty moan from her. He smiled as he danced kisses across her chest, then resumed teasing her, flicking at her other breast with his tongue, drawing slow circles around her aureole.
She finally pulled him up, leaning forward to kiss him fiercely; her hand snaked between them and found his erection, but she frustratingly refused to do anything other than drift her fingers around the head of it.
“Rose,” he ground out, breaking the kiss, panting against her ear. “We have got to move to the bedroom.”
She chose that moment to wrap her hand around his shaft, to stroke gently upwards; he felt his knees give, just for a moment, and braced his hand against the wall behind Rose.
“You don’t want me to go down on you here, Peter?” she asked, her voice low.
He couldn’t answer, distracted by what she was doing to him with her hand-where had she learned that trick? he thought briefly-and let his head loll forward, his other hand moving to rest against the wall.
She slid down, her body providing enough friction as she moved that he thought it entirely possible he’d orgasm before she ever had a chance to do anything more; and then he was suddenly in her mouth, surrounded by her warmth and being teased by her clever, clever tongue. Her hands drifted up his thighs, over his hips, around to his bum; and he opened his eyes, looking down to where Rose kneeled in front of him.
It felt heavenly, no question; but he suddenly wanted to be in her when he came. He wanted to see her panting, straining for her own release; wanted to hear her breathy whispers to him as she encouraged him.
“Rose…” he gasped, her tongue flicking against his head as she pulled back. She paused, glancing up at him, and he ground out, “Want you…want to be in you…”
She swirled her tongue around his erection, a long, lazy line from base to tip, and then stood. She didn’t say anything, but held his gaze as she leaned forward, kissing him, her tongue sliding against his.
They weren’t going to make it to the bedroom.
He slid his hand between them, wiggling it down; Rose rocked her hips back, then spread her legs apart for him, allowing his fingers to find her clit. She let out a soft gasp as he rubbed gentle circles; he then drifted his fingers further down, coating them with wetness, finding her opening and dipping into it.
She broke the kiss, tilting her head back against the wall; he slipped a second finger into her, curling them, his palm pressing against her as she moaned. Her hand reached forward, her fingertips brushing his erection, and she took him in her hand, stroking him firmly.
“Peter…yes…” Rose hissed, her hand matching the rhythm he set as he slipped his fingers into and out of her. He could feel her nearing her orgasm-could feel his own spiralling ever nearer-and he hurriedly shifted. Rose had opened her eyes, watching him, and she guided his erection as he pressed closer to her, releasing him when he pressed gently into her.
“Oh yes,” she gasped as he rocked up into her; she hiked a leg around his hip, opening further for him, hoping to pull him completely into her. He shifted his hips back slightly before pushing forward, and was unable to stifle a groan as he buried himself within her.
“Love this…love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers as he paused to catch his breath. If he moved at that moment, even an inch, he’d come; he wanted to last longer than that, to have Rose clench around him as he spilled into her.
“Peter,” she whispered, turning her head, her breath ghosting across his skin.
“What do you want, Rose?” he asked, pulling back, pushing into her once more.
“That,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Over and over again.”
He withdrew, paused; waited until Rose met his gaze, then rocked his hips into her firmly. “That, Rose?”
“Yes…always yes…”
He brought his hand to her thigh, holding her leg against him as he drove into her; she kept watching him, her gaze bringing his orgasm ever closer.
“Come around me, Rose,” he said, watching her, thrusting into her steadily. She drew in her bottom lip, biting it as she focused on him. “I love how that feels…love how you feel…”
“Yes…”
“Tell me, Rose. How it feels.”
Her eyes were bright-she was so close-and she said shakily, “I…you’re so hard…you…god, yes…don’t stop, no don’t stop…Peter…” Her eyes slammed shut as she came, her body clenching around him. He leaned forward, kissing her, still able to taste himself on her lips, and his own orgasm crested through him.
