Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 11
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9// Part 10
Summary: Matty has to endure the worst hours of his life.
Warnings: 18+ (here: fingering, hints of dirty talk, Vic is desparate, pregnant and hormonal AF), childbirth mentioned including blood etc. vague allusions to violently ending pregnancies, mdni, age gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Their daughter was born under the full moon. Matty would know because he spent what seemed hours watching it through the window of which he sat opposite to. At this point, he burned through all of the tasks he could possibly do around the house or elsewhere, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off things. Alas, he sat on the floor, knees pulled in with elbows resting on them, hand in his hair, staring up to the window. And he felt powerless. Oh so powerless.
He didn’t know when exactly it started. He only knew she came over to him around noon, right after he had finished taking the horses out on the paddock. Matty knew something was wrong before she reached him. The weird way she seemed to move in, interrupted in the middle of it, pauses in her steps where there shouldn’t be any, the way she clung to the post of the paddock right before she reached him, body folding forward without her conscious decision it seemed. She told him that the pain was back, that it felt deeper, more regular than the pains she felt on and off the past few days. He pulled the cape around her shoulders more tight and guided her into the house, adapting to her speed, taking pauses when she had to. They needed way too long for a walk that would usually have been only a few minutes, Victoria holding onto his arm as if she would break down otherwise. They barely made it into the house where he could sit her on a chair when her whole body seemed to freeze and she visibly gasped for air. When he asked her what it was, she looked down to the floor where slowly but steadily a dark patch started to form beneath her. That was when he knew he had to get Charli.
Victoria screamed and it almost tore him apart. Again. He heard a lot of this in the past few hours. Screams that didn’t speak of fear, but of a pain coming from somewhere deep inside. They still scared him though. Shitless, if he was honest. A part of him wanted to get up on his feet, storm in there and be with her. Like he did so often in these past few weeks. Through every sleepless night of hers. Every early sign of labour. Through the exhaustion that had been visible in everything she did. But this wasn’t his place, he knew that much. It couldn’t be. The next scream he heard was deeper than the ones before. More guttaral and longer. He heard Charli’s voice somewhere in there as well but couldn’t quite hear what she said. He got up from the floor, went over to the kitchen cabinet where the booze was, poured himself a drink. Gin. Cheap. Hard. Efficient, he hoped. He didn’t even know how long he was awake at this point, time seemed to have dissolved completely, stretched out and narrowed down at the same time. The gin made his throat burn. He emptied two more glasses anyway, more than he drank ever since he returned from Ireland, he was sure of that, then he sat down again. On the floor, knees drawn in, looking up to the window and the full moon. There was no wind tonight, no thunderstorm like they had been so typical for this year’s winter. Quiet. Too quiet given what was happening behind the door to the next room.
The moon was also his only anchor to time. Matty was aware that birth was a process leading through several stages. That it could take hours. He administered enough foles coming into this world to know that. But this started to feel unbearable at this point. Charli forbid him to leave as strictly as she forbid him to come in.
“You keep hot water at the ready at the ready at all times. You make sure we have towels, tissues, whatever cloth you can come up with if I tell you it’s needed. You’re prepared to run and fetch somebody if I tell you.”
But this far, in all of these hours, Charli only called him once, asking for a wet towel which he provided, of course, and ignored to answer the most pressing question that slipped over his tongue. “How is she.”
Alas, he sat here, not knowing, drinking, trying no to let his mind wander too much into a direction he could never get it back from. Of course he had seen how bravely Victoria held up these past few days. How she stood pain, exhaustion and the general misery of their situation with so much grace, he had almost been afraid of it. And he knew how strong of will she was, he, of all people, knew that. But this went on for what was close to be half a day at this point. And he didn’t even want to imagine what she was going through. From inside the room there was a banging sound. Something dropping to the floor? Victoria screamed, again. Matty took another drink.
Dawn broke when he decided that he couldn’t stand just sitting there anymore. Doomed if he stayed. Doomed if he left. He considered going to George, again, but George, who had been in the house throught Charli’s labour and even present in the room when their son had been born, would probably show quite limited compassion for Matty leaving Victoria alone. Alas he went to the only other place where nobody would judge him and he knew he could count on that. The stable wasn’t that quiet at this hour of the morning. Horses moving, occasionally, the sound of ruffling hay accompanying them. He went straight to Cleopatra and pulled himself a stool up.
“Morning. Mind if I keep you some company before we get you ready?”
The horse neighed and just looked at him attentively, ears turned in his direction.
“Thank you. It’s just…I need somewhere to be, you know?”
The silence in here was less absolute than it seemed to be in the house. Not holding its breath until the next sound from within their bedroom would shake him to his core. Less anxiously waiting without knowing for what exactly.
“Victoria is having the baby. Charli’s with her. That’s good, she knows what to do. Vic is in the best hands, I know that.”
Still, it didn’t feel like that. Not one bit, if he was entirely honest with himself. Instead feelings, doubt, fear running wild within him so fast he had trouble identifying them.
“I’m so scared, you have no idea. She’s…she’s so young. She has been so exhausted these past few weeks and it…it all seemed a little bit too much.”
It was a thought he mainly pushed away these past hours and that broke through in full force now. All these moments in these past weeks when she became weak out of nowhere. When hours of irregular pain drained her so much all the colour left her face. When every movement seemed to cost her so much lately.
“And what if it is, you know? This has been going on for so long, I…I’m just not sure what it means. And the worst part is, I don’t even know if Charli would call me. If something went wrong, I mean. If she got me or if she was so busy taking care of it that I wouldn’t even know.”
