A Honeymoon Thing
They’d been greeted with smiles upon their return from their wedding ceremony, the owners of their escape taking a paternal interest in what had happened. Rose had been glowing, smiling as wishes for their happiness were offered; Peter had been taken aback, still surprised by the kindness strangers could offer and the very real interest they could express in the lives of others.
The small stone cottage they’d been promised was set in a quiet corner of the land on which the B&B stood, sealed off from prying eyes by shrubbery and with its own small garden. The lights were burning brightly in the windows as they walked up the small path, the cottage looking homey and inviting in the early twilight of spring. The building was nothing fancy-a sitting room with a small kitchen, a cosy bedroom, a bathroom with an enormous, ancient clawfoot tub. There was a small fireplace in the sitting room, the logs neatly stacked on the hearth.
It was perfect.
When he had spoken with the landlady, Marie, before setting out for the registrars that morning, he’d also given her some money to buy some essentials for the small kitchen. She’d agreed readily, adding she’d also set out a cold supper so he and his new bride could eat at their leisure. It thrilled him to think he and Rose could quite conceivably spend the rest of their time in Yorkshire hidden in the small stone structure.
Their luggage had been placed in the bedroom, their clothes neatly placed in the drawers or hung in the wardrobe; and the bed was already turned back, with roses placed on each pillow.
Rose snuck up on him as he was peering into the cabinets in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his torso and simply standing behind him. Closing the cabinet he turned, kissing her gently before trailing several small kisses along her jaw, ending by holding her in a loose embrace.
“We’re married,” she whispered against his chest, voice disbelieving.
“We are,” he confirmed, a small smile creeping across his face.
“I can’t believe we did that.” She sounded gleeful.
“They’re going to kill us,” he grinned unrepentantly.
“Aren’t they just?” she replied giddily.
“Thank you for asking your parents to come.” His voice was warm, his affection for Rose’s family sincere. He’d found the presence of Jackie and Pete to be oddly comforting that day, their approval putting the last of his doubts to rest.
Rose leaned back in his arms, looking at him. “You’re welcome.” She gazed steadily at him, her lips holding just a hint of a smile. “My mum likes you.”
“Such a shame. I’m a married man.”
He watched as a flash of wonderment crossed Rose’s face, before a grin once more appeared. “You are.”
He leaned down slowly, his eyes on Rose as he bent to place a kiss on her lips. “My wife,” he said softly, reverently, still amazed at the turn his life had taken in the past four days.
“My husband,” she whispered back, kissing him once more.
They stood in the kitchen, kissing unhurriedly, the rush of the previous days now over.
He chuckled as they broke the kiss; at her questioning look, he clarified, “I thought we’d be able to do this without anything changing. But it’s changed everything.”
She laughed, moving away to stand opposite him. “It feels like it, doesn’t it? But it hasn’t. Not really.” She leaned against the small breakfast bar, her hands braced against the counter. “We’re the same.”
He stood, ruffling his hair with his hand as he tucked his other in his pocket.
Rose straightened, moving towards him. Resting a hand on his arm, she said softly, “We are, Peter.”
He brought his hand down, gently cupped her upturned face. “I know, Rose. I just-I’m terrified I’m going to hurt you.”
The corner of her mouth curved upwards. “You weren’t before?”
“I’m always scared of hurting you, Rose. It’s just...now...”
“Peter, it’s still me. Still us. And I’m happier than I ever thought I’d be.” Her gaze willed him to believe her. When he hesitated, she continued, “Peter, you’ve got to believe me. Because if you don’t-if you’re always going to question this-” she held up her left hand, her rings shining in the light-“then we’re doomed before we began.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He leaned down, kissed her softly. “I just want to make you happy.”
“You already have.”
He sighed contentedly, kissing her hair before resting his chin on her shoulder. “And you’ve made me ridiculously happy, Rose.”
She grinned, picking his hands up in hers and kissing them. “Good.” She stepped away, began to poke through the cabinets. “I’m starving-feels like I’ve not eaten in years.”
“I think I might be able to help you with that,” he said, bending down to the small chiller. As promised, a selection of cold meats was neatly tucked away inside, along with some fruit, juice, milk, wine, and a bottle of champagne. “Ah, yes, I think this might do.”
Rose found the plates and some silverware and lay out placesettings, as he set the food out on the table in the sitting room. Peter had located a corkscrew for the wine, and he uncorked it as she carried two glasses out to the table.
They were quiet during dinner, each lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t unusual that they’d eat in companionable silence, especially after a particularly stressful day, and he found the familiarity of the habit to be calming. As they finished dining, he noted Rose watching him quietly from over the rim of her wineglass, her gaze thoughtful.
“Yes?” he asked softly.
“You better, then?” she asked in return.
He smiled, reaching across the table for her hand. “Yes. Odd, the nerves. They only come out around you.”
“How strange,” she said, a touch of humour in her voice. “I seem to have the same problem whenever you’re around.”
“Can’t have that on our wedding night, now can we?” Peter replied, his voice low. He saw her pupils dilate, her skin flush, and he felt his pulse accelerate.
“No, we can’t. What would you suggest?”
“If nerves are the problem...I think I might suggest a soothing bath. Or perhaps a nice lie-down.”
“Alone?” She stood, moved around the table to stand in front of him; he brought his hands to rest on her hips, holding her in front of him--not that she seemed inclined to move away. He was amazed to realize anew that she had just vowed, that very day, never to move away from him, ever, as long as they lived. His breath actually caught.
“Oh, hardly.” He leaned forward, brushing a kiss over her stomach. Her hands came to rest in his hair, her fingers stroking through it as he ran his nose across the fabric of her dress.
“Peter.” She whispered his name, and he looked up at her. She was looking down at him, her eyes dark, and she brushed a hand lightly over his cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”
He stood, kissing her before sliding his hand to grab hers and lead her to the bedroom. The candles he’d purchased the day before were set out around the room, and he hunted briefly for a book of matches before he set to lighting them.
He felt his legs weaken at the sight which greeted him as he turned back to the room, the match still smoking in his hand from when he’d blown it out. Rose was standing before him, having taken her clothes off in the time it had taken him to light the candles in the room. Her skin glowed gold in the flickering light, her eyes dark with desire as she walked towards him. The diamond on her left hand picked up the light and sparkled as she moved.
She stopped in front of him, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest, before she leaned in and whispered with a smile, “Are you nervous now?”
“No, I think I’m rather more worried about being overdressed,” he replied softly before leaning down to capture her lips. He was desperate to shed his clothes, to make love to the woman in front of him, and he couldn’t remove the various pieces of fabric fast enough.
Rose had taken a step backwards as he began to undress, sat on the bed in front of him as he tried to strip the pieces of cotton and wool from his body. She watched him, her eyes roving over his body as more of his skin was exposed.
It felt like forever before he removed his pants, his erection bouncing as he kicked the cotton away. Rose watched, her eyes holding his, and as he finally stood naked before her, she said softly, “I love you, Peter.”
He wanted to dive onto the bed, to pounce on her; he could see her bracing for that very thing, and he paused.
Their first time making love as husband and wife. He wanted it to be as memorable as their first time together, years ago and miles away. He licked his lips, slowly stepping towards Rose; she swallowed, looking up at him with huge eyes.
He stopped in front of her, bending down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. His resolution to take things slowly nearly vanished as quickly as it had formed when her hands found him, started stroking him. She moved to break their kiss, to bend down and take him in her mouth, and he found himself gasping, “No, Rose.”