He lapsed into Gaelic, telling her what it felt like, how he never wanted it to end as he pushed into her as far as he could, his hips pressing forward as far as possible.
He was still murmuring to her as the wave passed, leaving him feeling faint; Rose was stroking his hair as she held him to her, replying softly to him in English. She’d told him many times she didn’t know what he said to her, but she always answered him, telling him what she was thinking and feeling in that moment.
“H’lo, stranger,” she whispered as he slowly opened his eyes.
He smiled, and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “H’lo.”
They stood together, wrapped in each other’s embrace, silent; he thought he could hear his heart beating, and wondered idly if Rose could, as well.
“Y’hungry?” Rose finally asked, her hand still stroking through his hair.
He blinked, surprised to realize he was utterly ravenous. “I could eat a horse, I think,” he replied, slowly pulling away from her.
Rose slid her leg down from his hip, wincing slightly as she put weight on it, and then pushed off the wall. “We don’t have one of those-but I think we could come up with something else.” She rocked up, brushing a kiss across his cheek, then took his hand and led him into the bedroom.
Peter pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, kept at the cottage for the nights when Lucy demanded to sleep in her parents’ bed; Rose pulled on the lone robe, tying it securely just in case Lucy was brought home early. Together, they made their way downstairs; and as Rose continued on to the kitchen, he ducked into the lounge, opening the shutters he’d only half-closed before he’d left the last time. He did the same for the dining room, and then stepped into the kitchen to find Rose frowning as she looked in the cabinets.
“’s not much here,” she said, closing the cabinet door as she glanced over to him.
He ruffled his hair-he needed to brush it out before it dried, or it would be a nightmare-and then straightened with a sigh. “We’ll have to go out, then. A quick trip to Maybole, perhaps. We’d have had to anyway, for things for supper…”
Rose joined him, leaning now against the counter. “Yeah. Don’t want to go out, though.”
He laughed. “It’ll be good for us-get some fresh air, maybe walk through town, give them their spot of gossip for the month…” He leaned towards her, gently bumping her shoulder.
Rose continued to sulk, although he suspected it was strictly for show. He added, “If we go now, Rose, after we return from dropping Lucy at school, we’ll not have to leave until Sunday…”
She glanced sidelong at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Four whole days, tucked away here?”
“Four whole days of uninterrupted peace.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
~ - ~
Chapter 11
Seanmhair - Grandma/Grandmother
iar-bhan-ogha - great-granddaughter
Duilich - Sorry
Tha - Yes
Rating: M
Author: jlrpuck
Pairing: Rose Tyler, Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who and Blackpool are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; but Ruby, Elias, and Lucy are all mine. No personal profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1
Notes: Thank you to both
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta work-and to
chicklet73 for her encouragement and advice as this was written.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Peter was still asleep when Rose awoke the next morning-sprawled, as usual, across the bed, the duvet almost completely on his side of the mattress. Rose had managed to sleep for a few hours after making sure Peter was comfortably abed, but the sound of Lucy wreaking havoc in the loo caused her to finally decide to get out of bed around seven.
Lucy, when Rose found her, was adamant about going for a swim; if her da wasn’t going to be swimming early, then her mum surely was. Rose sighed, then changed into her swimsuit in order to join her daughter for an early dip in the still-chilly sea. Lucy, truly being her father’s daughter, had a grand time, splashing in the low waves; Rose tried not to think about how bloody cold it was, until she couldn’t think of anything else and told Lucy it was time to go inside and have a bath.
Peter slept through the sounds associated with Lucy taking a bath-the splashing, the laughter, the occasional shriek as Rose tickled a foot, or as Lucy splashed water on her mum. And he was still out after Lucy had been dried off and dressed.
Rose had just finished feeding Lucy an ersatz breakfast, cobbled together from things Peter had left behind-tea, potatoes, and some eggs-when there was a knock at the kitchen door.