The scenes developing in front of his eyes were brutal. Victoria screaming. Blood-stained sheets. A small body inbetween all of it. And then silence. He shook his head as if that did anything to prevent him from going mental, like pressing his fingers into the palms of his hand so hard it almost drew blood did. But his hands were jittery, his breathing uneven and for the first time in all of these hours he didn’t bite back the curse leaving his lips anymore. The horse looked at him rather dissaprovingly, probably not a fan of the noise he assumed. But the words were out, his entire body was shaking and he couldn’t sit still anymore. Alas he got up, to a step forward and pressed his head into Cleopatra’s shoulder. She just stood there, warm, unphased, breathing, letting him use her presence to pull himself back together. And for a few moments that was everything there was. His face on her neck, the tears flowing freely and the thoughts running wild in his head. But at some point a clearness set in he hadn’t felt in hours.
“I just…I just want her to be ok, you know?”
That was the core of it all. It had been ever since they started their affair back in the stables. Protecting her from any harm, from himself if he had to. And now she was up there in the house, she was in pain and there was very little if not nothing he could do.
“I want both of them to be ok”, he added, voice shaky, broken by tears. Sending the words out into the night and hoping they reached god, the universe, fate or who or whatever was responsible for the outcome of all of this. Cleopatra neighed again. And Matty just stood there, face buried in her neck and took in the horse’s warmth, her breathing and her calm. Until it finally got through to him.
When he stepped out of the stables again, it was light. So they were around twelve hours now, maybe more. Twelve hours and Victoria was still holding on, standing whatever she had to, fighting so hard to give birth to their child. God, he didn’t even have words to describe how proud he was of her. But he’d tell her anyway. When all of this was done, he would tell her, in great detail. He would tell her and-
Something caught his eye. A silhouette. The thought of a shadow. There was somebody walking a few steps ahead of him, straight up to the house.
“Oi!”, he yelled, louder than he originally thought he would. “What are you doing?”
Nobody was supposed to ever this house where Victoria gave birth. Nobody was to disturb the space where their child was about to enter this world.
He walked faster, being in eye distance to the figure when the person walking in front of him stopped, turned around and his heart stopped for a beat.
Harriett Cavendish stood there on his front lawn, literally and looked at him, obviously displeased about the way he talked to her.
“Good Morning, Matthew. What makes you think you can talk to me like that?”
There was a reflex to apolgoise. He fought it successfully.
“The fact that you’re about to enter my house without my permission”, he said, stepping forward so he was blocking her way now. She took a step back, straightening her shoulders.
The hint of a joyless smile formed around her lips. “‘Permission’. My daughter is in there, probably my grandchild, I figure, if my calculations are correct. And you fantasize about how I need permission from your part to see them?”
The coldness in her tone made his blood boil. Coming to his house and still treating him like she owned him. Like she held power over him.
“My woman is in there giving birth to our child, this is none of your business. Not after what you did.”
Harriett’s eyebrows lifted, just for the fraction of a second, a crack in the otherwise perfect facade. Then her eyes narrowed.
“She’s giving birth already and you’re leaving her alone?!”, Harriett roared and Matty could feel himself shrink under her gaze. This was what it must look like, wasn’t it?
“I didn’t-”
“Get out of my way. Now!”, Harriett spit and pushed him aside before Matty had a chance to step back. He watched her enter the house with fast but controlled stepps and he felt awful. He was completely aware that Harriett was the last person Victoria wanted around right now. But he didn’t know what to do. So he just followed her into the house but his half-hearted attempts to stop his former misstress from entereing the bedroom were, unsurprisingly, rather unsuccessful.
The hours continued to stretch out but Matty didn’t leave his place in front of the door anymore. He didn’t know what he was hoping for the most. That Harriett would just leave, again. That it would be over soon. That anybody would finally tell him what was going on in there. What took so long. Harriett’s arrival changed something in the chemistry of it all for him. Before that, staying in front of the door had been a horrible but somehow necessary torture. Now it felt like failure. I should be in there. The thought hammered in his brain like a bad headache, I should be in there so that Harriett can’t hurt her or the baby. He remembered the evening all too well when she told him about it. It hadn’t been more than a few weeks ago. One of those cold evenings they spent in bed, him trying to keep her warm with his body, his blanket and the sheer power of his love and will.
He came to bed later than she did, making sure the curtains were closed, a desperate attempt to keep the cold out. He had slipped into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her on instinct, kissing her neck. Telling her he was there as well as checking how cold her skin was. One hand resting on her belly, the other one on her hip, the two blankets thrown over her so that they barely covered him. As close to her as possible. And Victoria had taken his hand, slowly moving it from her hip to her thigh until it reached the hem of her nightgown – and then further up. Without a word spoken, he knew what she meant, what she wanted, what this was about. His other hand moved to her belly, just resting there. But the one on her thigh moved up higher until it reached her core. Still kissing her neck, he asked: “Are you sure you want this?”
Victoria just nodded, so he started to swipe two fingers through her folds. Slowly, but deliberately and could feel her becoming wet under his touch. Victoria turned her body into his. A few inches, if even. But the way she sighed his name was enough for him to know she enjoyed this. His fingers kept on slowly moving through her folds, his thumb finding her clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles. Victoria sighed his name in pleasure.
“Here you go, baby. That’s better, isn’t it?”
She sighed again, a breathed “Yes” leaving her lips as she spread her legs for him further. An idea popped up in his head when she started to move her hips to the rhythm of his hand.
“Lift your right leg for me”, he shispered and she did as told, giving him the chance to push his own leg between hers.
“Matty…”, Victoria breathed, “What..?”
He pulled his fingers out of her completely, putting both hands on her hips, pressing her bare core down on his thigh.
“Keep on going”, he whispered into her ear, “I promise you it will be worth it.”