She looked at him questioningly, her thumb absentmindedly dancing around the tip of his erection.
“I want...” He trailed off as she squeezed him lightly, causing him to gasp. He caught the wicked gleam in her eyes as she saw his reaction, and he reached down to grab her wrists. “I want you, Rose. I want to make love to you, not go off in your hand.”
She made a small “oh!” of surprise right before he leaned down and kissed her, his mouth devouring hers. She put up no fight when he gently pressed her back onto the bed, sighed happily as his hands ghosted over her body, dancing along lines he’d learned pleased her without tickling.
They moved up the bed until Rose’s head rested on the pillows, taking care to not lose contact with each other as they slowly worked their way along the bedspread. He broke their kiss long enough to gently place the red roses on the table next to the bed, before returning his attention to his wife.
His wife. He couldn’t believe it, had to say it, to make sure it was real.
“My wife,” he whispered against Rose’s mouth, against her jaw, against her ear; her hands drifted to his hair before sliding down his back, along his ribs, around to his stomach. He thought they were going to drift lower, but she surprised him by bringing them up his chest before cupping his face.
“My husband,” she said, leaning up to kiss him.
They kissed slowly, languorously, neither in any rush to finish; both wanting to savour the moment, the night. Their hands drifted as their mouths continued to work against each other, fingers lightly stroking skin before moving to run through hair, to ghost along a jaw or a cheekbone.
It was Rose who finally sped things along, her hand moving down to his erection, gently stroking it, encircling it with her hand. He reached down with a hand, lightly danced his fingertips across her breast, teasing her erect nipple before following with his mouth. As his tongue began to tease her, his hand drifted further down, across her stomach, sliding through the curls at the join of her thighs, dipping gently into the wetness he found. She arched, pressing herself into him as she squeezed his length with her hand, and he slid a finger into her opening.
“Peter.” She gasped softly, her body more than ready for him as he dipped a second finger into her. He moved his mouth to the breast he’d been neglecting, suckling at it in time to the motion of his fingers, sliding in and out of her.
He felt her begin to rock into his hand and slowly removed it, damp fingers trailing across her stomach, briefly playing with one breast as his mouth continued to nip and tease at the other.
“You bastard,” she whispered against the crown of his head as her hand tightened and stroked upwards on his erection. She stroked downward, then upwards again, her thumb finding the oily dampness leaking from his tip and using it help her thumb slip around the head of his shaft.
He raised his eyes, looking at her; catching her eye, he brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. She licked her lips as he pulled his fingers free, and he leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, to share the taste with her.
As he kissed her, his hand reached down and gently teased her breasts, his fingertips barely brushing across her nipples as his tongue danced with hers. He continued ghosting his fingers across her sensitive skin as he leaned down, whispering into her ear, “I want to make love to you, Rose.”
She turned, gently whispering in response, “And I you.”
There was a condom tucked under the pillow; he leaned up as he pulled it out, preparing to open the packet and put it on. Rose reached over, placing her hand on his wrist.
“Peter...I...” Her eyes were huge, her expression vulnerable. “I...Not this time.”
He looked down dumbly at the packet, then back at her.
“I want you to make love to me. Without…I...I’m on contraceptives, have been forever, you know that.” She blushed, before rushing out, “I want to feel you inside me, against me.”
His desires warred within him; the only times they’d not used a condom had been the infrequent accidents, the result of the heat of the moment. They’d been scrupulously careful about contraception, neither wanting to risk a child in their lines of work; and yet now, she was willing to chance just the one line of protection.
“Peter. I mean it.”
“But...if...”
“It’ll be ok.” She paused, holding his gaze. “I want this, Peter.”
She was looking at him imploringly, and he set the packet aside. He leaned down, gently kissed her as he shifted to cover her with his body.
“You’re sure?” He pushed himself up, asking one last time.
“Absolutely,” she said, a smile curving her lips.
She shifted, raising her hips; he moved to meet her, pausing at her entrance. As he pushed his hips forward, he leaned down, whispering against her ear, “My wife.”
Her hands came around, clutching his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself in her body; when he stopped, she whispered, “My husband.” He felt shock roll through him at the completeness he felt; he knew it wasn’t because of the absence of a piece of latex but rather because of the entire situation.
He was hers. She was his.
He began to slowly push into her, her hips arching to allow him to go deeper, to provide better friction; her hands were dancing along his back, over his arse, pulling him to her as he drove into her faster, harder. He pulled back, looking at her; she was gazing at him, her eyes glazed with need, and she slid her hands across his chest, tweaking his nipples as he continued to drive into her.
He bent down, pulled her to him, rolled them over; she shifted on top of him before beginning to rock against him slowly. He reached up with his hands, gently cupping her breasts; he pulled her towards him, taking one breast in his mouth as he continued to tease her with his hand. She moaned, grinding her hips into his, driving him into her as she neared climax.
He shifted and pulled her down to him, brought his mouth to rest by her ear as he rocked his hips up into her, meeting her thrusts. Whispering dirty things to her, he watched her come undone above him; he moved, swallowing her cries of pleasure with kisses as she continued to drive him into her.
As he felt her orgasm wane, he rolled them over again, bringing her under him; she looked up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. “Now it’s your turn,” she whispered wickedly as she shifted, arching her hips upwards into him and rotating them.
That was all it took; he began to pound into her violently, repeatedly, driving himself home over and over. She matched him, hips rising to meet his, her hands buried in his hair. She pulled him down to her, lightly ran her tongue around his ear before whispering into it, begging for him to come undone.
He braced a hand against the headboard, continuing to pound into her as he felt his orgasm explode, heard himself keen her name as his world was reduced to the joining of their two bodies. He felt himself release into her, could feel her body respond around him a second time; he was gasping for breath when he finished, could feel the sheen of sweat covering his body.
He felt Rose’s hands lightly brush his brow, and opened his eyes to find her watching him. He placed a quick kiss in her palm, before leaning down to brush her lips. “Hello, stranger,” he said, smiling.
She grinned. “That’s my line.”
“What’s yours is mine, and mine is yours,” he replied playfully.
“I’ll remember that next time it’s convenient.”
He laughed, kissing her lightly before rolling off to the side. She rolled next to him, propping herself up on her arm. “Let me know when you’re ready for round two, old man,” she said, her tongue peeping out from the corner of her mouth.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, watching her carefully; when she hesitated, he pounced, tickling her mercilessly.
“Uncle! Uncle!” she finally cried, gasping from laughter.
“And to think I was going to offer you a bath.”
She looked contrite, and he brushed a light kiss on her nose before getting out of bed. “Ah, very well. Do you care for a bath, Mrs. Carlisle?” His heart skipped a beat again as he called her by her married name. He still couldn’t quite believe they’d actually been married.
He watched as she stood, lazily stretching, her eyes hooded as she held his gaze. “Mmm...That’d be lovely.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
She was hard-pressed to keep her hands off of Peter as he ran the bath, the bubbles rising slowly as the water filled the porcelain tub. He’d briefly turned on the light in the small room, blinding them both after the soft glow of the candles, and they had moved a few candles into the bathroom with alacrity so they could turn harsh overhead light off.
Peter kept leaning temptingly over the tub, checking the temperature of the water, watching the level rise; she was certain he was deliberately teasing her, knowing her weakness for his naked bum. As he reached over to turn the taps off, she finally gave in, reaching forward and sliding her hands along his bum, around his hips, sliding them down to his growing erection. He stilled, bent over the tub, and she pressed her body against his as she lightly ran her fingers along his hardening length.