“Mornin’, Rose,” Eirlys offered, placing a kiss on Rose’s cheek as she let herself in.
“Hello, Eirlys,” Rose replied, smiling with pleasure.
“Ah, there’s my wee Lucy,” the older woman said as she turned to the table. Lucy dropped her fork with a clatter, and scrambled over to where Eirlys was standing.
“Seanmhair!” Lucy wrapped her arms around Eirlys, giving her a hug.
Eirlys had asked, when Lucy was learning to talk, if Rose would object to her being called “grandmother”. As far as Rose was concerned, Eirlys was as close to a mum as Peter could get, and had told the older woman that it would be an honour.
“How’s the wee wain this day?” Eirlys asked, her brogue thick.
“’m nae wain!” Lucy protested, stepping away.
“Aye, and so ye’re not.” Eirlys looked up at Rose and winked. “Where’s Peter?”
“Still asleep. It was a bit of a late night.” Rose gestured towards the table. “Tea?”
Eirlys remained where she was, shaking her head. “Nae, ‘m fine. Joan was going to take me into town-it’s market day-and I thought perhaps Lucy might like to go?”
Eirlys’s casual air was almost too studied; Rose had the suspicion that Peter had told the Muirs that she’d gone missing, and that he most likely had rung the older couple at some point the night before to let them know the entire family would be arriving. Still, she was hardly going to turn Eirlys down if she was offering to take Lucy into town for a few hours-leaving Rose and Peter alone, together.
Lucy’s eyes were large-she’d never been invited into town by Eirlys, although she’d heard often enough about the market. “May I, Mum?”
Rose gave Eirlys one last glance, then turned to Lucy. “You may-on one condition.”
Lucy’s expression was sombre as she waited to hear the condition.
“You must promise me-and Eirlys-that you’ll stay with her and not wander off. D’you promise?”
Lucy nodded; at Rose’s continued stern expression, she clearly replied in a mixed accent of English and Scottish, “I promise nae t’ wander off.”
“Well, then-I s’pose you’d best go upstairs and put on your shoes.” Rose smiled as Lucy scurried out of the room, her breakfast forgotten on the table.
“How are ye, Rose?” Eirlys asked, settling into the chair Lucy had vacated.
“A bit knackered-we didn’t decide to come up until last evening.” Rose removed the plate and fork from the table, moving to the dustbin to clear the plate.
“Peter was terrible worried about ye, when he was here last.”
“I know,” Rose replied quietly, carrying the dishes to the sink.
“But you’re both well now?”
“We are, Eirlys.” Rose shut off the water after giving the plate a hasty rinse, and turned to the older woman. “Thank you.”
Eirlys nodded, satisfied. “We’ll only be able to take Lucy this morning, I’m afraid-we’re off to Largs this evening.”
“Thank you,” Rose stated again, giving Eirlys a smile. “We…we really do appreciate it. I know she’s a bit of a handful.”
Eirlys laughed. “She’s exactly like Peter was at that age. His poor gran-she used to be driven half-spare by how much energy that lad had.” Eirlys’s smile faded into fondness. “She’d like her iar-bhan-ogha, there’s nae mistaking that.”
Rose heard the sound of Lucy racing down the stairs, and turned a stern glance on the entrance to the kitchen. Lucy screeched to a halt as she reached the doorway, and offered a chagrined, “Duilich” as she entered. They’d been trying to teach her not to tear about the house; it was a lesson Rose suspected Lucy would never take to heart.
“Be good for Eirlys, Lucy. And what did you promise?”
“Nae t’wander off.”
Rose nodded, then bent down. “Kiss?” Lucy reached up, wrapping her arms around Rose’s neck before kissing her cheek; Rose, in turn, placed a loud kiss over Lucy’s cheek, causing her daughter to squirm away in laughter.
“We’ll take care of lunch, and see you around half-one,” Eirlys said, taking Lucy’s hand and reaching for the door.