He kept on holding her down enough to give her friction of the fabric of his pants hitting her clit while providing her with enough space so that she could actually move on her own. And it worked, it seemed. Victoria’s movements became erratic, no rhythm just chasing a release she felt so close to. Matty couldn’t help but chuckle. There she was, pregnant with his child, the evidence absolutely visible from the size of her belly and still so desperate for him. So absolutely his. He could feel her soak the fabric of his pants on his thigh and he loved it.
“Matty…please….please, I-”
“I got you…”, he murmured, helping her move faster with his hands, tightening the muscles of his thigh to give her even more friction against her clit.
“Come for me.”
And this was what did it. She fell apart in his arms with a sigh of relief, her body trashing into his. Matty put a soft kiss to her temple, pulling her even closer into him, ignoring his own need growing evident in his pants. Victoria turned around to him, cupping his face softly with her hands.
“Thank-” But he interrupted her by putting a finger to her lips.
“Don’t you dare saying thank you now”, he warned and noticed there was a strange kind of shadow cloudying her gaze. She nestled even closer into him, resting her head on his shoulder, pulling one of his arms up so that it was resting over her belly again.
“You know, I dreamed of nights like these. When they locked me up on my room, I dreamed of how you’d knock at my window like you did that one night. How you’d come and help me climb out the window and we’d just be…away. From everything.”
Matty couldn’t help but frown.
“Your parents locked you up?”
Victoria nodded, somehow absentmindedly. “Yeah. They were not…not amused about what happened. When mum found out about our baby she treated it like a problem that needed solving. But none of what she tried worked. And when it didn’t, they started to lock me up, so that I at least wasn’t seen anymore. Dad yelled at me. Mum didn’t yell, but what she did was…worse. Way worse. They tried everything to achieve that my ‘condition’, as they called it, wasn’t seen anymore.”
Anger started to boil in his blood at her words. Anger at the Cavendishs for treating their own daughter like that. Anger at himself, of course, for not being there sooner, despite her obviously needing him.
“I’m sorry, Vic. I’m so sorry. And I swear I will never let anything like this happen again. To neither of you. I’m here now. I’m going to stay.”
And now Harriett was in there. Harriett and Charli and Victoria. And all he could do was sit here, back against the door and pray to the god he didn’t believe in that everything was going to be alright. It had to be. Victoria endured so much. She deserved this. They did. A child that was alive. A birth that went well. Victoria’s screams became less as the hours passed on. More of muffled sounds he could hear but not make sense of. A few words spoken by Charli. Harriett’s harsh tone from time to time. Enough to tell him that things were still moving. Too little to tell him what any of this was about. His hand carded through his hair more and more nervously. It didn’t help. Nothing did.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, outside the door, waiting. He didn’t know how much time had really passed. But at some point, he could feel something shift. Charli’s voice more often. Harriett’s as well. And then, all of a sudden, for him, at least, there was a cry. Loud. Clear. A child letting the world know of its arrival. Matty could feel a tension leave his body, making him sink down into himself a little more. It’s alive. The thought kept repeating itself in his head like a mantra. It’s alive. Over and over and over again. He didn’t pay attention to the sounds coming from inside anymore. Not to the cold surrounding him. Not to the exhaustion being bone-deep by now. It’s alive was all there was. It’s alive was all that mattered. The door opened just a gap and Charli took a step out, closing it behind her immediately.
“It’s done. She did amazing, keep that in mind when you come in. I would let you, but the Lady insists everything needs to look ‘presentable’ first, so you’ll have to wait another minute.”
He nodded, variants of “Yes”, “Thank you”, and “Of course” stumbling over his lips sooner than he could fully process the information she just gave him. The core trickled in in the upcoming moments. It was over. Successfully, it seemed. Charli smiled and turned around again, closing the door behind her.
After what felt like another hour (Matty decided to get up in the meantime because walking around nervously was the better option than sitting around and ripping his hair out) the door was opened a second time, this time around by Harriett.
“You may come in”, she said and Matty had to hold himself back to not shove her out of the way and storm into the room. Every measured step seemed hard to do, although he was aware, of course, that it was the only right thing to do now. The only appropriate thing to do now.
The room still bore traces of what it had seen the past few hours. A chair was placed in front of the bed where it usually didn’t stand, bloodstains still on it, like somebody forgot to wipe them away. There was a pile of wet, bloody towels in the corner, stained sheets and something he identified as the dress Victoria wore when she came outside to him. His gaze roamed the room, looking for Victoria on instinct. There was no decision to be made now, this was the most important thing. She laid in the bed he woke up in this morning, pale as the sheets beneath her, obviously only able to sit since she was supported by several cushions placed in her back.
He went over to her side immediately, this time with faster steps but stopped abruptly when he arrived, as if he was unsure whether or not he was allowed to touch her.
“Victoria…”
Her name was all that left his lips. Exhaustion was deeply engraved in her features, her gaze was glassy and she seemed to have trouble focussing on him. But when he finally took her hand, she closed her fingers around his. From the other side of the room, there was a cry. Soft. Small. But undeniably there. Alive, he thought again. It’s alive.
“It’s… a girl.”
There was hesitation in her voice, like she wasn’t sure how he would react. But Matty felt his breath catch in his throat.
“That’s…amazing”, he said once he got his voice back, squeezing her hand a little tighter. Words too small to carry the weight of his feelings.
“Do you want to hold her?”
The goosebumps spreading all over his arms had nothing to do with the cold, he knew that much. “Yes”, he said, his voice nothing more than a raspy whisper. From the corner of his eye, he saw Charli move, stepping closer to the bed, a bundle in her arms. She carefully handed it over to Victoria and Matty got to see the baby’s face for the first time. So tiny and different from everything he imagined.
“She has your eyes…”, Victoria murmured, her thumb carefully cupping the baby’s face, “It’s the first thing I noticed about her. How beautiful her eyes are.”
