fic: to the beat of our noisy hearts (pink carnation, miles/hen)
Title: to the beat of our noisy hearts
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.
Fandom/Characters: Pink Carnation, Miles/Henrietta
Word Count: 491
Requested By: spyglass_
There were many things that Miles enjoyed about being married to Henrietta. There was the way that her hair tickled across his chest at night and the adorable way she frowned over the household accounts. There was simply having her there, in his home, which never failed to make him puff up with pride whenever he had occasion to remember it. But if someone were to ask Miles what his favorite part of being married to Henrietta was, the answer would have shocked them.
For the answer was Henrietta's music lessons.
During the hour that Signor Marconi visited Loring House each week, Miles would sit in his study and listen to his wife sing. He would close his eyes and imagine what she looked like; the tendrils of hair slipping down around the curve of her neck as she studied a score, the way that her breasts rose over her bodice as she practiced her breathing. He listened to each note and trill, and thought about the flush of her skin and the plumpness of her lips.
He thought about all of this until he was gripping the arms of his chair with so much force that it was a wonder that they did not break under his hands. He thought about all of this until his breeches were tight and he wanted nothing more than to storm into the next room and ravish his wife in front of God and her music teacher.
(Miles never did, but it was a near thing on more than a few occasions.)
Instead, Miles would wait until he heard the footsteps heading down the hall that meant that Henrietta was showing Signor Marconi to the door, and then Miles would open the door to the study and creep down that same hall. He would wait, silently, hidden out of sight in a dark alcove for his wife to pass back in his direction. And when Henrietta did, Miles would pounce.
"Miles!" Henrietta would yelp, as his arms folded around her waist and his mouth sealed over hers.
(Miles was under no illusions as to her actual surprise at his embrace, but Henrietta always played her part most obligingly.)
He would lift her off her feet and she would curl her arms around his neck, and he would carry her up the stairs to their bedroom. Buttons would be undone, and laces untied. Breeches were unfastened and stockings peeled off. Hair tumbled around shoulders, and just like during her singing lessons there was breathlessness, only this was breathlessness of the very best kind.
After, Henrietta would rest her head on his chest, and Miles would trace patterns on her bare skin, endlessly fascinated by how soft it was under his fingertips. She would sigh, and he would kiss the top of her head, and Henrietta would say, "I must remember to thank Signor Marconi."
And Miles would think to himself that Henrietta had no idea just how right she was.
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.
Fandom/Characters: Pink Carnation, Miles/Henrietta
Word Count: 491
Requested By: spyglass_
There were many things that Miles enjoyed about being married to Henrietta. There was the way that her hair tickled across his chest at night and the adorable way she frowned over the household accounts. There was simply having her there, in his home, which never failed to make him puff up with pride whenever he had occasion to remember it. But if someone were to ask Miles what his favorite part of being married to Henrietta was, the answer would have shocked them.
For the answer was Henrietta's music lessons.
During the hour that Signor Marconi visited Loring House each week, Miles would sit in his study and listen to his wife sing. He would close his eyes and imagine what she looked like; the tendrils of hair slipping down around the curve of her neck as she studied a score, the way that her breasts rose over her bodice as she practiced her breathing. He listened to each note and trill, and thought about the flush of her skin and the plumpness of her lips.
He thought about all of this until he was gripping the arms of his chair with so much force that it was a wonder that they did not break under his hands. He thought about all of this until his breeches were tight and he wanted nothing more than to storm into the next room and ravish his wife in front of God and her music teacher.
(Miles never did, but it was a near thing on more than a few occasions.)
Instead, Miles would wait until he heard the footsteps heading down the hall that meant that Henrietta was showing Signor Marconi to the door, and then Miles would open the door to the study and creep down that same hall. He would wait, silently, hidden out of sight in a dark alcove for his wife to pass back in his direction. And when Henrietta did, Miles would pounce.
"Miles!" Henrietta would yelp, as his arms folded around her waist and his mouth sealed over hers.
(Miles was under no illusions as to her actual surprise at his embrace, but Henrietta always played her part most obligingly.)
He would lift her off her feet and she would curl her arms around his neck, and he would carry her up the stairs to their bedroom. Buttons would be undone, and laces untied. Breeches were unfastened and stockings peeled off. Hair tumbled around shoulders, and just like during her singing lessons there was breathlessness, only this was breathlessness of the very best kind.
After, Henrietta would rest her head on his chest, and Miles would trace patterns on her bare skin, endlessly fascinated by how soft it was under his fingertips. She would sigh, and he would kiss the top of her head, and Henrietta would say, "I must remember to thank Signor Marconi."
And Miles would think to himself that Henrietta had no idea just how right she was.