The final chapter!

I figured 12 chapters would be well-tempered. Ba-dam-tssssss.

It took a while to post this. Let's just say our dear goobers needed to plan a wedding, move house, etc etc.

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has liked, reblogged, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! I can't tell you how much I appreciate your reviews. They mean a lot to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're the best.

Endless thanks to kouw for giving me the courage to start this whole thing, for your seemingly endless flow of ideas, for being so generous with your time and comments and reviews and friendship and conversations about all of the things. For the bairns and the best dogs to have ever dogged, and our late nights and (your) early mornings and just asdfjhldshh.

I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS COMMUNITY.

Chapter 12. Finale

There is rice in her dress, in her hair. She smiles and he is smiling with her, no longer quite as worried about maintaining his stern façade of authority. Her hand in his elbow, they walk from the church to the car.

There is a special cake in the servants' hall, and wine, and the food is a step or two above their usual fare. Their belongings have already been unpacked in their small house in the village. Furniture has been installed; there is even a modern bathroom. They have been astounded at the generosity of their employers. They do not know that Mr Branson has wanted to repay her for solving his problem with Edna. That Lady Mary has Mr Carson's best interest at heart, having realized at last that he has been her champion her whole life. That she still treasures his hug and his kind, wise words during her time of deepest mourning.

The toasts have been made, the wine drunk, the cake eaten. Mr Branson drives them home. He insists, not even letting them sit in front with him. Mr Carson finds this inappropriate until his bride gives him a particular wide-eyed, amused look. The young man wants to do them this kindness, and she lets him know with that look that he had better accept it.

Mr Branson takes out the hamper that Mrs Patmore has sent along and sets it down just outside their door.

"Mr Branson, if you would allow me to speak freely -" she begins.

"Of course, Mrs - Mrs Carson." The younger man gives a little smile; the new name will take some getting used to.

"I wouldn't want you to think it improper, but I want you to know that should you ever want to join us for tea, you need only let us know. You'll always be welcome."

"Thank you, Mrs Carson. It would be very nice to join you for tea."

Mr Carson looks alarmed at this, but as he watches her speak with Mr Branson his expression softens. He thinks of how Mr Branson has always continued to call him Mr Carson even though his new status would have allowed him to dispense with the title. How the young man has done his best to navigate a highly unusual change, how he never planned to ascend to the ranks of the upstairs but had it thrust upon him. How he has taken the future of Downton into his own heart. How he had acted out of love - and then lost the sweet young lady whom Mr Carson had known her entire life. Having finally given expression to his own long-hidden feelings, Mr Carson marvels at the sudden and heartfelt empathy he has for Mr Branson.

He extends his hand to the younger man, giving him a small but warm smile. They shake on it, then Mr Branson nods to Mrs Carson and gets into the car, tips his hat, and drives away.

She bites her lip, smiling at him. "That was lovely, Charles. You've surprised me."

"I suddenly feel that I... I understand him better than before."

He is beautiful to her, always, but in such moments of tenderness she stares at him, wanting to learn him by heart. She already knows him by heart, yes. But the man she's known for so long has opened up parts of himself that he always used to keep guarded. The kindness in his eyes makes her reach out for him, take his face in her hands and kiss him as he bends down to her. He kisses her softly, and when the kiss becomes more heated and they're both thinking this is too immodest - outside, where anyone could see! - they break apart.

Mr Carson opens the door and sets the hamper down inside, but stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Just a moment, Elsie."

She's still getting used to hearing her name from his mouth.

"What is it, my lov - Oh!" In one movement, he has thrust one arm around her waist and the other under her knees and he picks her up and carries her into their home. She holds on tightly, and with her free hand she catches the door and throws it shut. Still in his arms, she removes their hats and tosses them playfully onto the sideboard, then wraps her arms around his shoulders and kisses him soundly.

He carries her to the sofa and sits down. Her corset prevents her from curling into him, so she leans back into the pillows. With a grin that makes arousal shoot through her, he reaches down to raise the hem of her skirt. She closes her eyes and breathes in as the solid warm weight of his hand roams up her ankle, her calf, stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh, and then he roughly pushes her knees apart with the back of his hand. She gasps and then grins at her lover.

"Oh, yes, Charles... Charlie."

Open-mouthed at her audacity in calling him by that name, he grins and brings his other hand to the back of her head, grasps it, pulls her hair just a little as he hauls her head closer to him and kisses her hard. At the same time his hand between her legs moves upward, so slowly she moans with frustration. She tries to arch, to press herself against him, but he holds back her hair again and starts kissing behind her ear.

"My Elsie," he rumbles, "I love you."

She breathes, "I love you too, my man."