Matty couldn’t speak. He didn’t know how to. Victoria looked up to him and smiled softly, exhaustion and joy lying in her gaze in equal parts.
“Here’s your daughter.”
He carefully took the baby she presented to him out of her arms and his heart stopped. The girl was small but quite a weight in his arms, he figured. He felt the looks in the room, Charli, Harriett, of course. He didn’t care. All that mattered was the tiny human being he had the privileged to hold now. After everything Victoria and him went through. After all those nights he spent, fighting his feelings for her, being convinced it would never be possible to have something like that, there she was. His daughter. Alive. Breathing. Lying in his arms. Victoria corrected the position of his right arm carefully so that the baby’s head was supported better. His daughter started to move inside the blanket she was wrapped up in.
“Hello…”, Matty whispered softly, voice heavy by tears. He lifted his hand and carefully moved the back of his thumb over the baby’s face. Let his hand glide over her hair. Dark, tiny down on the top of her head.
“Look at you…”, he whispered, “Look at you being so perfect.”
He lifted his head and looked back up to Victoria again. “You did so well, I’m so proud of you, my love. She’s perfect.”
Victoria nodded, her eyes closed.
“What do you want to name her?”
Matty looked down at the bundle in his arms. At her dark hair, her tiny nose, the way she seemed to frown already. He thought about names sometimes in these past few weeks. In the sleepless nights he spend distracting Victoria from pain or fear or sometimes both. In the hours doing the same repetitive tasks on the estate that were so deeply rooted in his muscle memory that his mind could wander off completely. He thought about a lot of names, girl’s names, boy’s names, nothing felt quite right. He consoled himself with the thought that he would know the moment he got to hold them for the first time. And now his daughter was lying in his arms.
“Emma…”, he said softly, almost quietly, “Emma Niamh.”
He could hear Charli sigh from behind the room and when he looked up, he saw her and Harriett standing there. Victoria’s mother scrutinised him as if she was just waiting for him to do it wrong. To screw something up with Emma, whatever it was. He wouldn’t do her the favour though. This was real. Victoria’s and his child was alive and a testament to their love for each other. He looked back over to Victoria again who lay there now, eyes closed but a satisfied smile on her face. They made it. She was alive. Their daughter was born. They were going to be a family of three from now on. And right in this moment, Matty was convinced that they were going to make it. No matter the obstacle or the hardship or the tests they’d have to overcome. They would. Because Emma was here, alive, breathing. A testament to their love. A love that had survived – against all odds.
Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 10
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9
Summary: Matty comes back to London, where a surprise awaits.
4.4k
Warnings: 18+ (in general, not in this part in particular), mdni, age gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Seamus and Brí were kind enough to provide him with enough money on top of his last salary so that he could make it onto a ship as a regular passenger, this time. But that didn’t mean he was left with anything but what he carried with him when he arrived in London, again. For a few moments, he thought about just playing the same game one more time like back on his first arrival to Ireland. Staying at the docs. Making money. Trying to fix himself up a little bit before he returned to George and Charli. But he figured the chances of George simply never speaking to him again if he did not only leave without a proper warning or letting himself be heard but returning and not telling him immediately were way too high. Alas, he made his way over to the Canterbury estate.
Dusk was already breaking when he arrived, tinting the outlines of the estate in dark shadows. Matty felt the exhaustion in every single one of his bones by now, probably made worse by the cold of the fall creeping through his clothes. The estate lay there before him, quiet, unbothered, like nothing changed. And chances were, this was in fact true. That nothing did change during his absence, no matter how strange that felt to him. The gates weren’t closed and the guard seemed to remember him so he let him pass. He saw George first. George, standing on the left side of the garden surrounding the estate, entirely caught up in playing with his son. Thomas held a tiny wooden sword in his hand and was bravely fighting against his father, landing some blows from time to time, Matty figured. For a few moments he just stood there, watching, a weird aching feeling creeping around in his chest. Because for the first time in all these months, he let the thought in, that things happened while he was away. That life went on, for everyone he left behind, not just for him, who spent most of his days in Ireland more surviving than living, really. That Tom had grown quite a lot since he last saw him. That George just went on with his life on this estate the two of them were making fun of so often. That-
George saw him. Matty was too far away to tell the exact look on his face, but he saw his best friend freeze, leading to Tom poking him several times with his sword in rather delicate places. When the boy noticed, he turned around as well. And that was what made Matty move. He lifted his hand, waving at Tom a bit reluctantly, insecure for a moment about whether or not he would even remember him. But the boy smiled at him and stormed into his arms before George even made his first move.
“Uncle Matthew! I need to tell you something!”
Matty closed his arms around him and pulled him into his body a little bit, only realising then that yes, actually, he missed this too. Missed him too.
“Go on then.”
And Tom did, telling him at length about the pony he got for his recent birthday and about how he was looking after it and taking rides on it every single day ever since. Matty listened to him carefully. But at the same time he looked up to George occasionally who stood a few feet away, watching the situation.
When Tom let go of him, George came over without saying a word at first. Matty didn’t expect he would. Instead George pulled him into a hug, a little bit too tight for Matty’s liking.
“I was fucking sure you were dead.”
There was a crack in George’s voice before the last words. It made Matty hold onto him a little tighter.
“You should have written.”
Matty had to fight a lump building up in his throat.
“I know. Trust me, George, I know. And thought about writing to you so often I just…”
He didn’t continue. There wasn’t a good explanation. Not a sufficient one, at least. George let go of him and opted to scrutinize him carefully now instead.
“You look better than I thought you would.”
