#her love could hold up the wold (anna)

[wintersovereign]

fixing tags

[thank-god-and-you]

[Read Secretum Lingua Caritate on FFN] 

Probably requested by @annambates or @awesomegreentie.

It’s been the most wonderfully exhausting few days. John doesn’t know how he’s managed to keep going, bone-tired as he is, but that doesn’t matter because it’ been for the most thrilling purpose of all.

Putting the finishing touches to their little cottage. Their own home, away from the rest of Downton.

“Lovebirds sitting pretty,” Miss O’Brien had muttered sourly, but John finds that even the lady’s maid’s nastiness can do nothing to dampen his spirits.

Absolutely nothing on earth, when he is free to love Anna the way she has always deserved to be loved. Too many times in the last eight years he has brought nothing but misery and heartache upon her when she had deserved to be swept off her feet right from the off. She should have turned her back on him a long time ago. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. She should have found a good young man who could have given her everything she deserved so much earlier.

But she hadn’t wanted any other man, she’d whispered to him on their wedding night, tangled up around him. And he had never doubted the sincerity of her words.

She had stayed so strong through every trial and tribulation that had been hurled her way. She had endured more than anyone should have had to. She had never wavered.

And now she was getting her reward. A home of her own, and he was so lucky to be sharing her life.

The first time the door clicks closed behind them—really clicks closed, leaving the whole world stagnant at the threshold—he is overwhelmed by the sense of finality that accompanies it. There will be no more distractions. No one else to tear them out of each other’s arms. This is it. This is them. And he has never known happiness like it.

Anna is of the same mind. The wide grin that stretches across her face is breathtaking, and a sheen of happy tears tremble in her eyes.

“Welcome home, Mr. Bates,” she says.

He laughs, and echoes, “Welcome home, Mrs. Bates.”

Her grin widens further at that, if possible, and she gently eases the cane from his grip. Leaving it leaning against the wall, she holds his gaze as she shrugs off her coat.

Her meaning is clear.

He swallows hard, his gaze following her every move as she slips out of her outer layers. He fumbles to follow her lead, but when he speaks, his words are clumsy. “Wold you like something to drink? I can boil the kettle.”

“Maybe later,” she says. “I’m not thirsty right now.”

“Then how about something to eat?” He’s nervous, babbling and shy. Which is utterly ridiculous considering that they have already been together, in the very bed they had used on their wedding night. Once again they had Lady Mary to thank for orchestrating the whole thing in secret. It should have allayed any fears that John had had about the time that had passed.

But there is something so different about this. The enormity of it gathers above them like thick clouds, the electrical storm crackling with urgency. They are alone. No more interruptions or interferences. There is no one to stop them. Boxed within these four walls they can do whatever they like.

Whatever they like.

The implication is sharp as Anna slips open the first button on the front of her dress.

Anything they like.

Right now, it seems as if there is only one thing that Anna would like.

The temperature around them seems to rise, cresting, moving beyond all points of being bearable. John sucks in a breath as Anna brushes her fingers against his cuff. She’s nowhere near his bare skin but he’s already burning for her. That’s the effect she has on him. One touch leaves him needing more. Was it ever like this with Vera? He isn’t sure. Oh, he can’t deny that he’d wanted her, but there had been little love there, just pure desire. And desire could only carry something along for so long before it burned out.

The relationship he has with Anna is like nothing else, and it will never, ever change.

She’s leaning in towards him now, her head tilting back slightly so she can keep him in her sights, and he can’t resist the urge to close that gap, winding his arms around her waist as he finds her mouth…

Things don’t stay static for long. Layers are shed, a breadcrumb trail to the bedroom.

Anna’s on the bed in a few strides, glancing over her shoulder to extend the sultry invite to him. John wastes no time in heeding her. The bed creaks beneath their combined weight as they shift to get comfortable, mouths fusing once more, John’s fingers trailing down Anna’s sides—

She quivers beneath him, her own hands instinctively looping around his wrists. He stops at once.

“Anna?” he says, breathless and uncertain, immediately worried that he’s misread her signals and taken things too far, that he hasn’t been as aware of her cues as he ought to be. “Is there something wrong?”

Anna shakes her head, giving him an embarrassed smile. “Everything’ fine. It’s just…I’m ticklish.”

John raises an eyebrow at that. “Ticklish?” He tries to remember if she’d squirmed away from him on their wedding night. Perhaps not; they’d both been so full of nervous energy, almost seven years of pent up passion coursing through their veins. There had been no time to focus on anything else. But now…

John grins to himself.

Anna scrunches up her nose. “I don’t like that look.”

“Why not?” he asks, trying to sound innocent.

She’s not fooled. She never is.

But he still has the advantage. He raises his hands again.

“John, don’t you dare—!” she squeals, and manages nothing more. His hands descend on her side and she convulses, emitting a high-pitched squeal, and he laughs along with her, for wholly different reasons, content that they’ve got their happy ending at last.