She fusses with the buttons of her dress and brings her other hand from his shoulder to his face, caressing his lips with her thumb. Then she softly pushes her fingers into his mouth and he catches them gently in his teeth, swirls his tongue around them. She retreats and he tries to reclaim her fingers but she smacks him on the cheek, just a light playful smack and he is both shocked and excited by it.

"Do that again."

She does and they look each other in the eye, each seeing the sparkling mischief in the other and loving one another the more for it. They have learned each other's bodies in the last three weeks, but they are delighted to find that there is always more to explore.

He plays with her suspenders, snapping them - gently, just enough so that she gasps. He reaches her knickers - magical knickers, these, he thinks, thanking whoever had the foresight to put a slit in them. He doesn't care that they weren't necessarily made for this purpose.

He slips his fingers in and it is so improper, but that's what makes it so exciting. This is all allowed; this is all private and theirs.

Roughly he hitches up her skirt and pushes her thighs apart and she lets out a small yelp, then he is stroking her, so lightly she can't stand it. Her hands dance over his shoulders, her thigh, her corseted breast and she curls as much as she can and then releases, leans back into the pillows, rocking as he moves her. She raises one knee, pushing her pelvis into his hand. He complies, stroking her harder, holding her head back by the hair and covering her neck with kisses.

She's leaving scratches on the nape of his neck. His woman is marking him, and he is glad of it.

And she's keening his name as she gets closer and closer and he makes long firm strokes, dipping inside, keeping time with her. She arches back, one hand in her hair, struggling against pins, the other madly clutching the back of the sofa. He lets go of her hair and then he's touching her with both hands and she's breathing hard and letting go and -

"- yes yes yes oh god oh yes charles YES -"

- she comes undone completely, tightening and releasing around him with breathless gasps, her body rocking as he slows his movements, staying inside her, stilled against her clit and she's sitting up, pulling him to her, gasping and keening and moving against him, and her words come rapidly -

"- again, please yes yes yes -"

- and then they dissolve into a long moan when her second orgasm, a high, wild, fleeting thing, overtakes the first.

When she can breathe again, he withdraws his fingers and looks her straight in the eye as he sucks her wetness off them, one by one. She gasps, almost embarrassed (almost) and collapses backward onto the cushions, joyful - the former housekeeper, now with both shoes on the sofa and not giving a damn.

He pulls her skirt down, looks at her with mock seriousness. "Would you care for tea, Mrs Hughes?"

She wrinkles her nose, looks at him with her head cocked to one side. "Really?"

He breaks character, chuckling, moves her off his lap and stands, taking a moment to stretch his back. His erection strains against his trousers. She is up in an instant, taking both of his hands in hers and pressing a hurried kiss into each palm before dropping one hand, toeing off her shoes, and dragging him upstairs with her. He barely has time to take his shoes off.

She all but throws him onto the bed and then straddles him. She speaks slowly and works quickly.

"No, Charles," she takes off his tie,

"I don't think" unbuttons his waistcoat,

"tea" slaps his hands away,

"will be needed" yanks his shirt out of his trousers, unbuttons his shirt,

"at the moment" and gets up off of him.

"Now, get rid of those clothes before I set them on fire."

He is happy to comply with that request and he takes off everything. She makes quick work of her own clothing as well, taking out the rest of her hairpins while he turns down the covers.

He sits on the bed and holds his hands out to her. She stands between his knees and tries to reach down to touch his erection but he catches her wrist in a tight grip and brings her hand to his mouth. He runs his tongue from wrist to palm, then kisses and nips the pads of her fingers. Her other hand is on his head, tangling in his hair, pulling it a bit and he lets out a growl. The sweetness of their love mixes with the acidity and spice of their long friendship - the arguments, the sarcasm, the restraint. The result is delicious to them. They are safe, they trust one another, and together they have grown bold.

He draws her down to him just enough so that he can nibble on her lower lip, then he moves backward on the bed. He reaches out to her and she is there with him in an instant.

Then they are side by side and she is kissing him deeply, using one hand to stroke his cheek, his jaw, down his neck. She knows he likes it when she breathes hot against his ear. That he will moan deeply if she caresses his inner thighs as she does now.

He stills her hand, kisses it, and pushes her gently onto her back, her hair falling in waves on the pillow. Then, propped up on one elbow, he caresses every inch of her skin - every dip, every curve. Every line, and she is drunk on him like the first time, like their moments on the sand, their madness in the wine cellar. With heavy-lidded eyes, she watches him, moaning with pleasure. His touch is too delicious to bear in silence.

He trails his fingers over her breast and takes her hardening nipple into his mouth, sucking it lightly and releasing it. She closes her eyes, arching into his hand. He does the same with the other nipple and then she opens her eyes to watch as his beautiful big hand slides down over her hip, stroking down her inner thigh. Her breath trembles and she starts to open for him, but he is not touching her there yet and she makes a small sound of disappointment, but then his hand is roaming back over her hip to turn her toward him. She makes to kiss him, to reach for him, and he does not resist. He kisses her lovely mouth, smoothing her hair away from her face. She cups his jaw and returns the kiss as his hand moves to her waist, pulling her into him.

