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charles-and-camilla-fanfictions · 3 years ago

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14. Morning Gloom

If you're reading as a one-off, this is set at Middlewick House in Spring 1987. Camilla's close family know about Charles but are worried about her. They see each other infrequently but are very much in love with each other.

If you're reading as part of Tea Time - this is chapter 14.

She couldn’t decide if the time apart had made things easier or more difficult when they saw each other again in the short bursts of time they borrowed from each other’s lives. But all the time they spent apart was agony. It was like carrying around a constant cold weight which sapped joy from the nicest of moments and compounded any sorrow. She found herself getting irritated about things which should just pass her by.

Her brother, in particular, was infuriating. There was a disconnect between them in terms of understanding each other’s lifestyle. She hated how irresponsible he was and would nag him about wasting away their parents' money. The freedom he had to jet away for months on end and then turn up on her doorstep and have everyone fawn over him. And she infuriated him. She knew that. He didn’t understand why she chose to stay with Andrew, not really. Mark was who her heart wished she could be and seeing him reminded her of everything she couldn’t have.

That and the women. His succession of very attractive women who would come down to breakfast dressed in an excuse for lingerie. The number of times she’d nudged Tom out of a wide-eyed, open-mouthed stupor at these impossibly beautiful women with exotic accents and perfect skin. She’d even had to have a word with Laura about not staring at their boobs. And that was embarrassing.

“But why, Mummy?”

Because… well just because.

Even Andrew was a little embarrassed, on the few times he made it home for a weekend, but at least it gave them something to bitch about. When they put on some clothing, he was back to his charming self. She wondered if they made him feel old. Most of the time, however, he was far too engrossed in his new love interest to come home.

“Darling, I’ve never seen a pair of boobs quite like it.” She twirled the phone cord around her finger absently as she spoke.

“Were they fake?”

“Oh, I’d say most probably. They stuck outwards. And they looked like you could pop them.”

“What did they feel like?”

“How on earth would I know?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps Mark said…”

“I don’t discuss the feel of some woman’s tits with my little brother! I don’t know what relationship you have with your sister but if it’s got to the point where you’re discussing what I feel like, there’s something seriously wrong!”

“I’d say you feel good.”

“Oh my God. Please say you’re winding me up.”

“Of course. Could you imagine her face if I started talking about how I like to feel all down your body?”

Camilla laughed. “I don’t actually know who would be the more horrified, myself or her.”

“You probably. She’s pretty dry. You’d die of embarrassment and she’d just stand there, with this withering look on her face like, ‘you think you could embarrass me?’”

“I wouldn’t mind so much but the majority of them are gormless.”

“You’re back onto Mark’s women?”

“Yes! He’s a very intelligent man and he goes for these women without so much as a brain cell behind their pretty faces.”

“I hate to inform you of this, Milla, but he’s not interested in their brain…”

“Well that much is clear.”

“I don’t know how he copes with fake boobs though. I like to be able to squidge them.”

“Squidge them?!”

“You know, get hold of them and squeeze them.”

“I knew what you meant. I was just debating on whether to take offence or not.”

“You like me squidging your boobs.”

“Yes… but I’m not keen on the word ‘squidge’. There’s something… something not very sexy about it…”

“Honk them?”

“That’s not better.”

“Canoodle?”

“Really?

“Knobble your knockers?”

“Knobble them?”

“Jiggle your jumbalies?”

She started laughing now, a laugh that started deep in her belly and rippled out.

“Plump your pleasure pillows?” He was giggling too, pleased with himself for making her laugh.

“Honk my hooters.”

“You said no to honk!”

“Changed my mind. Joggle my jugs?”

“Badger your baps.”

Camilla cackled and added another to the mix, “Tickle my titties.” She heard him snort and burst into laughter.

“Waggle your whoppers.”

“Pet my peaches.”

By now, they were both laughing so hard it was difficult to speak.

“Meddle your mammies.”

“Fondle my flappers.”

“That’s something entirely different!”

It felt so good to laugh. A full, side-splitting laughter where tears streamed down her face and it was difficult to breathe. She loved that she could make him laugh like that too. Take away the seriousness for a little while. Let a little lightness in. It was a while until they calmed down enough to chat again.

“I full on smacked Tom this morning. He was gawping really obviously, which I don’t like but I can hardly blame him. And then he just reached out and I knew what he was going to do and I slapped him. Really hard. He looked at me in complete disbelief, then abject horror when he realised I knew what he was going to do.”