“Care for a bath, Mr. Carlisle?” she asked quietly, her voice gravelly.
Peter didn’t respond, instead straightening and pressing his hips into her hand. She smiled, brushing a light kiss over his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I?”
She released him, placing a final light kiss against his skin, and moved to the side of the tub. Peter slowly turned to her, his eyes burning as he looked at her, and she felt her breath catch. He brought a hand up, cradling her cheek and pulling her towards him, and she sighed into the gentle kiss.
He broke their kiss, his eyes holding a gentleness as he pulled back to look at her. Silently, he stepped into the water, helping her to balance as she followed suit, and they sank into the warm water together. Peter leaned forward once they were both in the bubbles, pressing her gently against the back of the tub; she slid her feet along the bottom of it, stretching her legs out as her back came into contact with the porcelain, and Peter slowly rotated so he was stretched along her body. He continued to kiss her, teasing her lightly with his tongue, his hand drifting lightly along her side before coming out of the water and nesting in her hair.
Rose could feel the tension coil within her, her body ready to welcome his hard length once again, wanting to feel him sheathed inside of her as he whispered in her ear. She wanted him to make love to her again. Immediately.
“Peter...” she whispered, breaking the kiss briefly. Her hand slid across, found his erection; she ran her fingertips along the soft skin of it as Peter dazedly blinked his eyes open.
“Rose,” he whispered, her name a growl as she began to lightly tease him.
“Make love to me again.”
He leaned forward, his mouth capturing hers; his hand slowly sank back into the water, drifting across her breast before continuing the journey down.
She move to open for him, wanting to help him; she found herself frustrated by the lack of space in the tub, and settled for raising a knee, moving so her leg draped over the side of the tub. She felt Peter smile against her at that, and she nipped his lower lip; his smile faded as he began to kiss her punishingly, his hand moving to where she most wanted it.
They’d only made love in the bath a few times, the water-and the unyielding, unforgiving nature of the porcelain-making it uncomfortable more often than not; tonight, though, she desperately wanted to orgasm as Peter was on top of her, the warm water and bubbles surrounding them and enhancing their lovemaking. All thoughts and worries fled her mind as Peter’s fingers began to tease her, sliding along the folds of flesh between her legs, lightly dancing around her opening, teasing the bundle of nerves hiding down there. She rocked against him restlessly, forgetting about the kiss as he slowly drove her towards her orgasm, his deft hands knowing exactly what to do to get her to moan, to bring her closer still to release.
He slid two fingers into her, then a third; wiggled his fingertips; slid out of her. She could feel the wave of orgasm nearing, and reached her hand out of the water to pull him towards her. “Peter. I want you in me. Please.” She gasped the words out, desperate for him to bury himself in her before her climax crashed through her body.
He moved quickly, rolling over to cover her body with his as the water sloshed slightly in the tub. She moved her other leg to match its mate, draping it over the other side of the tub; she watched Peter as he rested his hips against the cradle of her thighs, his eyes seeking hers out. He braced himself with one hand, brought the other to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips; he held her gaze as he slowly slid into her, the candlelight dancing in his dark eyes.
She arched into him, her legs lifting her hips into him, and it took only a few gentle thrusts from Peter for her orgasm to roll through her. A declaration of her love for him burst from her lips, and Peter paused briefly in his rhythm as he bent down to kiss her.
She buried her hands in his hair as he began again to gently rock into and out of her, slowly driving himself onwards. Kissing him desperately, she willed him to be able to feel how much she loved him, how much he meant to her. The porcelain was cold against her overheated skin, and she gasped as he arched his hips flush against hers, pressing her against the hard surface as he came. She could feel his throbbing release as he spilled into her, and she gentled their kiss.
Rose was incredibly warm as Peter collapsed onto her, the water seeming to amplify the heat coursing through her. Peter’s cheeks were flushed as he raised his head to look at her, and she smiled softly.
“Might have t’ get out of here before I melt,” she whispered, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Didn’t anyone warn you of the dangers of exercise in the bath?” he replied, his lips curving.
“Mmm, no.”
He placed a sweet kiss against her lips before rocking back onto his knees. Rose winced as she moved her legs, bringing them back into the warm water and sitting up at the end of the tub. “Are you ok?” Peter asked, his soft voice tinged with concern.
She grinned. “Right as rain.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
They stayed in the bath until the water cooled, Peter moving to lean against the back of the tub so he could cradle Rose against his chest. He’d finally popped the drain stopper with a toe, the sound of water draining filling the room as he’d stood and helped Rose to her feet.
After they’d dried off, Peter had stolen to the kitchen to remove the bottle of champagne from the chiller; he returned to the bedroom, bottle and two glasses in hand, to find Rose clad in a deep red nightgown and stretched out along the bed.
She looked stunning, and he halted just inside the door to the small room. In the time they’d been together-both before they’d lived together and after-she’d never worn lingerie to bed. Ever. Usually, she wore pyjamas to bed, flannel shorts with a cotton top. Occasionally, she wore nothing at all-the result of their making love before going to bed for the night. Rarely, she wore her bra and knickers only. But never lingerie.
The corner of her mouth curled upwards as she took in his reaction; as he continued to stare at her, she rolled off the bed, stalking over to him. “D’you like what you see, then?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“That’s my line,” he finally heard himself say.
“What’s yours is mine, and mine is yours,” she replied, mimicking his earlier response. “Doesn’t answer the question, though, does it?”
“I do like what I see. Very much indeed.”He remembered he was holding an open bottle of champagne and handed one of the glasses to her. She took it with a smile, and he poured. “You didn’t bring that with you from London-did you?”
Rose blushed, ducking her gaze to the glass of champagne in her hand. “I bought it yesterday. For you.”
He finished pouring his own glass, moving to set the bottle on the dresser. He returned his eyes to her, closing the distance between them. “It’s lovely, Rose. You’re lovely.” He swallowed. “You’re beautiful.”
She raised her chin, meeting his appreciative stare. “Thank you.” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it, only worked out the words by watching her lips as she spoke.
He raised his glass, holding her gaze. “To my beautiful wife,” he said, hearing his voice catch on the emotion of the simple statement.
He watched her eyes fill with tears as she raised her glass to his, replying, “To my incredible husband.”
They each took a long sip of the sparkling golden liquid. The room settled into silence, each of them staring at the other, neither sure exactly what to say after such heartfelt sentiments.
After several moments, he turned and set his glass down. “I suppose we’d best get those candles back in here before we drink too much more of the champagne. It would be a bit...embarrassing...to burn down our honeymoon cottage, eh?” He winked, and was rewarded with a smile.
He felt heat wash through him as Rose’s eyes drifted appreciatively down his still-naked body. “Mm.” She reached a hand out, drifting her fingertips lightly upwards across his ribcage.
She was trying to seduce him.
“Rose...”
She stepped towards him, looking at him through lowered lashes. “Yes, Peter?” Her voice sounded demure, but he knew better. She was ready for round three.
“I...Just a wee bit more time before I’m ready again. ‘s that alright?”
A small smile graced her lips at his admission. “I suppose so...”
He grinned. “Good.”