“Great compliment given you thought of me as a corpse”, Matty retorted in the dryness that was so typical for the two of them. George’s hand still lay on his shoulder as if he was afraid Matty would just dissolve in front of him if they didn’t touch. But suddenly there was a flicker in his gaze. Something darker.
“Did you come here straight away?”
“Yes. And I promise, George, I didn’t mean to leave without a word, I just couldn’t-”
“No, I mean, did somebody see you?”
The question made Matty pause. It wasn’t what he expected. Not at all, actually. It didn’t fit to anything he could make sense of.
“I think so. I mean…the harbour is still full, I think people saw me. Theoretically. I don’t think they noticed me, though, I-”
He stopped when George exhaled audibly. As if something he said had just bore some really, really, really bad news.
“Ok. We should probably make sure it stays this way. I suppose you don’t have anywhere to stay yet?”
Matty shook his head no. “But I can work. Seriously. I know you most probably have a groom but I can support him. Tom just told me he got his own horse, I can personally take care of them, I-”
“Matty”, George interrupted him, calmly but almost laughing. “It’s ok. We’ll find something. For now I think it’s enough that you’re alive and were gracious enough to let me know this much.”
Matty just nodded. He knew this was more than he deserved, actually. George nodded over to the sailor's kitbag hanging over Matty’s shoulder.
“That’s all you got?”
He confirmed.
“Alright. Let’s get you settled, then”, George said before starting to walk to the left. Tom followed along, happily japping Matty’s ear off about his pony.
The house George led him to wasn’t huge. The fact that it actually had a separate chamber for the bed was considered luxury by Matty already. He threw his luggage on the bed and inspected the new house carefully. A table and a few chairs. A washing table. A fireplace with a cauldron hanging over it.
“We can also get you a stove if this should come in more handy”, George said, obviously following his gaze.
“No I…I think I’m good. I can handle the fire, it’s not…not a big deal”, Matty reassured him, his gaze still wandering around the room. It was way more spacious then the place he had lived in in Ireland and not even to be compared to his little room in the servants’ house on the Cavendish estate. The bed was huge, maybe the biggest one he had ever slept in, outside of brothels, that was. So huge it might almost feel a bit lonely in there at times, he wondered. But that was nothing he wanted to think about now. George patted his shoulder.
“Think you can stay here for a bit?”
“Of course. Thank you, really. I appreciate it.”
“As you should. Alright. Get some rest, I’ll have somebody bring you food and some water. The well is also outside so you should be able to provide yourself with more, if needed. Get some sleep. Need any clothing?”
“A pair of pants for work and some boots would be nice. I’ll get my own as soon as I have some money.”
George nodded.
“You’ll have them. See you in the stables tomorrow morning, yeah?”
Matty agreed and watched George walk out the door. The moment it fell shut, he let out a long, audible breath. It happened, it seemed. He made it back here. Alive. And everything was still there. George. Tom. Charli. Still there, still willing to take him back in, even giving him a home that seemed way too huge for him as a single person. But George had always been of the belief that it was his responsibility to share some of the wealth he obtained through his marriage with others who weren’t quite as lucky. Matty began walking through the house once more, checking the cabinets and actually finding some bedsheets in there. Fresh linen for a fresh start didn’t feel too bad, if he was quite honest with himself.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he had taken his shoes off that were slightly wet from him stepping into some puddles at the harbour, but he finally did now. Just sitting there, letting his gaze wander around the room, still wondering what it would need for him to feel more at home here now - or if that was something that was going to come over time anyway. Just when he wondered if George offered him such a spacious bed because he thought that there was no way Matty would come home alone from such a long trip, a knock on the door made him jump. He was on his feet and halfway on the way to the door when said door was opened and Charli stepped in, a huge basket in her arms. He bowed down in reflex, mumbling something close to “My Lady” since technically she was his mistress now and they didn’t talk about formalities yet in any way. Charli scoffed disapprovingly.
“Get up”, she ordered the second he had bowed to her, put the basket down and pulled him into a hug as well.
“So good to have you back…”, she whispered in his ear, hands holding onto him at least as tight as George did before. He didn’t say anything, hoping that the way he reciprocated her gesture was enough to tell her that he did indeed miss her too. It was good to know she, as well as George, was still there, that she would let him stay here and agreed to let him work here. It also couldn’t hurt to have Charli on his side if he should ever try to get a job somewhere else, he figured while she slowly nestled out of his embrace. For a few fleeting seconds, Charli didn’t do anything else than to look at him. There was something in her gaze he couldn’t quite read.
“What-?”
Before he got to finish the sentence, Charli slapped him in the face. The palm of her hand crashed against his cheek so hard it took his breath away for a moment. Charli looked him straight in the eye the entire time. Unphased. Calm, almost, with maybe a hint of satisfaction in her eye. She didn’t even give him the time to react to what just happened appropriately. Of course she didn’t.
“God, I wanted to do that for weeks, actually. This and telling you how much of a fucking moron you are.”
Matty cleared his throat to hide how insecure this made him feel.
“Well, I know that, sort of, thank you very much.”
Charli scoffed, before she picked the basket up from the floor and lifted it onto the table. He just stood there, watching. Unsure of what he was allowed to do. Unsure of what he was expected to do, really. She started to unpack the basket, lining the items up on the table.
“George told me you needed new clothes, so here they are.”
He watched her take a pair of trousers out as well as a shirt and some boots, putting the clothes on the table while placing the boots on the ground next to it.
“You’ll start tomorrow morning. Richard, our current groom, will supervise you.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
She didn’t react, instead she started to take food out of the basket and put it on the table. Bread. Butter. A decanter full of milk. Some cheese, even.
“Thank you, Charli, that’s really-”
“Sit.”