“He’s too old to get away with that.”

“Far too old.”

“How hard did you slap him?”

“Hard enough to leave my handprint on his arm.”

“Oh wow. You really clobbered him.”

“Mark then complains that I’m being overly sensitive and ‘emasculating’. But I’m sorry. That woman did not want my teenage son groping her over breakfast! Anyway. That’s a terrible example to set.”

“I’ll grope you over breakfast.”

“Give over. Do you not agree with me?”

“I’d love to grope you. It doesn’t need to be breakfast.”

“Charles!”

“Of course I agree with you. It’s not the done thing to grope. This is a life lesson that will serve him well. Save him a kick in the goolies. Unless the woman in question wants you to grope her as much as you want to grope her.”

“At breakfast? In front of the whole family.”

“I’m sensing I’m not allowed to grope you at breakfast?”

“Your senses are on the money.”

“What about before breakfast?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well if I drive up tomorrow morning and let myself in. Can I sneak up to your bedroom and get a grope before breakfast?”

“I have a full house.”

“But no husband.”

“Charles…”

“Fine then. What about an early morning walk before the children get up?”

Camilla felt her heart lurching with the unexpected possibility of seeing him. “They’ll be up at eight.”

“I can meet you at six?”

“Yes.” A thousand times, yes. “No horses. Just walking.”

“It’ll be cold.”

“I know. You can come in afterwards for breakfast?”

“I have to be gone by nine.”

“That’s fine.” That was more than fine. Three whole hours.

“I can come earlier.”

“Don’t.”

“I want to see you.”

“I want to see you.” Her voice was a whisper.

“I want to hold you in my arms.”

“You can’t come inside with me.”

“I know where you sleep. I can make my way up.”

“Not whilst my children are there.”

“Well I’ll come earlier. What we do then, you can decide.”

“Come at six.”

“And remove the option? No. You can make the decision, for once. You don’t have to let me in.”

“You’re impossible.”

“No. I’m very simple. You know what I want. You can decide if you’re going to give me what I want.” He paused, giving her a chance to respond and when she didn’t, continued, “Except, you want it too. And you’re fighting it. I don’t really know why.”

“We might get caught?”

“It doesn’t matter if we do.”

“It matters to me. And children can’t keep secrets. You know that.”

“Darling, don’t be sharp with me. I’ve had an awful day. You make your own choices, take your own chances.”

“But it’s not equal. Because you can come round to mine uninvited and I could never do that to you. It’s not the same.”

“No. I don’t suppose it is.” He sighed. “Can we stop arguing, please?”

“We’re not arguing. We’re just having a discussion that’s got an edge.”

“A sharp edge.”

“Some discussions do have them.”

“Can we discuss something without edges?”

“You want to discuss something squidgy?”

“Are we back to talking about your boobs again?” His voice sounded hopeful and it made her smile.

“No, Darling, but you can tell me about that speech you were working on.”

“It’s tomorrow.”

“After you come here?”

“No… I thought I’d give it whilst I was at yours…”

“Smart arse.” She yawned. “Did you finish the paragraph you were stuck on last night?”

“Yes.”

“Read it to me.”

“I don’t want to bore you.”

“You don’t bore me, Darling.” It was true. She loved helping him. She loved listening to the moment where he clicked from lost to inspired and how he went quiet and worked, phone in hand, completely absorbed in his work until he finished and then she listened to him proudly. She loved being his sounding board, picking at his ideas until he had them formed in his mind and could argue them fluently. Not that she always agreed with him, but that didn’t really matter. The occasional differences challenged them both and made the similarities all the sweeter for their authenticity.

He was there by five and she was waiting for him, watching through the window for his car in a thick dressing gown. But as she slipped outside to greet him, he kissed her and there was no way to stop. He bundled her into the kitchen, lifting her up onto the island as he pushed the gown off her shoulders and she knew it wasn’t stopping there as his hands reached for her and his tongue pushed against her neck, making her want to call out, instead just whispering his name. It was so difficult to be quiet and sneak him up the stairs. Every step creaked and the floor boards seemed to announce his arrival with gusto. She held her breath as she pulled him into her room and shut the door behind him. There was no holding back once they were inside, the pleasure of having him with her too intense, but it was so, so difficult to be quiet. Every noise seemed amplified, from the sound of their breathing which seemed to echo across the room to the slightest of moans and squeaks which escaped from her mouth, unbidden. And the bed. The bed was against them. Every movement made a noise, no matter what they did until he threw the duvet on the floor and they tumbled down in the pitch blackness.