“Thank you.” Rose watched as they walked out the door, Lucy trying to skip up the path as Eirlys strolled next to her.
She turned the lock, took one last look around the kitchen to make sure nothing had been left on, and made her way upstairs to her sleeping husband.
Peter hadn’t moved since she’d gone downstairs with Lucy; he was still sprawled across the bed, the duvet dangling precariously off the side of the bed, threatening to give up its last bit of fight against gravity before puddling on the floor. The room was filled with light, illuminating his pale skin-almost the shade of the linens on the bed-and catching the colour in his hair.
She walked to the bed, gently settling onto the mattress and leaning forward; Peter slumbered on, utterly oblivious to her presence. He looked years younger than he had just two days before, when she’d found him sleeping in the infirmary-his mouth was relaxed, the lips slightly parted; his hair, even in sleep, was unruly at best, and utterly chaotic at worst. She enjoyed having the chance to simply look at him-to run her eyes over the freckles covering his skin, to take in his long eyelashes and the shadow of beard that seemed to be omnipresent, in spite of how closely he shaved. This close to him, she could see evidence of him having nicked himself, several times, right along his jaw; she once again considered that he’d been using a dull blade while he was without her, a habit so very unlike him.
She reached forward, threading her fingers through Peter’s hair; it had far more grey than brown to it now-a reminder that neither of them were getting any younger-but it still felt like silk as it slipped across her skin. He’d always had laugh lines-a minor miracle, in her opinion, given the challenges he’d faced in the years before they’d met-and she loved ghosting her fingertips across them when he wasn’t awake to protest that he was getting ‘wrinkly’.
He turned into her light touch and she turned her hand, cupping his jaw, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone. He let out a soft sigh, and clumsily brought an arm towards her, unconsciously reaching out to pull her to him.
She snuggled against Peter, draping her arm over his chest, and felt herself begin to slide towards sleep.
~ - ~
Peter jolted awake, confusion briefly washing through him; he was in Croy and it was far later than usual for waking up.
He raised his head, noting the open door to the bedroom, and the fact that Rose was curled next to him but fully clothed. He, oddly, was wearing pants…and it was alarmingly quiet in the house itself, which made him wonder where Lucy was.
He moved to untangle himself from Rose’s embrace, wincing when she let out a sound of protest and tried to scoot closer to him. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, gently moving her arm.
“Don’ go,” she replied blearily, cracking open an eye.
“I have to see what Lucy’s got into-it’s too quiet.”
“’s’with Eirlys,” Rose mumbled, her arm tightening around him. “’til midday.”
Peter glanced down at Rose, then back to the open door-such a rarity for the two of them in Croy-then back to Rose. “Lucy’s with Eirlys?”
She let out an exasperated sigh, and rolled onto her back. “She is. Went t’market in Ayr.” Her lips quirked. “Lucy was quite keen to go.”
“How very convenient,” he offered, leaning forward to brush his lips over Rose’s cheek.
“I thought so,” Rose replied, turning to gaze at him.
“Whatever shall we do with the time, Mrs. Carlisle?” he asked mischievously, his fingers dancing along her throat.
Rose gave him a slow smile. “Fancy a bath?”
They’d had the bathroom redone when the central heating had been installed, several years before; the bath tub was the same as they had in the house in Greenwich, and they’d used it several times for more than just bathing. On this morning, however, he was disappointed to discover that Rose appeared more interested in its prosaic uses; she steadfastly refused to tease him as she gently washed him, and only sparingly placed kisses across his shoulders or his neck.
“Are ye mad with me, Rose?” he finally asked, tilting his head back to rest on her shoulder. Rose had draped her arms around his stomach, and her hands (frustratingly) rested over his belly-button.
“No!” she replied, surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“Ye’re nae allowing me to seduce you,” he replied sulkily, closing his eyes.
“We’d shag non-stop, if you had your way,” she replied, her voice teasing.
