A/N: While I am stuck on What's Past is Prologue, I thought I'd write a one shot to get the juices flowing again. I found this prompt online:

"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." ― Dr. Seuss

He has touched her, felt the warm satin of her skin, more today than he has in the nearly twenty-five years that he has known her and his fingers are twitching with the electric current of anticipation for the moment that he can touch her again.

He has held her hand and gently, shyly slipped a gold band onto her finger and held it there as he vowed to love and cherish her all of his days. He bent to meet her, to bring his lips to hers, as she cradled his face with her soft, tender, steady hands, the cool metal of her ring burning hot against his flesh.

He took her hand, placed his other on the delicate dove grey fabric at the small of her back, and pulled her close, closer than they had ever been, and glided with her across the polished wooden floor of the school's auditorium. He smiles to himself, remembering. Oh, how glad he is that he gave in. That he saw sense because she was right after all. She usually is, right, he thinks. Their friends from the village would not have been comfortable with a big "do" up at the Abbey. And she, she wouldn't have been free to kick her heels up, to dance, to reel. It did his heart so much good to see her smiling and dancing, really dancing. Charles rubs a hand across his cheek, thinks that he still feels the sting from the grin that refused to retreat from his lips because she was so very happy. Because they are so very happy.

He placed the key to their house in her hand, brushed her fingertips with his as he did so. She looked up at him, blue eyes twinkling with love and something else. Mischief, sass, expectation. He wondered what she expected, what she wanted. He wanted nothing more than to touch her again, to pull her close, tell her everything that he had waited years to tell her, and to show her just how much he wanted her. When she dropped her handbag on the table and headed upstairs, he didn't immediately follow but she looked back, over her shoulder, and called to him. "Don't you want to change out of your suit, Mr. Carson?" she had asked.

He shed his coat and waistcoat, hung them in the wardrobe all the while watching her, trying not to stare as she began to undress, began sliding the gloves from her hands and carefully placing them on the dressing table. He watched as she toed off her shoes, pushed them to the side, and then reached behind to loosen the buttons of her dress.

He watched dexterous fingers reach for the small buttons, loosen the first two, and fumble in the attempt to unfasten the middle of the row. "Let me help you," he offered and she dropped her hands to allow him to go about his task. He had expected a case of nerves, for her, for himself but the moment he saw the peach flesh of her back exposed, the nerves fled. With each button he unfastened, his fingertips touched her, and then his lips followed, kissing a reverent trail across her shoulders and down her back. Before he could finish, she turned, blue eyes turned nearly black as she captured his lips in a searing kiss.

The cottage is quiet, only the ticking of the clock and Charles's memories of the day stir. He almost, almost, feels ashamed to think of what they've gotten up to tonight in their house. But he reasons that it is the same thing that married couples since Adam and Eve have done, and he is blessed to have done so with Elsie. Blessed to have such a passionate and loving wife. He turns to look at her, his wife, the woman who sleeps beside him, and he longs to touch her. To run his fingers along the supple flesh of her shoulder, the soft skin on the inside of her arm. To brush the hair from her face, to kiss the lips that in her slumber have curled into a soft, contented smile.

She turns, faces him, and her eyes flutter open. He is afraid that he has awakened her but she reaches out to brush her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "Can't you sleep Mr. Carson?" she asks. "I should think that you'd be tired," she smirks.

"Just thinking about a dream I had, Mrs. Carson," he answers.

"A pleasant one I hope?" she asks as she slides in closer.

"The very best kind. It came true," her husband tells her pulling her into his embrace.

Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.