Peter left the room briefly to make sure the cottage was safe for the night, ensuring the candles in the bath were snuffed, that the door to the cottage was secure against prowlers (or, heaven forbid, the inquisitive zanzare). When he returned to the room, he found Rose on the bed once more. She made no secret of watching him appreciatively as he-still naked-collected his glass of champagne and the bottle, and moved to join her on the bed.
It took less time than he’d expected for his body to recover, to be ready for another round of lovemaking. As he slowly finished his glass of champagne, he ruefully wondered if it was being around Rose that did it, or if he was just exceptionally lucky for a man nearing forty.
As much as he adored Rose in her deep red nightgown, it didn’t take long at all for him to divest her of it: he loved feeling her bare skin against his as they moved against each other, as they slowly made love. His heart was rocketing in his chest as he finally came, as Rose ground into him; he looked up, watching as she followed after, her orgasm rippling through her for the fourth time that night.
She remained atop him, straddling him as she slowly caught her breath. Her hands were braced on his chest, his hands resting gently on her thighs; he couldn’t stop staring at the vision of her above him, her body glistening with sweat, her eyes filled with love for him.
He watched as she slowly licked her lips, as she took a deep breath to speak. “You’re gorgeous, you know.” Her voice was still gravelly from their lovemaking, and he didn’t miss the slight quirk of her lips as she paid him a compliment she knew would embarrass him.
He knew she meant it, but he couldn’t resist firing back, “Scrawny, more like.” He paused before continuing on, a glint in his eye. “But you’re more than welcome to love me for it.” He couldn’t hold back the full-blown grin as he finished speaking, and was rewarded with one of the smiles he so dearly loved.
She rolled off him after a while, standing next to the bed and casting about for her nightgown. He moved to join her, his hand gently guiding her to look at him. “Please don’t put it back on.”
She looked confused. “I thought you liked it?”
“I do. But...” He paused, unsure of what she would think. “I...I like sleeping next to you. Without clothes. I love feeling you next to me. I...I sleep better, Rose, that way.” He felt strangely vulnerable, making the admission; he’d never felt that way before about sleeping naked with someone, but it was true-he always slept best when Rose was curled into him, her naked body next to his.
She reached up, gently wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “Then that’s how I’ll sleep, Peter. How we’ll sleep.”
She smiled gently, and he couldn’t resist brushing a light kiss across her swollen lips.
As Rose remade the bed-her need to go to sleep in a fully made bed was a particular quirk she’d warned him about early in their relationship-he walked around the room, slowly blowing the candles out. He was able to return to the bed in short order and slid under the cool sheets, feeling a lassitude steal over him as he felt the warmth of Rose’s body next to him.
They fell asleep, curled together, naked flesh against naked flesh.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Peter stretched as he slowly awoke the next morning, savouring the feel of the sheets against his skin...and the warmth of Rose, naked next to him.
Rose. His wife, now. Rose Carlisle.
He rolled to the side, his hand drifting across his wife’s waist as he came to face her. She smiled sleepily as his eyes met hers, and he couldn’t resist leaning in to brush a light kiss across her lips.
“Good morning, Mr. Carlisle,” she said softly, her voice still rough from sleep.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carlisle.” Again, his heart skipped a beat. At some point, surely, his heart would learn how to keep its normal rhythm when confronted with the idea of Rose Tyler being Mrs. Peter Carlisle. But it clearly hadn’t developed the knack just yet. “And how are you this fine morning?”
She stretched, closing her eyes as she hmmmed. “I think...” She opened them, laughter lurking in the depths of her eyes. “I think I’m a bit sore.”
He couldn’t help the surge of pride that flashed through him at her words. He had done that. He blushed at the primalness of the thought, and brought his hand up to brush her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
She grinned. “No you’re not. ‘s alright. I had a lovely evening.” Her voice was warm, and he felt heat flash through him at her tone, at the memories of what they’d done the evening before.
She scooted closer and he rolled onto his back, pulling her to lie against him. He sighed in contentment, savouring the feel of her body pressed against his, her warmth leaching into him and leaving him feeling...complete. Her hand had come to rest on his sternum, and he idly noted the morning light sparkling on her engagement ring.
Her ring. Had she noticed what he’d had engraved? He’d snuck back to the jewellers after they’d split up in York the day before their wedding, had asked them if they might engrave something into the ring for him. The clerk had smilingly obliged, and he’d left the shop a short time later with Rose’s newly-engraved ring.
Come to think of it, he still hadn’t checked to see what his said. His left hand was resting on Rose’s shoulder, holding her to him; he glanced over, raising it contemplatively.
“Rose?”
“Hmmm?” Her voice was sleepy again, her breath hot against his skin.
“What’s on my ring?”
She leaned back, tilting her head to look at him. Her brow furrowed briefly before she worked out what he was referring to. “You didn’t look?”
“No...Should I have done?”
She smiled, wiggling out of his embrace so she could look at him properly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to resist.”
“That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe.” She propped herself up on her elbow, the sheet draping to hide her curves from him.
She reached down, gently brushing her knuckles across his cheek. Her gaze drifted down to his lips as she continued softly, “It says...It says, ‘I love you, Peter-my husband.’” Her eyes met his, and he was startled by the vulnerability he saw there.
He reached up, pulling her down to him for a deep, emotional kiss; it was the only thing he could think to do, to let her know how much it meant to him.
His heart was racing when she finally pulled back; he still hadn’t any idea what to say, and so simply continued to gaze at Rose, her lips red from their kiss, her cheeks a soft pink. He drifted his fingers across her cheek, up into her sleep-tousled hair, gently running his fingers through the soft strands before sliding his hand to cup her jaw.
How had he been so lucky?
Rose turned, placing a soft kiss on his palm, before lying down again. She returned her left hand to his chest, slowly running her fingertips across the breastbone; he closed his eyes, allowing himself to revel in the feeling.
He was slowly drifting off, utterly relaxed, when she broke the silence. “What’s in mine?”
Even whispered her question was loud in the quiet of the room, and he jumped. She flattened her hand across his chest in a soothing gesture, and he felt her lips curve against the skin of his chest.
He rubbed his hand along her arm, grinning ruefully. “You caught me napping. Sorry.”
““’s okay, Peter.”
He gently shifted his arm from under her before rolling to face her. Her hand came to rest between them, her ring still glinting in the clear morning light flooding the room. He wondered, briefly, at the curtains over the windows being so sheer.
“What’s in your ring?” he asked, meeting her steady gaze.
“Yes. I saw something in it yesterday, when you were playing with it during the vows.”
He didn’t remember that; he actually didn’t remember much at all of the ceremony. He hoped Jackie had taken plenty of pictures.
“Indeed there is.” He brought his hand to cup her face, his thumb running along her cheek. “It says, ‘I only live to love thee.’ It’s Burns,” he added lamely--worried, suddenly, that Rose would wonder at him using someone else’s words, would have preferred something as moving as the inscription she’d chosen for him; would have preferred, simply, an ‘I love you, Rose.’
He decided she liked the inscription after all, as he watched her eyes fill with tears and a small “Oh!” escaped her lips. He leaned in, guiding her to him for a soft kiss, not knowing what to say but knowing he wanted to show her how much he loved her-how much he meant every word engraved in her ring. She shifted, moving her body against his, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips pushing into him.
Her hands drifted down, ghosting along his ribs, resting at his hips; he moved his arm, wrapping her in his embrace and rolling so she was on top of him.
They made gentle love in the morning light, the only words exchanged those engraved in their rings.
