Original fic: Blood and Flame
May. 13th, 2020 07:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shallownessVictorian setting. Teen. OFC/OMC. 699 words. Written for the prompt ‘Any, any, the power of fire’ at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic
Blood and Flame: shallowness
Winter is not yet over, and Erica is glad to see that the servants have lit a fire in their bedroom. She lets Marston, her maid, help her undress and change into her nightgown and wrap a shawl around her shoulders, calling it cosy. Erica does not respond beyond dismissing her maid for the night, sitting by the fire rather than going to bed. Waiting for her husband, she follows the dance of the flames with her eyes, but her mind wanders back over the day.
It had to be done, of course. Great-uncle Eric has no other blood relatives now. She will return to his house tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he holds on, but the pallor of his skin suggests that will not be many days. The doctor was cautious, but the servants knew.
She shivers. When Great-uncle Eric is gone, there will be no-one of her blood remaining on this good earth.
Of course, she has family. When she married William, his family as good as adopted her, drawing the orphaned young woman into its embrace. “You’re a Goodleigh now,” more than one told her in all sincerity. It was made clear to her where William got his nature from, and she will always be grateful for it. Still, it is not the same. She belongs to them, but they don’t belong to the ones who came before her, people whose documents and ephemera are stil kept in her great-uncle’s house. People who helped shape her nose and hands, the ones who tinted her hair.
The fire crackles, the flames changing pattern as the slight breeze from a briefly opened door hits them.
Erica turns to look at her husband, in profile for but a second as he closes the door to his changing room behind him.
"Why aren't you abed?" he asks.
"I’m not ready for it," she replies.
"But you must be tired," he says. "Today was difficult."
"And I thank you for being at my side through it all," she says, offering him a smile. She could not speak in the carriage. She felt frozen then, but she has thawed now.
"Where else would I be?" he asks, coming up to stand next to her and take her hand. She thinks he is surreptitiously checking that it is not too cold, but the fire is blazing merrily and the room is warm.
She looks at his well-beloved face, which has grown familiar to her over these past few months of marriage, when she was allowed to look directly at him and learn his features. It has been her pleasure to do so over dining tables and most of all here, in the bedroom they share.
"What is it?" he asks.
She pauses, trying to put words to the feelings flowing inside her, chasing one another, a powerful jumble.
"I want to make a baby," she says. "Ours."
"My dear," he voice is raw with emotion, no, with emotions as plentiful as her own, if not quite the same. But she recognises desire in their midst. That is no surprise. From the first night, he has always made clear how much he desires her. The surprise was to learn that, whether it was ladylike or no, her desire matched his.
She looks down at the rug between them and the fire.
"Here, now," she says, confident in her ability to tell him what she wants. He squeezes her hand.
"As you command," he says, and pulls her up from the chair to him, plunders her mouth exactly as she wants. She responds with passion, and her reward is the promises his tongue makes of what will come.
Soon they are as hot as fire, shedding their clothes, needing to feel skin next to skin. William knows where to caress her now, she knows exactly how to respond in kind.
They have never done this here before, so low to the ground, so close to the element of fire, but amidst the pulses of pleasure, instinct tells her that this night a spark of life is kindled inside her, and another of her blood will one day walk this good earth.
comment_ficWinter is not yet over, and Erica is glad to see that the servants have lit a fire in their bedroom. She lets Marston, her maid, help her undress and change into her nightgown and wrap a shawl around her shoulders, calling it cosy. Erica does not respond beyond dismissing her maid for the night, sitting by the fire rather than going to bed. Waiting for her husband, she follows the dance of the flames with her eyes, but her mind wanders back over the day.
It had to be done, of course. Great-uncle Eric has no other blood relatives now. She will return to his house tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he holds on, but the pallor of his skin suggests that will not be many days. The doctor was cautious, but the servants knew.
She shivers. When Great-uncle Eric is gone, there will be no-one of her blood remaining on this good earth.
Of course, she has family. When she married William, his family as good as adopted her, drawing the orphaned young woman into its embrace. “You’re a Goodleigh now,” more than one told her in all sincerity. It was made clear to her where William got his nature from, and she will always be grateful for it. Still, it is not the same. She belongs to them, but they don’t belong to the ones who came before her, people whose documents and ephemera are stil kept in her great-uncle’s house. People who helped shape her nose and hands, the ones who tinted her hair.
The fire crackles, the flames changing pattern as the slight breeze from a briefly opened door hits them.
Erica turns to look at her husband, in profile for but a second as he closes the door to his changing room behind him.
"Why aren't you abed?" he asks.
"I’m not ready for it," she replies.
"But you must be tired," he says. "Today was difficult."
"And I thank you for being at my side through it all," she says, offering him a smile. She could not speak in the carriage. She felt frozen then, but she has thawed now.
"Where else would I be?" he asks, coming up to stand next to her and take her hand. She thinks he is surreptitiously checking that it is not too cold, but the fire is blazing merrily and the room is warm.
She looks at his well-beloved face, which has grown familiar to her over these past few months of marriage, when she was allowed to look directly at him and learn his features. It has been her pleasure to do so over dining tables and most of all here, in the bedroom they share.
"What is it?" he asks.
She pauses, trying to put words to the feelings flowing inside her, chasing one another, a powerful jumble.
"I want to make a baby," she says. "Ours."
"My dear," he voice is raw with emotion, no, with emotions as plentiful as her own, if not quite the same. But she recognises desire in their midst. That is no surprise. From the first night, he has always made clear how much he desires her. The surprise was to learn that, whether it was ladylike or no, her desire matched his.
She looks down at the rug between them and the fire.
"Here, now," she says, confident in her ability to tell him what she wants. He squeezes her hand.
"As you command," he says, and pulls her up from the chair to him, plunders her mouth exactly as she wants. She responds with passion, and her reward is the promises his tongue makes of what will come.
Soon they are as hot as fire, shedding their clothes, needing to feel skin next to skin. William knows where to caress her now, she knows exactly how to respond in kind.
They have never done this here before, so low to the ground, so close to the element of fire, but amidst the pulses of pleasure, instinct tells her that this night a spark of life is kindled inside her, and another of her blood will one day walk this good earth.