“Aye, and what’s so wrong with that?” He turned his head, opening his eyes to look at her.
“Not a thing,” she replied, giving him a gentle smile. “But…’s nice, just bein’ able to relax here, together. Yeah?” She rested her chin on his shoulder, tightening her hold on him. “I like it, just bein’ able to hold you against me. I mean, I like the shagging, too-love it-” She placed a kiss against his shoulder “-but I also love jus’ bein’ with you.” She sighed, her breath cold against his damp skin.
He slid his hands over hers, threading their fingers together over his abdomen. Rose had a point-as he thought about it, it felt like it had been years since they’d just been quiet together, enjoying each other’s company without expecting it to lead to intimacy, or knowing they had to get up for work or errands or any of the million little things which filled their days.
He felt his lips curve in a smile. They used to be so good at enjoying the quiet together; maybe it was time to get back into that habit.
“Hello, stranger,” he whispered, squeezing her hands.
“H’lo,” she replied, giving him a slow smile in return. She leaned forward, kissing him softly. “Missed you.”
“And I you.”
Peter closed his eyes, simply relaxing against Rose. His Rose; where would he be without her?
He was gently dozing when she brushed a kiss against his temple, causing him to sigh; and then she leaned forward, whispering, “Y’miss me enough to give me a bath?” He felt her smile against him, and laughed gently in response.
“’s that a request, my dear wife?”
“Seems only fair. Quid pro quo, ‘n all that.”
“Quid pro quo indeed.” He squeezed her hands one more time, then sat up. “Alrighty, ye demanding woman, let’s see about giving ye a bath, eh?”
He turned, leaning against the opposite end of the tub, giving her an expectant gaze; she grinned, then slid to lean against him, the water in the tub gently sloshing.
“We’re going to have to warm the water up a wee bit, I think,” he observed, reaching for the sponge floating near the top of the water.
“’s that a metaphor?” Rose asked, sighing gently as he squeezed some water across her sternum.
He smiled. “No, not in this instance.” He found the soap-Rose had left it almost out of reach, but not quite-and began to slowly create a lather. Rose relaxed into him as he started to bathe her, lifting her arms out of the water, one by one, to wash them, then gently rinsing the suds away. She tilted her head for him as he washed her shoulders, and let out a small giggle as he ran the sponge over her torso, following its path with his fingers to swirl water against her.
He finished, squeezing the water out of the sponge and setting it aside before leaning down to kiss Rose’s neck. “Ye ready to be done with the water, mo gradh?” He was growing chilly, now that the water had cooled.
“Mmmm,” she replied, completely relaxed.
“Then let’s towel off and get properly warm,” he said softly. The lever for the drain was just out of reach; he heard Rose huff in annoyance as he shifted, straining for it before finally flicking it. “C’mon, Rose,” he whispered, placing his hands on her shoulders and guiding her to sit upright.
She slowly stood, and didn’t protest as he towelled her off; he was surprised, then, when she lazily opened her eyes as he finished, taking the towel out of his hands.
“Your turn, then.” She wrinkled her nose at the dampness of the towel, and tossed it aside before taking the last clean towel off of the heating rack. She reached around him, wrapping him in the warm cloth, and he let out a sound of contentment.
“Not so bad, is it?” she asked, amusement in her voice. It had taken a bit of convincing on her part to get him to agree to install something so ‘frivolous’-the floor of the bath would be heated, why would he need a heated rack, too?-but he mentally thanked her for her stubbornness every single time he took a bath in the cottage.
“Not at all. My lovely, smart, clever, wife.” He relaxed against the towel, causing Rose to tut.
“Now, now, can’t dry you off if you do that.” She leaned up, kissing his jaw; he inhaled deeply, loving how Rose smelled when she was fresh from the bath. It was odd, how erotic he found it-it never failed to make him want her, immediately.