A/N: The line Peter uses for Rose's ring is specifically from Robert Burns' song, O, Were I on Parnassus Hill. It's a lovely bit of work, romantic in the extreme, and I think rather nicely conveys the strength of feeling Peter has for Rose by this point.
The small stone cottage they’d been promised was set in a quiet corner of the land on which the B&B stood, sealed off from prying eyes by shrubbery and with its own small garden. The lights were burning brightly in the windows as they walked up the small path, the cottage looking homey and inviting in the early twilight of spring. The building was nothing fancy-a sitting room with a small kitchen, a cosy bedroom, a bathroom with an enormous, ancient clawfoot tub. There was a small fireplace in the sitting room, the logs neatly stacked on the hearth.
It was perfect.
When he had spoken with the landlady, Marie, before setting out for the registrars that morning, he’d also given her some money to buy some essentials for the small kitchen. She’d agreed readily, adding she’d also set out a cold supper so he and his new bride could eat at their leisure. It thrilled him to think he and Rose could quite conceivably spend the rest of their time in Yorkshire hidden in the small stone structure.
Their luggage had been placed in the bedroom, their clothes neatly placed in the drawers or hung in the wardrobe; and the bed was already turned back, with roses placed on each pillow.
Rose snuck up on him as he was peering into the cabinets in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his torso and simply standing behind him. Closing the cabinet he turned, kissing her gently before trailing several small kisses along her jaw, ending by holding her in a loose embrace.
“We’re married,” she whispered against his chest, voice disbelieving.
“We are,” he confirmed, a small smile creeping across his face.
“I can’t believe we did that.” She sounded gleeful.
“They’re going to kill us,” he grinned unrepentantly.
“Aren’t they just?” she replied giddily.
“Thank you for asking your parents to come.” His voice was warm, his affection for Rose’s family sincere. He’d found the presence of Jackie and Pete to be oddly comforting that day, their approval putting the last of his doubts to rest.
Rose leaned back in his arms, looking at him. “You’re welcome.” She gazed steadily at him, her lips holding just a hint of a smile. “My mum likes you.”
“Such a shame. I’m a married man.”
He watched as a flash of wonderment crossed Rose’s face, before a grin once more appeared. “You are.”
He leaned down slowly, his eyes on Rose as he bent to place a kiss on her lips. “My wife,” he said softly, reverently, still amazed at the turn his life had taken in the past four days.
“My husband,” she whispered back, kissing him once more.
They stood in the kitchen, kissing unhurriedly, the rush of the previous days now over.
He chuckled as they broke the kiss; at her questioning look, he clarified, “I thought we’d be able to do this without anything changing. But it’s changed everything.”
She laughed, moving away to stand opposite him. “It feels like it, doesn’t it? But it hasn’t. Not really.” She leaned against the small breakfast bar, her hands braced against the counter. “We’re the same.”
He stood, ruffling his hair with his hand as he tucked his other in his pocket.
Rose straightened, moving towards him. Resting a hand on his arm, she said softly, “We are, Peter.”
He brought his hand down, gently cupped her upturned face. “I know, Rose. I just-I’m terrified I’m going to hurt you.”
The corner of her mouth curved upwards. “You weren’t before?”
“I’m always scared of hurting you, Rose. It’s just...now...”
“Peter, it’s still me. Still us. And I’m happier than I ever thought I’d be.” Her gaze willed him to believe her. When he hesitated, she continued, “Peter, you’ve got to believe me. Because if you don’t-if you’re always going to question this-” she held up her left hand, her rings shining in the light-“then we’re doomed before we began.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He leaned down, kissed her softly. “I just want to make you happy.”
“You already have.”
He sighed contentedly, kissing her hair before resting his chin on her shoulder. “And you’ve made me ridiculously happy, Rose.”
She grinned, picking his hands up in hers and kissing them. “Good.” She stepped away, began to poke through the cabinets. “I’m starving-feels like I’ve not eaten in years.”
“I think I might be able to help you with that,” he said, bending down to the small chiller. As promised, a selection of cold meats was neatly tucked away inside, along with some fruit, juice, milk, wine, and a bottle of champagne. “Ah, yes, I think this might do.”
Rose found the plates and some silverware and lay out placesettings, as he set the food out on the table in the sitting room. Peter had located a corkscrew for the wine, and he uncorked it as she carried two glasses out to the table.
They were quiet during dinner, each lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t unusual that they’d eat in companionable silence, especially after a particularly stressful day, and he found the familiarity of the habit to be calming. As they finished dining, he noted Rose watching him quietly from over the rim of her wineglass, her gaze thoughtful.
“Yes?” he asked softly.
“You better, then?” she asked in return.
He smiled, reaching across the table for her hand. “Yes. Odd, the nerves. They only come out around you.”
“How strange,” she said, a touch of humour in her voice. “I seem to have the same problem whenever you’re around.”
“Can’t have that on our wedding night, now can we?” Peter replied, his voice low. He saw her pupils dilate, her skin flush, and he felt his pulse accelerate.
“No, we can’t. What would you suggest?”
“If nerves are the problem...I think I might suggest a soothing bath. Or perhaps a nice lie-down.”
“Alone?” She stood, moved around the table to stand in front of him; he brought his hands to rest on her hips, holding her in front of him--not that she seemed inclined to move away. He was amazed to realize anew that she had just vowed, that very day, never to move away from him, ever, as long as they lived. His breath actually caught.
“Oh, hardly.” He leaned forward, brushing a kiss over her stomach. Her hands came to rest in his hair, her fingers stroking through it as he ran his nose across the fabric of her dress.
“Peter.” She whispered his name, and he looked up at her. She was looking down at him, her eyes dark, and she brushed a hand lightly over his cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”
He stood, kissing her before sliding his hand to grab hers and lead her to the bedroom. The candles he’d purchased the day before were set out around the room, and he hunted briefly for a book of matches before he set to lighting them.
He felt his legs weaken at the sight which greeted him as he turned back to the room, the match still smoking in his hand from when he’d blown it out. Rose was standing before him, having taken her clothes off in the time it had taken him to light the candles in the room. Her skin glowed gold in the flickering light, her eyes dark with desire as she walked towards him. The diamond on her left hand picked up the light and sparkled as she moved.
She stopped in front of him, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest, before she leaned in and whispered with a smile, “Are you nervous now?”
“No, I think I’m rather more worried about being overdressed,” he replied softly before leaning down to capture her lips. He was desperate to shed his clothes, to make love to the woman in front of him, and he couldn’t remove the various pieces of fabric fast enough.
Rose had taken a step backwards as he began to undress, sat on the bed in front of him as he tried to strip the pieces of cotton and wool from his body. She watched him, her eyes roving over his body as more of his skin was exposed.
It felt like forever before he removed his pants, his erection bouncing as he kicked the cotton away. Rose watched, her eyes holding his, and as he finally stood naked before her, she said softly, “I love you, Peter.”
He wanted to dive onto the bed, to pounce on her; he could see her bracing for that very thing, and he paused.
Their first time making love as husband and wife. He wanted it to be as memorable as their first time together, years ago and miles away. He licked his lips, slowly stepping towards Rose; she swallowed, looking up at him with huge eyes.
He stopped in front of her, bending down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. His resolution to take things slowly nearly vanished as quickly as it had formed when her hands found him, started stroking him. She moved to break their kiss, to bend down and take him in her mouth, and he found himself gasping, “No, Rose.”
She looked at him questioningly, her thumb absentmindedly dancing around the tip of his erection.