Her voice was commanding. Not the one she used when talking to servants or petitioners. Something sharper. Something that made him feel uncomfortable in an instant – and also told him, there was no place for contradiction whatsoever. Alas he sat down, so did she. He watched anxiously how she took the bread, put butter and cheese on it and shoved it over to him rather unapologetically.
“Eat.”
There was no discussion now, he knew that as well. So he did as told.
“I have one question to ask that’s been bugging me for the past few weeks and I expect you to answer it.”
He told her to go on.
“What were you thinking?”
He made sure to swallow down the huge bite of bread he took before answering: “Look Charli, I know, leaving without telling anybody wasn’t my best move, but trust me, I had no other-”
“That’s not what I’m on about”, she cut him off firmly. Matty just looked at her in utter confusion.
“Then I’d love for you to give me some context.”
Charli pursed her lips, but did indeed answer him immediately.
“What were you thinking, sleeping with your master’s daughter under his roof?”, she said, her words sharp as knives.
“What were you thinking letting a teenage girl seduce you?”
Her voice was firm, clear and unambiguously displeased.
“What were you thinking, having sex with somebody you know you would never marry for almost a year?”
The last word was pointed, harsh, emphasised in just the right way to make him swallow hard.
“What were you thinking, fleeing the country after you were found out, leaving everybody in the dark for months about whether you’re alive or not?”, she added, now looking at him in unveiled anger.
He wished he had an answer to all of that. A better answer than: “I was in love with her. The sex was good. It clouded my judgement massively. It shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Because he knew that wasn’t enough. How could it have been?
“I don’t know.” Another lie but more digestible than the truth, he figured. Charli scoffed again.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. You fucking moron.”
She took a sip from her glass full of milk, putting it down on the table so harshly some of it spilled onto its surface. Matty let a few moments pass before he went on: “So it’s…it’s out I guess? It’s common knowledge now? What happened with…”
He couldn’t say her name. There was too much pain in it, still, hidden somewhere under his lousy attempt to bury any memory of her the past few months.
Charli scoffed again. “Yeah you could say it is…”, she said, a strange undertone in her voice. “You could also say you should exercise caution if you should plan to go to the city.”
Matty fought back a sigh.
“So the duke is still not over it then?”
Charli rolled her eyes at him openly now. “What did you expect, Matty, really? That he’d just forget what happened? That would be unrealistic even if…”, she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Anyway. Just promise me to be careful out there, ok? There are people in my house who can’t afford to lose you.”
George, he thought. It was the first person to come to his mind, of course it was. George. Tom. Charli herself, maybe, probably.
“I promise you, Charli”, he said, looking her directly in the eye.
“Good. Then I’ll better start praying you live up to that.”
Being careful meant he avoided going to the city at all, at least that was his premunition. It lasted for about a day. But he had missed London too much to not go and see what all the places he used to know like the back of his hand turned into during his absence. Most of them were still dirty as they had been, the entire city still covered in smock. But the variety store was still there, allowing himself to get a needle and some yarn to fix some of his clothes. And of course his favourite pub was there as well. The Black Friar was still going and still well booked he figured when he set foot in first. Matty went straight to the bar as he used to do for so many years. A beer was all he could afford from the advance Charli granted him on his first salary and he decided to enjoy it to the fullest.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again”, Luke, the bartender said. He was the owner of the place and a regular acquaintance when Matty used to come here more often. He just nodded at him. He ordered a Guinness, not quite ready to let this part of Ireland go yet if he was quite honest to himself and let his gaze wander around the room discreetly. It really seemed like not too much had changed, which was a good thing. Luke put his beer on the bar in front of him but shook his head when Matty fumbled for some money in his pockets.
“Take it as a ‘glad you’re actually alive’ and ‘I’d never thought I’d see you again’-gift”, Luke said, smiling at him warmly. Matty scoffed.
“So George wasn’t the only one who thought I was dead then?”, he asked, not entirely sure if he really wanted to have an answer to this question.
“Oh definitely not. There were at least three different versions of how you presumably died going around.”
Matty cleared his throat, actively trying to push the images of his former master beating him to a pulp back down that came to his mind at Luke’s words.
“There were times when this wasn’t exactly unlikely…”, he murmured, more to himself than to Luke.
The first sip of Guinness tasted familiar on his tongue. Not the same as in Dublin. But familiar enough. Luke turned away to serve another guest and Matty focused on his drink, took in the atmosphere, the people talking, the buzz in general that was of such a different fabric than the one in Ireland had been. So different and yet so well known. Maybe they weren’t all that wrong after all, Matty figured. Maybe there was in fact a reason why some people called some place home.
“He really is back.”
“Fella really got some nerves, doesn’t he?”
“Maybe he thinks nobody will remember.”
“Well, the old Cavendish remembers for sure. Still fucking furious, they say.”
“Honestly, I’d be too if somebody did that to my daughter.”
“Absolutely. I’d kill the guy with my own hands.”
Matty bit back a sigh and turned his back in the direction of the men talking. He knew what that was about, all too well. The scandal was still talked about, it seemed, all his hopes and dreams of it just vanishing into thin air by now for nothing, apparently. He focused on his drink, again. Maybe that was something he’d just have to live with. Maybe that was something that came with coming home too.
It was day three when it happened. Later on, Matty would come to think that this was hilarious. Three days. Like Jesus coming back from the dead. Like the third day of creation in the context of how god made the earth. On day three, he was cleaning Cleopatra (Charli was never one to go easy on names when it came to her horses) which was not exactly easy, given the white horse loved nothing as much as to roll herself in the mud which was everywhere, currently, due to the rainshowers that plagued London once per day. Alas, he was scrubbing her off thoroughly, using the hardest brush to get the clumps out of her fur, a task that required strength as well as skill if aimed to be executed correctly.