“I’m going t’make love to you now, Rose,” he murmured, unable to keep from pressing into her, his hands sliding across her waist. She paused in towelling him off, and he leaned back to catch her eye. “That alright?”
She looked up at him, her expression thoughtful; he felt a chill pass through him, the niggling thought that perhaps she didn’t want to make love to him at all, that perhaps her comment in the bath about not spending time quietly together had been a way to push him off…
She reached up, cupping his jaw with her hand; she held his gaze as she replied, “Tha.”
He felt the towel, held in her other hand, slide down his skin as she released it; her hands together now cupped his jaw, bringing him towards her for a kiss. He pulled her to him, returning the kiss, savouring the taste of her, the smell of her; his Rose, his wife.
She deepened the kiss, flicking her tongue across the roof of his mouth; he growled in response, turning, moving to press her against the lone bare wall of the bath. Her hands drifted to his bum, pulling him flush against her; he drifted the backs of his fingers down her side, causing her to sigh.
He broke the kiss, placing tiny kisses over her jaw, down her neck, whispering to her in Gaelic of how much he loved her, how much he wanted her, the mother of his child; she moved her hands, sliding them into his hair, guiding him further down. He continued to whisper to her as he moved, now nipping at her skin, now dancing his tongue in lazy circles as he slowly shifted his attention to her breasts.
She arched as his lips found a nipple, playing with it, flicking the nub of flesh with his tongue; he rolled it between his teeth before suckling at her, drawing a throaty moan from her. He smiled as he danced kisses across her chest, then resumed teasing her, flicking at her other breast with his tongue, drawing slow circles around her aureole.
She finally pulled him up, leaning forward to kiss him fiercely; her hand snaked between them and found his erection, but she frustratingly refused to do anything other than drift her fingers around the head of it.
“Rose,” he ground out, breaking the kiss, panting against her ear. “We have got to move to the bedroom.”
She chose that moment to wrap her hand around his shaft, to stroke gently upwards; he felt his knees give, just for a moment, and braced his hand against the wall behind Rose.
“You don’t want me to go down on you here, Peter?” she asked, her voice low.
He couldn’t answer, distracted by what she was doing to him with her hand-where had she learned that trick? he thought briefly-and let his head loll forward, his other hand moving to rest against the wall.
She slid down, her body providing enough friction as she moved that he thought it entirely possible he’d orgasm before she ever had a chance to do anything more; and then he was suddenly in her mouth, surrounded by her warmth and being teased by her clever, clever tongue. Her hands drifted up his thighs, over his hips, around to his bum; and he opened his eyes, looking down to where Rose kneeled in front of him.
It felt heavenly, no question; but he suddenly wanted to be in her when he came. He wanted to see her panting, straining for her own release; wanted to hear her breathy whispers to him as she encouraged him.
“Rose…” he gasped, her tongue flicking against his head as she pulled back. She paused, glancing up at him, and he ground out, “Want you…want to be in you…”
She swirled her tongue around his erection, a long, lazy line from base to tip, and then stood. She didn’t say anything, but held his gaze as she leaned forward, kissing him, her tongue sliding against his.
They weren’t going to make it to the bedroom.
He slid his hand between them, wiggling it down; Rose rocked her hips back, then spread her legs apart for him, allowing his fingers to find her clit. She let out a soft gasp as he rubbed gentle circles; he then drifted his fingers further down, coating them with wetness, finding her opening and dipping into it.
She broke the kiss, tilting her head back against the wall; he slipped a second finger into her, curling them, his palm pressing against her as she moaned. Her hand reached forward, her fingertips brushing his erection, and she took him in her hand, stroking him firmly.
“Peter…yes…” Rose hissed, her hand matching the rhythm he set as he slipped his fingers into and out of her. He could feel her nearing her orgasm-could feel his own spiralling ever nearer-and he hurriedly shifted. Rose had opened her eyes, watching him, and she guided his erection as he pressed closer to her, releasing him when he pressed gently into her.