If she thought that was bad, getting dressed was worse. He seemed to lose the ability to be quiet, bumping into things, knocking bottles of product over even after her own shaky, clumsy hands turned on the lamp. She anxiously threw on yesterday’s clothes, still on the floor and watched him wandering the room, aimlessly.

“Stay still!” She hissed at him as he knocked into her dressing table, before taking his arm and pulling him to the bed. “Sit.” She grabbed his jumper from the floor and threw it at him.

“I still want you.”

His words made her flush a hot pink up her neck, into her cheeks, and she could feel his eyes boring into her, but they couldn’t stay in her room.

“Come here.” He yanked her back in front of him and pulled her t-shirt out from her trousers, kissing her stomach, tugging at the top button of her jeans. It was a new wave of flames through her body.

“We can’t.” She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

“You want me to.”

Yes. She did. He wrenched the zip of her jeans open and looked up at her as he kissed his way down, watching her head loll back. But then she pulled away from him.

“Get dressed.”

She was so pink and he could see how unsteady she was as she collected all his clothes and piled them on the bed next to him. He dressed quickly, feeling her anxiety.

“You can’t be in here. Wait for me downstairs.”

He did as he was asked, retrieving his heavy coat from his car and she joined him quickly, her hand reaching for his as they walked out of her drive.

“That was really stupid.”

She was angry with him and frustrated with herself. They walked for fifteen minutes in silence, coming off the road and onto a farmer's track. He could hear her breathing wasn’t back to normal and felt slightly smug with himself. They turned onto another path through a thicket and she stopped abruptly and reached up to kiss him like they’d only just seen each other again. It was a long time before they pulled apart and longer still until the tight embrace they clung to loosened.

“I’ve missed every single thing about you.” He twined his fingers with hers and set off down the muddy path. “When I’m with you, everything becomes bearable.”

“I’d have hoped for enjoyable… pleasurable perhaps... maybe even exciting… I’m not really sure, Darling, my ego can cope with bearable.”

“Give over. You’re all those things and you well know it. I meant everything about my life I hate. I don’t think I’d hate it with you.” It started to rain and he laughed. “Even this. I’m with you and I don’t care about the rain.”

“The rain is good for the soil.”

“Mrs green fingers herself. Yes, it is indeed.” The clouds chose that moment to intensify the downpour and he scowled.

“So it doesn’t matter if it interrupts our walk.” She kissed his nose and turned them around to head back to the house.

“That’s a very philosophical way of telling me not to strop. But I’ve been driving for hours to go on this walk with you so forgive my disappointment. “

“What?” She stopped and looked at him. “What do you mean, driving for hours?”

“Well it’s a fair drive from London.”

“You drove this morning? I thought you were at Highgrove?”

“No. London.”

“But we were on the phone so late.”

“I know.”

“Darling, you’ve had no sleep.”

He smiled at the concern in her voice and squeezed her hand, ignoring the rain which had squeezed down the crook of his neck. “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to see you. I wanted to feel you. I’ve done all three. I can go back a happy man. I’d take you over sleep any day.”

“Well I’ll make you a cup of tea and whatever you want for breakfast when we get back.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever food substance we have in, yes. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You knew what I meant.”

“Do you have eggs?”

“Naturally.”

“Smoked salmon?”

“Leftovers, yes.”

“Croissants?”

“That’s a very indulgent breakfast.”

“You said you’d make me anything I wanted.”

“I never said I’d not make it. I was just judging.”

“Like you won’t eat half of it.”

“I’m allowed to judge first and indulge second.”

“I think you should just put both of our meals on one plate. You like it better when you’re stealing my food anyway.”

“It’s not as enjoyable if I have your permission to steal.”

“I have never given you permission. You’ve just assumed it.”

“You’re not very good at sharing.”

“I wasn’t brought up to share. But, Darling, I’d give everything I have to you.”

“I only want a bite of your breakfast.”

“It’s never just a bite.”

“Well I only want a bite. If I happen then to want another bite after that, well I can’t anticipate that. Anyway, you’ve just said you’d give anything you have to me.”