“I want...” He trailed off as she squeezed him lightly, causing him to gasp. He caught the wicked gleam in her eyes as she saw his reaction, and he reached down to grab her wrists. “I want you, Rose. I want to make love to you, not go off in your hand.”
She made a small “oh!” of surprise right before he leaned down and kissed her, his mouth devouring hers. She put up no fight when he gently pressed her back onto the bed, sighed happily as his hands ghosted over her body, dancing along lines he’d learned pleased her without tickling.
They moved up the bed until Rose’s head rested on the pillows, taking care to not lose contact with each other as they slowly worked their way along the bedspread. He broke their kiss long enough to gently place the red roses on the table next to the bed, before returning his attention to his wife.
His wife. He couldn’t believe it, had to say it, to make sure it was real.
“My wife,” he whispered against Rose’s mouth, against her jaw, against her ear; her hands drifted to his hair before sliding down his back, along his ribs, around to his stomach. He thought they were going to drift lower, but she surprised him by bringing them up his chest before cupping his face.
“My husband,” she said, leaning up to kiss him.
They kissed slowly, languorously, neither in any rush to finish; both wanting to savour the moment, the night. Their hands drifted as their mouths continued to work against each other, fingers lightly stroking skin before moving to run through hair, to ghost along a jaw or a cheekbone.
It was Rose who finally sped things along, her hand moving down to his erection, gently stroking it, encircling it with her hand. He reached down with a hand, lightly danced his fingertips across her breast, teasing her erect nipple before following with his mouth. As his tongue began to tease her, his hand drifted further down, across her stomach, sliding through the curls at the join of her thighs, dipping gently into the wetness he found. She arched, pressing herself into him as she squeezed his length with her hand, and he slid a finger into her opening.
“Peter.” She gasped softly, her body more than ready for him as he dipped a second finger into her. He moved his mouth to the breast he’d been neglecting, suckling at it in time to the motion of his fingers, sliding in and out of her.
He felt her begin to rock into his hand and slowly removed it, damp fingers trailing across her stomach, briefly playing with one breast as his mouth continued to nip and tease at the other.
“You bastard,” she whispered against the crown of his head as her hand tightened and stroked upwards on his erection. She stroked downward, then upwards again, her thumb finding the oily dampness leaking from his tip and using it help her thumb slip around the head of his shaft.
He raised his eyes, looking at her; catching her eye, he brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. She licked her lips as he pulled his fingers free, and he leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, to share the taste with her.
As he kissed her, his hand reached down and gently teased her breasts, his fingertips barely brushing across her nipples as his tongue danced with hers. He continued ghosting his fingers across her sensitive skin as he leaned down, whispering into her ear, “I want to make love to you, Rose.”
She turned, gently whispering in response, “And I you.”
There was a condom tucked under the pillow; he leaned up as he pulled it out, preparing to open the packet and put it on. Rose reached over, placing her hand on his wrist.
“Peter...I...” Her eyes were huge, her expression vulnerable. “I...Not this time.”
He looked down dumbly at the packet, then back at her.
“I want you to make love to me. Without…I...I’m on contraceptives, have been forever, you know that.” She blushed, before rushing out, “I want to feel you inside me, against me.”
His desires warred within him; the only times they’d not used a condom had been the infrequent accidents, the result of the heat of the moment. They’d been scrupulously careful about contraception, neither wanting to risk a child in their lines of work; and yet now, she was willing to chance just the one line of protection.
“Peter. I mean it.”
“But...if...”
“It’ll be ok.” She paused, holding his gaze. “I want this, Peter.”
She was looking at him imploringly, and he set the packet aside. He leaned down, gently kissed her as he shifted to cover her with his body.
“You’re sure?” He pushed himself up, asking one last time.
“Absolutely,” she said, a smile curving her lips.
She shifted, raising her hips; he moved to meet her, pausing at her entrance. As he pushed his hips forward, he leaned down, whispering against her ear, “My wife.”
Her hands came around, clutching his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself in her body; when he stopped, she whispered, “My husband.” He felt shock roll through him at the completeness he felt; he knew it wasn’t because of the absence of a piece of latex but rather because of the entire situation.
He was hers. She was his.
He began to slowly push into her, her hips arching to allow him to go deeper, to provide better friction; her hands were dancing along his back, over his arse, pulling him to her as he drove into her faster, harder. He pulled back, looking at her; she was gazing at him, her eyes glazed with need, and she slid her hands across his chest, tweaking his nipples as he continued to drive into her.
He bent down, pulled her to him, rolled them over; she shifted on top of him before beginning to rock against him slowly. He reached up with his hands, gently cupping her breasts; he pulled her towards him, taking one breast in his mouth as he continued to tease her with his hand. She moaned, grinding her hips into his, driving him into her as she neared climax.
He shifted and pulled her down to him, brought his mouth to rest by her ear as he rocked his hips up into her, meeting her thrusts. Whispering dirty things to her, he watched her come undone above him; he moved, swallowing her cries of pleasure with kisses as she continued to drive him into her.
As he felt her orgasm wane, he rolled them over again, bringing her under him; she looked up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. “Now it’s your turn,” she whispered wickedly as she shifted, arching her hips upwards into him and rotating them.
That was all it took; he began to pound into her violently, repeatedly, driving himself home over and over. She matched him, hips rising to meet his, her hands buried in his hair. She pulled him down to her, lightly ran her tongue around his ear before whispering into it, begging for him to come undone.
He braced a hand against the headboard, continuing to pound into her as he felt his orgasm explode, heard himself keen her name as his world was reduced to the joining of their two bodies. He felt himself release into her, could feel her body respond around him a second time; he was gasping for breath when he finished, could feel the sheen of sweat covering his body.
He felt Rose’s hands lightly brush his brow, and opened his eyes to find her watching him. He placed a quick kiss in her palm, before leaning down to brush her lips. “Hello, stranger,” he said, smiling.
She grinned. “That’s my line.”
“What’s yours is mine, and mine is yours,” he replied playfully.
“I’ll remember that next time it’s convenient.”
He laughed, kissing her lightly before rolling off to the side. She rolled next to him, propping herself up on her arm. “Let me know when you’re ready for round two, old man,” she said, her tongue peeping out from the corner of her mouth.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, watching her carefully; when she hesitated, he pounced, tickling her mercilessly.
“Uncle! Uncle!” she finally cried, gasping from laughter.
“And to think I was going to offer you a bath.”
She looked contrite, and he brushed a light kiss on her nose before getting out of bed. “Ah, very well. Do you care for a bath, Mrs. Carlisle?” His heart skipped a beat again as he called her by her married name. He still couldn’t quite believe they’d actually been married.
He watched as she stood, lazily stretching, her eyes hooded as she held his gaze. “Mmm...That’d be lovely.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
She was hard-pressed to keep her hands off of Peter as he ran the bath, the bubbles rising slowly as the water filled the porcelain tub. He’d briefly turned on the light in the small room, blinding them both after the soft glow of the candles, and they had moved a few candles into the bathroom with alacrity so they could turn harsh overhead light off.
Peter kept leaning temptingly over the tub, checking the temperature of the water, watching the level rise; she was certain he was deliberately teasing her, knowing her weakness for his naked bum. As he reached over to turn the taps off, she finally gave in, reaching forward and sliding her hands along his bum, around his hips, sliding them down to his growing erection. He stilled, bent over the tub, and she pressed her body against his as she lightly ran her fingers along his hardening length.