Then she hooks her leg over his, opening for him, pulling him over her, and he shifts so that he is in between her thighs. But he can still postpone his release and he dips his head to her breasts again, lavishing them in attention, kissing his way down her abdomen, sliding down to settle between her thighs. He spreads her open and looks up at her with a beautiful smile before sliding his tongue against her. She immediately arches against him, moaning deeply. He hums and it vibrates through her.

Somehow she knew he would be an attentive lover, but she could never have imagined that he would be like this. He gives and gives, driving her mad with pleasure over and over, waiting for his own release until she is well and truly spent.

Nothing gives him satisfaction quite like rendering this perfect service. He had never tasted a woman before that night in the wine cellar; he had only heard the baudy tales long ago. There was never the opportunity; neither was there the slowly-built longing or the burning need as there is with her. No, he had wanted to do this with her for a long time, very long indeed. And when he finally got the chance that night, he did his best for her, paying flawless attention to her every tiny movement, every little moan and intake of breath. He had had no idea that it could be like this - over and over and over - and it is a beautiful thing to feel her going to pieces again and again as he worships her with his body.

He loves feeling that smooth, slick skin against his tongue. Burying his face in that intoxicating, spicy, lingering scent. He loves falling asleep to that scent and waking up to it.

He would never say it out loud, but he thinks of how mesmerizing her sex is, with these smooth folds to slide his tongue in, this little nub here that is so easy to suck gently into his mouth and tease with his tongue. It is all here, he thinks, as his mouth moves with her, such a tiny place, with so many ways to make her moan. He wants to find every single one, and they have all night. And every day and night after that. He would never say these things out loud. Or perhaps someday he'll tell her all of it. He thinks it might embarrass her and he wouldn't want that, but he'd like her to know that this gives him joy. That he relishes the slide of her most sensitive flesh against his tongue. That he loves her scent.

Her hands are aimless and tingling and she grasps at the sheets, the pillows, one hand flitting to her breast, pinching a nipple. She's losing control and she's writhing and he moves with her as she bucks against him. His touch is soft and insistent and he never breaks contact, and she covers her mouth, biting a finger to try to control her ever-louder moans. Then she remembers that they are in their own home and she lets go. She cries out - his name, affirmations, words that fall apart in a tangle, her head thrown back in the pillows, her whole body arching in unbearable bliss. After, she sinks into the mattress, her breathing deep and desperate. Then she giggles; she actually giggles at her vocalizations.

Mrs Hughes did not giggle. Mrs Carson might. Sometimes.

He looks up at her with a brilliant smile, runs a hand down his face and comes up to wrap himself around her, his chest to her back. She is still catching her breath and she rests her hand over his forearm that is wrapped around her waist.

"Thank you, Charlie," she murmurs.

He gives a quiet little chuckle and lifts her hair from her shoulder to kiss and caress her skin there. It makes her shiver.

She turns in his arms then and snakes her arm around his back, pulling herself in close to him and wrapping her leg around him..

He hesitates.

"What is it, love?" She would have concern in her voice, but she is frankly too happy to worry much. If something is wrong, they'll solve it soon enough.

"I wonder. I'd like to try something," he begins.

She turns her head toward him a bit and smiles at him from the corner of her eye. "Oh, would you now?" Her voice is soft, mock-serious, evoking sternness from the former housekeeper, and he loves her for it.

"Yes. I'd like to -"

She stops him with fingertips on his lips.

"Show me."

And he extracts himself from the embrace of her legs, dropping a kiss on her knee to make her smile. He turns her over onto her front and climbs in between her legs. He is on all fours over her, his thighs pushing hers even more firmly apart as he kisses her shoulders, her neck, and down her back.

Already the sensation of being wide open like this is enough to send a thrill through her body. She cannot move, and with this man whom she loves and trusts, she relishes the feeling. He strokes her from calves to bottom, lingering behind her knees, making her arch against the bed with a shaking sigh.

She rests her head on her arms, humming and undulating as he strokes her inner thighs, trailing near her sex that is radiating heat, so wet from three climaxes. She craves more contact and he gives it to her as she arches her back. He kneads her bottom with one firm hand while he reaches under her to touch her again. Within a few minutes she is shaking, coming undone again, cooing his name. Her voice is melodious, filled with what sounds like wonder.

He waits a few moments and then maneuvers them, pulling her up with him. He sits leaning against the headboard and she sits on his lap, her legs outside his, his erection between her bottom and his belly. She pulls her hair to one side and sighs, trembling as he nuzzles her neck, her shoulder. She gasps as he spreads her legs with his and reaches around her body. He is suffering, yes, sweetly, from the incredible sensation of her body pressing back against him, and he holds her close against him as he touches her again.