“Oh yes,” she gasped as he rocked up into her; she hiked a leg around his hip, opening further for him, hoping to pull him completely into her. He shifted his hips back slightly before pushing forward, and was unable to stifle a groan as he buried himself within her.
“Love this…love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers as he paused to catch his breath. If he moved at that moment, even an inch, he’d come; he wanted to last longer than that, to have Rose clench around him as he spilled into her.
“Peter,” she whispered, turning her head, her breath ghosting across his skin.
“What do you want, Rose?” he asked, pulling back, pushing into her once more.
“That,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Over and over again.”
He withdrew, paused; waited until Rose met his gaze, then rocked his hips into her firmly. “That, Rose?”
“Yes…always yes…”
He brought his hand to her thigh, holding her leg against him as he drove into her; she kept watching him, her gaze bringing his orgasm ever closer.
“Come around me, Rose,” he said, watching her, thrusting into her steadily. She drew in her bottom lip, biting it as she focused on him. “I love how that feels…love how you feel…”
“Yes…”
“Tell me, Rose. How it feels.”
Her eyes were bright-she was so close-and she said shakily, “I…you’re so hard…you…god, yes…don’t stop, no don’t stop…Peter…” Her eyes slammed shut as she came, her body clenching around him. He leaned forward, kissing her, still able to taste himself on her lips, and his own orgasm crested through him.
He lapsed into Gaelic, telling her what it felt like, how he never wanted it to end as he pushed into her as far as he could, his hips pressing forward as far as possible.
He was still murmuring to her as the wave passed, leaving him feeling faint; Rose was stroking his hair as she held him to her, replying softly to him in English. She’d told him many times she didn’t know what he said to her, but she always answered him, telling him what she was thinking and feeling in that moment.
“H’lo, stranger,” she whispered as he slowly opened his eyes.
He smiled, and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “H’lo.”
They stood together, wrapped in each other’s embrace, silent; he thought he could hear his heart beating, and wondered idly if Rose could, as well.
“Y’hungry?” Rose finally asked, her hand still stroking through his hair.
He blinked, surprised to realize he was utterly ravenous. “I could eat a horse, I think,” he replied, slowly pulling away from her.
Rose slid her leg down from his hip, wincing slightly as she put weight on it, and then pushed off the wall. “We don’t have one of those-but I think we could come up with something else.” She rocked up, brushing a kiss across his cheek, then took his hand and led him into the bedroom.
Peter pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, kept at the cottage for the nights when Lucy demanded to sleep in her parents’ bed; Rose pulled on the lone robe, tying it securely just in case Lucy was brought home early. Together, they made their way downstairs; and as Rose continued on to the kitchen, he ducked into the lounge, opening the shutters he’d only half-closed before he’d left the last time. He did the same for the dining room, and then stepped into the kitchen to find Rose frowning as she looked in the cabinets.
“’s not much here,” she said, closing the cabinet door as she glanced over to him.
He ruffled his hair-he needed to brush it out before it dried, or it would be a nightmare-and then straightened with a sigh. “We’ll have to go out, then. A quick trip to Maybole, perhaps. We’d have had to anyway, for things for supper…”
Rose joined him, leaning now against the counter. “Yeah. Don’t want to go out, though.”
He laughed. “It’ll be good for us-get some fresh air, maybe walk through town, give them their spot of gossip for the month…” He leaned towards her, gently bumping her shoulder.
Rose continued to sulk, although he suspected it was strictly for show. He added, “If we go now, Rose, after we return from dropping Lucy at school, we’ll not have to leave until Sunday…”
She glanced sidelong at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Four whole days, tucked away here?”
“Four whole days of uninterrupted peace.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
~ - ~
Chapter 11
Seanmhair - Grandma/Grandmother
iar-bhan-ogha - great-granddaughter
Duilich - Sorry
Tha - Yes