“Care for a bath, Mr. Carlisle?” she asked quietly, her voice gravelly.
Peter didn’t respond, instead straightening and pressing his hips into her hand. She smiled, brushing a light kiss over his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I?”
She released him, placing a final light kiss against his skin, and moved to the side of the tub. Peter slowly turned to her, his eyes burning as he looked at her, and she felt her breath catch. He brought a hand up, cradling her cheek and pulling her towards him, and she sighed into the gentle kiss.
He broke their kiss, his eyes holding a gentleness as he pulled back to look at her. Silently, he stepped into the water, helping her to balance as she followed suit, and they sank into the warm water together. Peter leaned forward once they were both in the bubbles, pressing her gently against the back of the tub; she slid her feet along the bottom of it, stretching her legs out as her back came into contact with the porcelain, and Peter slowly rotated so he was stretched along her body. He continued to kiss her, teasing her lightly with his tongue, his hand drifting lightly along her side before coming out of the water and nesting in her hair.
Rose could feel the tension coil within her, her body ready to welcome his hard length once again, wanting to feel him sheathed inside of her as he whispered in her ear. She wanted him to make love to her again. Immediately.
“Peter...” she whispered, breaking the kiss briefly. Her hand slid across, found his erection; she ran her fingertips along the soft skin of it as Peter dazedly blinked his eyes open.
“Rose,” he whispered, her name a growl as she began to lightly tease him.
“Make love to me again.”
He leaned forward, his mouth capturing hers; his hand slowly sank back into the water, drifting across her breast before continuing the journey down.
She move to open for him, wanting to help him; she found herself frustrated by the lack of space in the tub, and settled for raising a knee, moving so her leg draped over the side of the tub. She felt Peter smile against her at that, and she nipped his lower lip; his smile faded as he began to kiss her punishingly, his hand moving to where she most wanted it.
They’d only made love in the bath a few times, the water-and the unyielding, unforgiving nature of the porcelain-making it uncomfortable more often than not; tonight, though, she desperately wanted to orgasm as Peter was on top of her, the warm water and bubbles surrounding them and enhancing their lovemaking. All thoughts and worries fled her mind as Peter’s fingers began to tease her, sliding along the folds of flesh between her legs, lightly dancing around her opening, teasing the bundle of nerves hiding down there. She rocked against him restlessly, forgetting about the kiss as he slowly drove her towards her orgasm, his deft hands knowing exactly what to do to get her to moan, to bring her closer still to release.
He slid two fingers into her, then a third; wiggled his fingertips; slid out of her. She could feel the wave of orgasm nearing, and reached her hand out of the water to pull him towards her. “Peter. I want you in me. Please.” She gasped the words out, desperate for him to bury himself in her before her climax crashed through her body.
He moved quickly, rolling over to cover her body with his as the water sloshed slightly in the tub. She moved her other leg to match its mate, draping it over the other side of the tub; she watched Peter as he rested his hips against the cradle of her thighs, his eyes seeking hers out. He braced himself with one hand, brought the other to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips; he held her gaze as he slowly slid into her, the candlelight dancing in his dark eyes.
She arched into him, her legs lifting her hips into him, and it took only a few gentle thrusts from Peter for her orgasm to roll through her. A declaration of her love for him burst from her lips, and Peter paused briefly in his rhythm as he bent down to kiss her.
She buried her hands in his hair as he began again to gently rock into and out of her, slowly driving himself onwards. Kissing him desperately, she willed him to be able to feel how much she loved him, how much he meant to her. The porcelain was cold against her overheated skin, and she gasped as he arched his hips flush against hers, pressing her against the hard surface as he came. She could feel his throbbing release as he spilled into her, and she gentled their kiss.
Rose was incredibly warm as Peter collapsed onto her, the water seeming to amplify the heat coursing through her. Peter’s cheeks were flushed as he raised his head to look at her, and she smiled softly.
“Might have t’ get out of here before I melt,” she whispered, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Didn’t anyone warn you of the dangers of exercise in the bath?” he replied, his lips curving.
“Mmm, no.”
He placed a sweet kiss against her lips before rocking back onto his knees. Rose winced as she moved her legs, bringing them back into the warm water and sitting up at the end of the tub. “Are you ok?” Peter asked, his soft voice tinged with concern.
She grinned. “Right as rain.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
They stayed in the bath until the water cooled, Peter moving to lean against the back of the tub so he could cradle Rose against his chest. He’d finally popped the drain stopper with a toe, the sound of water draining filling the room as he’d stood and helped Rose to her feet.
After they’d dried off, Peter had stolen to the kitchen to remove the bottle of champagne from the chiller; he returned to the bedroom, bottle and two glasses in hand, to find Rose clad in a deep red nightgown and stretched out along the bed.
She looked stunning, and he halted just inside the door to the small room. In the time they’d been together-both before they’d lived together and after-she’d never worn lingerie to bed. Ever. Usually, she wore pyjamas to bed, flannel shorts with a cotton top. Occasionally, she wore nothing at all-the result of their making love before going to bed for the night. Rarely, she wore her bra and knickers only. But never lingerie.
The corner of her mouth curled upwards as she took in his reaction; as he continued to stare at her, she rolled off the bed, stalking over to him. “D’you like what you see, then?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“That’s my line,” he finally heard himself say.
“What’s yours is mine, and mine is yours,” she replied, mimicking his earlier response. “Doesn’t answer the question, though, does it?”
“I do like what I see. Very much indeed.”He remembered he was holding an open bottle of champagne and handed one of the glasses to her. She took it with a smile, and he poured. “You didn’t bring that with you from London-did you?”
Rose blushed, ducking her gaze to the glass of champagne in her hand. “I bought it yesterday. For you.”
He finished pouring his own glass, moving to set the bottle on the dresser. He returned his eyes to her, closing the distance between them. “It’s lovely, Rose. You’re lovely.” He swallowed. “You’re beautiful.”
She raised her chin, meeting his appreciative stare. “Thank you.” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it, only worked out the words by watching her lips as she spoke.
He raised his glass, holding her gaze. “To my beautiful wife,” he said, hearing his voice catch on the emotion of the simple statement.
He watched her eyes fill with tears as she raised her glass to his, replying, “To my incredible husband.”
They each took a long sip of the sparkling golden liquid. The room settled into silence, each of them staring at the other, neither sure exactly what to say after such heartfelt sentiments.
After several moments, he turned and set his glass down. “I suppose we’d best get those candles back in here before we drink too much more of the champagne. It would be a bit...embarrassing...to burn down our honeymoon cottage, eh?” He winked, and was rewarded with a smile.
He felt heat wash through him as Rose’s eyes drifted appreciatively down his still-naked body. “Mm.” She reached a hand out, drifting her fingertips lightly upwards across his ribcage.
She was trying to seduce him.
“Rose...”
She stepped towards him, looking at him through lowered lashes. “Yes, Peter?” Her voice sounded demure, but he knew better. She was ready for round three.
“I...Just a wee bit more time before I’m ready again. ‘s that alright?”
A small smile graced her lips at his admission. “I suppose so...”
He grinned. “Good.”
Peter left the room briefly to make sure the cottage was safe for the night, ensuring the candles in the bath were snuffed, that the door to the cottage was secure against prowlers (or, heaven forbid, the inquisitive zanzare). When he returned to the room, he found Rose on the bed once more. She made no secret of watching him appreciatively as he-still naked-collected his glass of champagne and the bottle, and moved to join her on the bed.