“Matthew…”
Her voice wasn’t loud. Not particularly, anyway. But he would have heard her anywhere. Recognised her anywhere. Matty stopped in the middle of the movement he just executed. She was alive then. That was good. And she was here. That was something he didn’t quite know what to make of it. He closed his eyes for a second, completely aware that the way his heart raced in his chest did nothing for his goal to calm down. That the way his hackles rose was way too much given it shouldn’t affect him at all. But how should it not have when hearing her voice was something he thought about so often in these six months that had passed? And now it was real. Real again.
“Matthew…”
He heard a weird sound, as if something was dragged over a floor. Later on he would come to think she was taking a step and pulling her foot back before actually taking it. He still didn’t know what to feel. But he knew what he had to do now. That it wasn’t fair to her to just stand there like an idiot, acting like he didn’t hear her. Despite it all, she was still of the higher rank (even more so if she was indeed married to some duke now) and he was in no position to ignore her by any means. Alas, he turned around.
She was still beautiful. That was the first thing he noticed. The natural beauty surrounding her was still present, not only in the way the sunlight gave her hair that golden glimmer he always loved so much. Her eyes were still of the same blue that made getting lost in them so goddamn easy, he spent hours doing exactly that.
“Victoria…”
When he said her name, the hint of a smile started to form around her lips, lighting up her features. But for the first time he noticed now that it didn’t reach her eyes. The blues spoke of exhaustion. Fear. Worries. Way more than he had ever seen.
“You’re alive.”
She didn’t say it the way Charli did, or George before her. Not like a statement. More like a fragile truth, bound to be broken if talked about too harshly. He nodded instinctively.
“I am. I am and so are you it-”
The words to follow died on his tongue. His gaze dropped when he nodded and for the first time he saw her. He actually saw her. All of that, that was. The way her posture was slightly bent forward. The way her breasts almost spilled out of the corsage of the dress she wore. And the fact that her hand was resting on her belly, that was too huge for the rest of her. Round. Undeniable. His mind started racing the second the information trickled in, bombarding him with information he wasn’t even halfway able to process. She was alive, she wanted to see him, she came back, she was-
“How-”
He cut himself off, trying to sort his thoughts out better before saying anything. There were a hundred questions to be asked right now, all of them equally important, it seemed. All of them equally dumb, he was absolutely sure of that. He wanted to say so much. Yet he just stood there with his mouth open. Watched as in slow motion how she shifted her weight slightly, as if she was about to lose balance. How she lifted her hand as if she wanted to reach for him and pulled it back when he didn’t make any attempt to reciprocate that. There were so many things he wanted to say and not nearly the right words on his tongue to express them, it seemed.
“When did this happen?”
The words didn’t sound like his own. Victoria looked at him as if he just slapped her in the face.
“W-what?”
“When did this happen? How long have you known? About…this.”
He didn’t know why this information was so important to him now. Maybe because he could see so much in her face he knew he had no idea of. Pain. Fear. Horror, even. And he needed to know how long she had been alone with this. But Victoria just looked at him as if he just hurt her. Shaking slightly, she straightened her shoulders as if his words disturbed her balance.
“It’s yours.This”, she put a hand on her belly, forcing him to look at it again, “is our child.”
The words seemed to rush more over her tongue than to really be spoken, her breath seemingly getting hitched at the end of it. As if she was hurrying to get them out so much she didn’t give herself enough time to get fresh air into her lungs in between. Still, it was the first time all of the pieces of information he gathered in the span of the last two minutes seemed to really fall into place. She’s alive. She’s here. She’s pregnant. The weight of it all seemed to crush him for a moment, as if all the air was pressed out of his lungs at once. With my child.
“Say something.”
He knew she was trying to make it sound like a command. Oh she was trying so hard. But there was no energy left in her, it seemed. And even more importantly, no authority. Her hand started shaking, if by anger, exhaustion or desperation, he didn’t know. But it was what got him moving for the first time ever since she came out onto the courtyard. Two steps was what it took for him to stand close enough so that he could touch her. Two steps so that he could lift her hand that was resting on her belly and close his fingers around it.
“It’s going to be ok, Vic. I’m here. It’s going to be ok.”
He never felt more like a liar when saying anything in his life. He also never felt like these words had ever been as important as they had ever been before. Victoria looked up to him as if she was looking for a sign of insincerity in his face. And for a moment, just a moment, the impulse to hug her became almost overwhelming. To just pull her body into his, take some of the weight away she had literally been carrying on her own for months now. But he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed. So he just stayed where he was. Holding her hand. Trying to figure out what just happened. Because one thing was clear after all: They needed a plan. Because this wasn’t just about the two of them anymore. Obviously.
Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 9
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8
Summary: Matty tries to come to terms with what he lost – in his own way.
5.1k
Warnings: 18+ (Here: spitting, oral - m receiving, prostitution, p in v sex, degradation, honestly this thing is so filthy I don't even know anymore), references to former violence, mdni, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
He would never be able to tell how he made it down to the harbour. Realistically speaking he shouldn’t have given the pain and the considerable amount of injuries, visible and invisible alike, he carried. Realistically, it was the adrenaline, mostly, that got him going at this point and probably some last spark of any kind of survival instinct telling him to just get away from here. And maybe none of this was important. Maybe the only thing that mattered was that he made it here, at last. Limping. Every breath a stab to his lungs. Occasionally spitting blood, still. The only thought in his head being how to make it out. Not where to go. Not what to do. Just getting away. But despite all of those things, he did in fact make it.
The harbour seemed like a good place to start to him. Lots of people so that they probably wouldn’t pay too much attention to him as a person, a crowd to dive in and not stick out. The noise and the smell and the chaos hopefully stimulating him enough to get his senses back to life a little bit and not in this constant state of feeling like his head was pushed under water. Feeling like things were real, again. Somewhere below the pain they had to be. Matty decided that the docks were the safest place to find what he was looking for as fast as possible. A ship. A ship to take him away from here in return for labour he offered. It didn’t take him long to find one where two questions to sailors brought him to the captain.
