#pooraurora

For the @fallfitzierexchange​, my gift for the lovely @pooraurora​  

It’s a horrific indulgence.  It’s a silly, needless little risk, and yet Thomas needs it anyway, needs Mrs. Little groaned against the skin of his neck, needs those hands on him, so firm and so steady, moving him this way and that until he can do nothing but take and take and take.

(He’s always been a greedy thing at heart.)

Did you say... pantry marriage fic...

@oochilka’s art of them older but still gooey gross in love sent me, so this is inspired by that

Future Fic, Post Canon Fix-It

Their walks have become a daily habit, even when the sky is overcast and wet, and Thomas must rely more upon Edward’s arm than his cane. Edward never complains, secretly enjoying having Thomas lean on him.

They are halfway when the rain begins to fall in earnest, and despite the summer month, the droplets are as cold as shards of ice. Thomas makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat but follows Edward’s lead as they hurry down the path.

“There’s a gazebo nearby,” Edward reminds him. “We’ll wait there until it lets up.”

Thankfully, the shelter is empty, but Edward supposes that he should not be surprised. The foul weather has encouraged most gentlemen and ladies to languish the day in their parlors, sitting close to the fire and sipping tea. 

He, however, has always enjoyed fresh air and was not about to let a little water deter him. His stubborn pleasure flags somewhat as he watches Thomas struggle onto the bench, gingerly rubbing a hand over his trouser leg.

“Does it hurt much?” Edward asks as he sits down with him.

Thomas shakes his head, managing a smile. “It’s worse when it rains.”

Edward drapes his arm on the back of the bench, close but not quite touching Thomas’s shoulders. “It’s better than snow, at least.” He pauses, before adding, “Though I am sorry for dragging you out in this.”

Thomas slaps a dismissive hand against Edward’s thigh. “Oh, please, you hardly forced me.” 

They sit in silence, the sound of rain upon the tin roof soothing and melodious. Much to Edward’s chagrin, the rain falls harder, and he wonders in the back of his mind how long they have before their kind but overbearing maid begins to wring her hands. 

He turns to Thomas to find his eyes shut, face angled toward him. His heart swells at the sight, and Edward ducks his head to give him a quick kiss when Thomas’s eyes open. He pulls away, frowning as though offended.

“Mr Little,” he admonishes, the syllables of his name drawn out in faux offense, “Now is hardly the most appropriate time to kiss your dear friend. In public, no less.”

Edward barks a laugh. There is not a soul in sight, so he plucks Thomas’s chin between his fingers and presses a long kiss against the pink of Thomas’s cheek.

For all his posturing, Thomas does not complain again, leaning into the contact and curling his hand into Edward’s collar. He interlaces their free hands together, and Edward is pleased to see the blush has grown darker upon Thomas’s skin.

Testing his boundaries once again, Edward trails his fingers along Thomas’s laugh lines and crows feet, traveling to the flecks of gray growing along his temple. Faintly, he hears the noise of a horse and carriage and draws his hand away.

He sits a bit closer, however, dropping his voice when he says, “Were it up to me, Mr Jopson, I would give that dear friend of mine a thousand such kisses, no matter who saw.”

Thomas sighs and rolls his eyes, but there is a fond smile on his face, still as beautiful as the day Edward first met him.