It took less time than he’d expected for his body to recover, to be ready for another round of lovemaking. As he slowly finished his glass of champagne, he ruefully wondered if it was being around Rose that did it, or if he was just exceptionally lucky for a man nearing forty.
As much as he adored Rose in her deep red nightgown, it didn’t take long at all for him to divest her of it: he loved feeling her bare skin against his as they moved against each other, as they slowly made love. His heart was rocketing in his chest as he finally came, as Rose ground into him; he looked up, watching as she followed after, her orgasm rippling through her for the fourth time that night.
She remained atop him, straddling him as she slowly caught her breath. Her hands were braced on his chest, his hands resting gently on her thighs; he couldn’t stop staring at the vision of her above him, her body glistening with sweat, her eyes filled with love for him.
He watched as she slowly licked her lips, as she took a deep breath to speak. “You’re gorgeous, you know.” Her voice was still gravelly from their lovemaking, and he didn’t miss the slight quirk of her lips as she paid him a compliment she knew would embarrass him.
He knew she meant it, but he couldn’t resist firing back, “Scrawny, more like.” He paused before continuing on, a glint in his eye. “But you’re more than welcome to love me for it.” He couldn’t hold back the full-blown grin as he finished speaking, and was rewarded with one of the smiles he so dearly loved.
She rolled off him after a while, standing next to the bed and casting about for her nightgown. He moved to join her, his hand gently guiding her to look at him. “Please don’t put it back on.”
She looked confused. “I thought you liked it?”
“I do. But...” He paused, unsure of what she would think. “I...I like sleeping next to you. Without clothes. I love feeling you next to me. I...I sleep better, Rose, that way.” He felt strangely vulnerable, making the admission; he’d never felt that way before about sleeping naked with someone, but it was true-he always slept best when Rose was curled into him, her naked body next to his.
She reached up, gently wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “Then that’s how I’ll sleep, Peter. How we’ll sleep.”
She smiled gently, and he couldn’t resist brushing a light kiss across her swollen lips.
As Rose remade the bed-her need to go to sleep in a fully made bed was a particular quirk she’d warned him about early in their relationship-he walked around the room, slowly blowing the candles out. He was able to return to the bed in short order and slid under the cool sheets, feeling a lassitude steal over him as he felt the warmth of Rose’s body next to him.
They fell asleep, curled together, naked flesh against naked flesh.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Peter stretched as he slowly awoke the next morning, savouring the feel of the sheets against his skin...and the warmth of Rose, naked next to him.
Rose. His wife, now. Rose Carlisle.
He rolled to the side, his hand drifting across his wife’s waist as he came to face her. She smiled sleepily as his eyes met hers, and he couldn’t resist leaning in to brush a light kiss across her lips.
“Good morning, Mr. Carlisle,” she said softly, her voice still rough from sleep.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carlisle.” Again, his heart skipped a beat. At some point, surely, his heart would learn how to keep its normal rhythm when confronted with the idea of Rose Tyler being Mrs. Peter Carlisle. But it clearly hadn’t developed the knack just yet. “And how are you this fine morning?”
She stretched, closing her eyes as she hmmmed. “I think...” She opened them, laughter lurking in the depths of her eyes. “I think I’m a bit sore.”
He couldn’t help the surge of pride that flashed through him at her words. He had done that. He blushed at the primalness of the thought, and brought his hand up to brush her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
She grinned. “No you’re not. ‘s alright. I had a lovely evening.” Her voice was warm, and he felt heat flash through him at her tone, at the memories of what they’d done the evening before.
She scooted closer and he rolled onto his back, pulling her to lie against him. He sighed in contentment, savouring the feel of her body pressed against his, her warmth leaching into him and leaving him feeling...complete. Her hand had come to rest on his sternum, and he idly noted the morning light sparkling on her engagement ring.
Her ring. Had she noticed what he’d had engraved? He’d snuck back to the jewellers after they’d split up in York the day before their wedding, had asked them if they might engrave something into the ring for him. The clerk had smilingly obliged, and he’d left the shop a short time later with Rose’s newly-engraved ring.
Come to think of it, he still hadn’t checked to see what his said. His left hand was resting on Rose’s shoulder, holding her to him; he glanced over, raising it contemplatively.
“Rose?”
“Hmmm?” Her voice was sleepy again, her breath hot against his skin.
“What’s on my ring?”
She leaned back, tilting her head to look at him. Her brow furrowed briefly before she worked out what he was referring to. “You didn’t look?”
“No...Should I have done?”
She smiled, wiggling out of his embrace so she could look at him properly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to resist.”
“That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe.” She propped herself up on her elbow, the sheet draping to hide her curves from him.
She reached down, gently brushing her knuckles across his cheek. Her gaze drifted down to his lips as she continued softly, “It says...It says, ‘I love you, Peter-my husband.’” Her eyes met his, and he was startled by the vulnerability he saw there.
He reached up, pulling her down to him for a deep, emotional kiss; it was the only thing he could think to do, to let her know how much it meant to him.
His heart was racing when she finally pulled back; he still hadn’t any idea what to say, and so simply continued to gaze at Rose, her lips red from their kiss, her cheeks a soft pink. He drifted his fingers across her cheek, up into her sleep-tousled hair, gently running his fingers through the soft strands before sliding his hand to cup her jaw.
How had he been so lucky?
Rose turned, placing a soft kiss on his palm, before lying down again. She returned her left hand to his chest, slowly running her fingertips across the breastbone; he closed his eyes, allowing himself to revel in the feeling.
He was slowly drifting off, utterly relaxed, when she broke the silence. “What’s in mine?”
Even whispered her question was loud in the quiet of the room, and he jumped. She flattened her hand across his chest in a soothing gesture, and he felt her lips curve against the skin of his chest.
He rubbed his hand along her arm, grinning ruefully. “You caught me napping. Sorry.”
““’s okay, Peter.”
He gently shifted his arm from under her before rolling to face her. Her hand came to rest between them, her ring still glinting in the clear morning light flooding the room. He wondered, briefly, at the curtains over the windows being so sheer.
“What’s in your ring?” he asked, meeting her steady gaze.
“Yes. I saw something in it yesterday, when you were playing with it during the vows.”
He didn’t remember that; he actually didn’t remember much at all of the ceremony. He hoped Jackie had taken plenty of pictures.
“Indeed there is.” He brought his hand to cup her face, his thumb running along her cheek. “It says, ‘I only live to love thee.’ It’s Burns,” he added lamely--worried, suddenly, that Rose would wonder at him using someone else’s words, would have preferred something as moving as the inscription she’d chosen for him; would have preferred, simply, an ‘I love you, Rose.’
He decided she liked the inscription after all, as he watched her eyes fill with tears and a small “Oh!” escaped her lips. He leaned in, guiding her to him for a soft kiss, not knowing what to say but knowing he wanted to show her how much he loved her-how much he meant every word engraved in her ring. She shifted, moving her body against his, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips pushing into him.
Her hands drifted down, ghosting along his ribs, resting at his hips; he moved his arm, wrapping her in his embrace and rolling so she was on top of him.
They made gentle love in the morning light, the only words exchanged those engraved in their rings.
A/N: The line Peter uses for Rose's ring is specifically from Robert Burns' song, O, Were I on Parnassus Hill. It's a lovely bit of work, romantic in the extreme, and I think rather nicely conveys the strength of feeling Peter has for Rose by this point.