“Have I ever stopped you? Or said no?”

“You moan.”

“My prerogative.”

“Come and dry yourself in the kitchen. It’s warm in there. The AGA keeps it warm.”

“Have you never heard of central heating?”

“Says you with medieval castles.”

“My house is warm. It’s just heated in a non-conventional way. No need to be uncomfortable.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing a jumper.”

“Oh. There’s lots wrong with you wearing a jumper. I completely disagree.”

They were both soaked by the time they got back. Drenched and in much lighter moods. The kitchen light was on and they found Mark, to their surprise, attacking the fridge, wearing just a pair of rather grubby shorts.

“Morning Camilse.”

“What do you want?”

“Such a pleasant way to greet your only brother.”

“I’m in a state of shock seeing you up at this time.”

“Oh, you know, hunger strikes. Cammy, I’m in desperate need of a fag.”

She pointed to a drawer and he made a beeline, taking two, then rummaging to find a lighter that worked.

“I’m making scrambled eggs. Do you want any?”

“Yes. Any bacon?”

“I can do you some bacon too.” Pulling a packet from the fridge, she glanced at Charles who was smiling at her, his shirt soaked from the rain which had run down the neck of his coat and seeped through. “Could you get me a shirt for Charles?”

“Certainly, Ma’am. Whatever Sir requires.” But after his flutter of a bow, he had evidently found himself amusing enough and he went to get her one, returning with a polo shirt and a towel.

She found it very difficult to concentrate on the eggs as Charles stripped his shirt off in front of her, chatting to Mark in an easy manner as he towelled off before dressing again.

“Mills. Eggs!?”

“Oh, yes.” She shook herself back into the present, focussing on what she was doing but noticed the smirk on Charles’s face.

“You need to watch yourself in front of my sister, Sir.”

“How so?”

“Predatory eyes. Practically undressed you with her eyes, she did. Careful around her.”

“I’ll watch myself. I hear you’ve got a busty blonde with you…”

“Aurelia. Yes.”

“Milla says she has very, pert, boobs.”

“By pert, she of course means fake. I’m disappointed in you, Millie, I didn’t think you’re in a position to judge my love life.”

“We were wondering what they felt like.”

“Charles!” Camilla was a mixture of horrified, amused and curious and it came out as a nervous laugh.

“What? Just because you wouldn’t ask doesn’t mean I can’t.” His eyes flashed a dare at her and she smiled at him.

“I believe I said it’s not really a normal thing to discuss with your siblings. That wasn’t code for ‘ask him!’ Although… now that you‘ve asked…” She turned to look at Mark.

“Well it wouldn’t really be very gentlemanly of me to say.”

“You’re not a gentleman.”

“Touch��, Sir... Well, I’m not going to tell you. My sister is quite correct. It’s not an appropriate topic of conversation for her ears. I’m sure Aurelia wouldn’t mind giving you a feel, though. It’s not every day you get felt up by a Prince. How tightly is Milla holding onto your balls?”

Charles laughed, “I might give it a miss.”

“Tightly then.”

“I enjoy it.”

“She’s pretty good at hiding it, but it upsets her. She’d choose monogamy if she had a choice.”

“Mark, don’t.”

“Set out your expectations now, at the beginning, Mills. You don’t want another Andrew and you let both of them walk all over you.” He turned to glare at Charles. “She loves very deeply, does our Millsie. And she’s very loyal, to a fault. She’s been hurt by you before, but she’ll forgive you and love you anyway. You’ve got a responsibility not to hurt her again.”

“Is this you trying to be her overprotective brother?”

“Yes. I feel I should step up every now and then.”

“Do you feel she isn’t capable of voicing her own thoughts? Or do you feel like you do it better for her?” Charles looked at Mark, square on.

“No need to be an arse.”

“But it’s okay for you to be one? Do you know what I think, Mark? I think you do really care about Milla. There’s so much love between the two of you. But you need to learn not to talk down to her so badly. She isn’t a child and you treat her like she doesn’t have a way to express her own thoughts. You have a right to your opinions. But these grand statements about really personal aspects of her life are a touch cruel. I respect that you want to look out for her. But not like this. And as for our relationship…”

“It’s my life to love who I love. I need you to be my supporter, not some strange surrogate father figure. Can you not just accept that I love him and he makes me very happy?”