She's lost, she's home, she's got her big lovely man holding her open, her hands on his arms as he caresses and kneads her breast with one hand and steadily strokes her sex with the other - slowly, insistently, making her insane with pleasure, decreasing the pressure when he can tell she's approaching the brink.

She is reminded of the first time she discovered her ability to come over and over.

- alone in her attic room - thoughts about him - she felt so alive but also illicit, most exposed -

In the secret cavern of the wine cellar, she had shared this with him.

Now they are married, and their private love is sheltered with all of the power those public words hold.

Several more times he pushes her over the edge like this, and she comes again and again - each time higher, lighter, faster - until she stops him and moves forward onto the bed. She goes on all fours and he rests his tip heavy against her.

"Yes, my love, come to me -" Her voice is soft, trembling with want.

And he slides inside her with a guttural moan, pulls back, and slams powerfully into her again, and she is shaking from so much release, so she drops her head, resting it on her arms in the pillows.

"Yes! Harder!" She calls to him in full voice.

He finally gives himself free rein. He is holding her hips, pounding into her and she gives as good as she gets, reaches to touch herself and comes undone again.

He loves this view but he wants to see her face, so he pulls out and she rolls onto her back, frantically kissing wherever she can reach and he sinks into her again. Her eyes are closed, she's holding on to him, meeting his thrusts as they speed up, her inner muscles clenching around him as he triggers yet another high, light, vocal climax for her, and as his movements become erratic he calls out to her -

"Elsie - look at me -"

She opens her eyes. Those incredible blue eyes he's lost himself in so many times, now looking up at him in lust and he can't hold back anymore - finally he comes with a great roar, stiffening against her, and she feels his release as he spills himself inside her.

They fall in a heap together. He is on top of her, her legs wrapped around him, holding him close as best she can with trembling limbs, slippery from sweat, from what they have made together. After a moment he slips out of her and falls to the side and they catch their breath, happy - satiated, spent, sleepy from sex and not from work.

Her arm is thrown across his chest and moves it gently as he drags himself out of bed. It has become his habit to do this for her and he gets a cloth, wets it with warm water - from their sink! - and returns to clean her, gently, and then himself. She is warm and sleepy in their sheets and she barely stirs, humming when he touches her.

Returning from dealing with the cloth, he stops. He is overcome with tenderness at the sight of her sleeping. Sitting on the bed, he remembers a wish he had weeks ago on the beach, and he runs his thumb over the lip she so often bites. Touching her face with worshipful fingertips, he leans down to kiss her lips. She stirs just a tiny bit, sighs happily.

Then he climbs into bed and wraps himself around her. She lies curled into this man, sharing blankets and warmth with his big beautiful body. They are wrapped together, his skin on hers, and they sleep.

It is dark when she wakes, the moon shining into their room.

His erection is poking her in the back and she laughs softly. Her muscles are sore, but it doesn't matter. She is hungry, though, and she makes to get up, he tightens his arms around her in his sleep. He always does when she starts to move away from him and it is lovely.

When she gets up, she leaves the curtains open and looks tenderly at him. He is her man of silver and oak and stone, all melted now in sleep, beautiful in the moonlight.

She finds her dressing gown on its hook and wraps it around her naked body. In the kitchen she lights the lamp and takes bread and cheese from the hamper. She looks up when he comes in, also clad only in his dressing gown.

Biting her lip, she smiles at this sweet man, her man, sleepy and mussed with unruly hair and beautiful hands. She sets down the knife and goes to him, embracing him around the middle, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders, her head, and kisses her hair. They stand this way for several moments and then hold hands as she leads him to the table.

She retrieves dishes and glasses from the cabinet and they have their funny little midnight picnic together in the lamplight.

They hold hands as they go up the stairs. At the top, they smile at each other. They embrace again, he kisses her hands, she kisses his wrist, and they don't have to stop and they don't have to part ways. They drift into their bedroom and stand before their bed, slipping off dressing gowns. She pushes him gently to sit on the bed and leans down to kiss him, then follows him as he slides into bed. She starts with his lips and then kisses every part of him - this delicious, kind, passionate man. After trailing kisses up his thighs, she takes him into her mouth. She drives him slowly, gently mad with pleasure and takes it, swallowing when he comes. Then she pulls up the blankets and they curl together and sleep.

They wake to the late-morning sun streaming through the windows of their bedroom. Their bed is soft beneath them, and they are warm together between their own sheets, under their own shared blankets.

They are home.

THE END

a/n

They never die and are in a happy time bubble forever (thanks to chelsie dagger). Or maybe they eventually die (peacefully, painlessly, and simultaneously after a very long, very healthy and very happy life together) and then they live in paradise in kouw's fic (Prompts, Chapter 2).