“I don’t believe he loves you. I think he’d leave everything for you if he did. He values his position above you. He wants his cake and to eat it. I don’t understand how you don’t see that.”

“I’m sorry about how patronising this is going to sound, but you don’t understand because you don’t have children. My life isn’t just mine. Neither is Charles’s.”

“But I definitely want my cake and to eat it. I mean… anyone who claims otherwise is a liar. And Mark, it’s a joint decision. I’m not telling her what I’m doing and expecting her to go along with it. We make decisions together.”

“Mostly.” Camilla piped in, more to remind him that unilateral decisions still played a part than to aid him with the argument.

“Yes, mostly! Although some decisions are made for me so she is victim to them, the same as I.”

Camilla nodded in agreement, satisfied with what he was saying.

“I just don’t understand.”

“It’s not your life to understand. Eat your bacon and eggs. It’s far too early for a conversation like this.” She dumped the plate in front of him and went to fetch the croissant from the oven for Charles.

“I just want some sort of assurance that you’re not going to break her heart again.”

“I don’t owe you that assurance. That’s between Camilla and I. What could I possibly say, anyway?”

Mark shoved a great forkful of eggs in his mouth before answering with his mouth full. “If you do, let me punch you in the face.”

That made Camilla laugh and at her laughter Charles realised Mark wasn’t arguing anymore. She placed Charles’s food in front of him and sat down on the bench next to him, tired now.

“I’ll invite you round with that specific expectation.”

“Shake on it?”

“Absolutely.” Charles held out his hand and Mark took it.

“Hold on. If it’s my heart breaking, surely I get to do the punching?”

“I punch harder.”

“Wanna bet?”

Mark laughed then rolled his eyes as he watched Charles feed her some of his breakfast.

“Have you ever seen her in a temper?”

“No.”

“I’ve not lost my temper properly since I was a child.”

“It was wild. And scary because she was usually pretty sunny.”

“Mark hasn’t learnt to control his temper yet.” She looked at Charles meaningfully, who had the grace to look shameful.

“I never saw the need.”

Charles raised his eyebrows at her questioningly and she rolled her eyes. He went back to looking sheepish and she laughed at him. He loaded his fork.

“I feel like I’m missing out on the conversation that I’m currently engaging in.” Mark complained.

“That must be difficult for you.” She looked towards Charles and he offered her the fork full of breakfast again.

“I don’t like it when you do this talking without talking business.”

“Do you feel left out?”

“Yes.”

“Poor baby.”

“Mummy, I wanted to snuggle but you weren’t there and I’m cold.”

Turning towards her daughter creeping through the door, she smiled, holding out her arms. “Come here then, actual babe of mine.” She pulled her up on her knee and wrapped her arms around her to hold her. Laura was still sleepy and put her head on her chest, closing her eyes, enjoying the cuddle.

Camilla caught Mark’s eyes. “This. This is why. How could I possibly, possibly choose exile?”

“Why are you not in bed, Mummy?”

“I got up early for a walk.”

“But we always snuggle.”

“Sorry sweetheart. We can snuggle tomorrow. Look who’s here. We’ve got a visitor.”

“I don’t want a stupid visitor. I want a snuggle.”

“Don’t be rude. And we’re having a snuggle now.”

“Not a proper one.”

It was enough to raise Laura’s curiosity though as to the identity of the visitor and she squealed when she saw him, jumping across to his knee instead and wrapping her arms around him like a limpet.

“I’ve been usurped.”

“They could go with you.”

“Andrew wouldn’t allow that. What about school? What about the absolute mess it would make of either of their futures?”

“He’d raise them with you.”

She lowered her voice. “I know. But that’s just mine. What about his?” Watching Mark’s face, she saw the beginnings of comprehension before he blinked it clear.

“My favourite little niece. Where’s my morning cuddle?” He scooped up Laura. “I hear you’ve got a brand new rug in your room that’s like a teddy bear. Can you show it to me?”

“Carry me.”

“Yes, Princess. As you wish.” He manoeuvred her so she was in a piggy back and set out the room at a trot.

“Ouch.” Camilla put her hand on her chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her eyes met his and she stared into the grey, trying to reassure his concern.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Darling. What about you?”

“No. Not okay.”

The admission made her nose scrunch and she reached up to pull his head into her neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck. “I know.”

“I want to kiss you right now.”

“There’s nowhere to go.”

“I know. You smell divine. Let me stay here forever.”

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