“What are you looking at?”, the man said instead of any kind of greeting.
“I…”, Matty started but noticed that his voice sounded rather pressed, a fact he couldn’t quite avoid by clearing his throat, as he noticed as he went on. “... I am looking for work.”
The man opposite of him scoffed.
“We are full.”
“I can work hard. Really. Was a stable hand before, I am used to the exhausting work. Can fix damages. Can clean. Know some sewing.”
The man opposite of him eyed him skeptically.
“Ever worked on a ship before?”
“No, but I can-”
“Then get away.”
“Sir, please, I just need to-”
But the man turned his back on him before Matty even got to finish the sentence. Matty was this close to slam his hand against the next best piece of wood in frustration but stopped himself last minute, realising that if there was one thing he didn’t need, it was additional pain. Instead, he kept on looking for the next best ship to shoot his shot at, which was easier said than done given the insane amount of people walking around the harbour. The constant buzzing from the noise made him dizzy and the so typical smell seemed to trigger his stressed stomach even more. Two men carried a stack of boxes from A to B and since Matty couldn’t get out of the way in time, he was bumped into the shoulder. He breathed through the pain and tried to focus more. Better. The next ship was only a few steps to his right. He was going to make it. There was no other option anyway.
He made it to the next ship indeed, but its captain looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind after Matty came up with his request.
“I don’t need trouble on my ship”, he said, “Someone starting fights every chance he gets. And you definitely are that someone.”
“Sir, I’m not-”
“You are. Just take a look at yourself.”
It wasn’t until then that it occurred to him that he had no idea what he actually looked like. He was pretty sure he had a black eye by now and that there was a cut on his right cheek. There was also blood leaking from somewhere, occasionally dripping into his mouth, so either there were even more open wounds directly on his face than he was aware of or those he assumed to be there were worse than he initially thought.
“Sir, I promise you, this isn’t-”
“Even if it isn’t”, the man cut him off, “You look like you won’t even make it to tomorrow, we can’t afford to carry a corpse along that is of no help.”
“Sir, I swear, I-”
But once again he was only met with the sight of a back.
Matty started to get nervous. This wasn’t exactly going the way he hoped for, besides the fact that the only thing he did actively hope for had been to get away from here as fast as possible. So he kept on going. Dragged this broken body of his along to the next ship that was preparing to leave to anywhere far away enough from England. Anywhere at all.
Dusk broke already when he was finally able to convince someone to take him with him. It was a huge ship, carrying coal from England to Ireland and would take him to Dublin within the next day. He figured this to be his last solution after no ship to the US would hire him. The night on the ship was one of the most horrible ones in his entire life. His entire body hurt, he felt dizzy continuously and wasn’t even close to think of something like sleep. The adrenaline that led to him not collapsing on his way here now made sleeping impossible, alas he just lay there in his hammock, tossing and turning the entire night, trying to find a position, any position that at least didn’t hurt him more than literally everything else already did. It was that night when he thought about George for the first time. About if he heard the news already. If he wondered where he was. He didn’t get to sleep, the snoring and tossing and turning from everybody else kept him awake, no matter how exhausted every single fibre in his body felt.
___
Dublin was loud. Busy. It stank. It might not have been as overcrowded as London was, but what it lacked in manpower, it made up in noise. Matty figured that on the harbour already, immediately after his arrival when he was almost run over by a carriage he didn’t see coming. The first nights in the docs under the plain sky almost killed him, giving his exhausted body and his even more exhausted mind no place to rest, really. Cold. Wet. Exhausting on top of everything else, yet, his mind couldn’t find sleep. The positive side was that it didn’t cost him any money either. But that was cold comfort, literally, when he spent the nights mostly freezing and awake. The first few weeks he got by with casual jobs at the harbour. Up- and unloading the ships, occasional handywork when something needed fixing, guiding animals up to and down from ships, paying just enough so that he could afford a bed at a lodging house at night and something to eat. Something to keep him busy, physically more than mentally, that was. Around the same time, the nightmares started. Cavendish’s face distorted in anger. Victoria screaming in terror to leave him alone. And the punches. Over and over and over again. They were quite often the last thing he saw before drifting off to sleep, making it an uneasy one, as if his body was still bracing against impacts that weren’t going to come anymore. But who was going to tell him? The others started to complain quite soon. With fifty men in a room, snoring was accepted, widely, but screaming in terror in the middle of the night on a regular did indeed earn him more punches. That’s when he knew he had to leave.
When he had saved enough money and figured his body would let him, he made his way over to Meath. He still fought heaps of pain in his upper body on a regular, but he considered the situation at least far enough under control as to trust his body enough to enter a stagecoach that took him to Gunnocks. It was the first time ever since he left London that he wasn’t working. The first time he could catch a breather, sort of. It was then when the thought of Victoria occurred again for the first time outside of nightmares, leaving a painful sting of longing in his chest. He hoped she was alive, he really hoped she was. Alive and well and he caught himself wondering if the Cavendishes would go as far as to throw her out of their home. He figured they wouldn’t risk the scandal though, not after what happened with Catherine. And for the first time that night, it was her face he saw. Her face and nothing else. Her looking down at him at George and Charli’s ball. So in awe. So his. Never again. It was around that time when he decided he had to forget her. For good. It was no use to anybody if he kept on clinging onto something that could never have a future. Forgetting her, in fact, was the only way to survive this, even though it tore him apart on the inside. And so, he started to push the thought of her away, buried the feelings for her somewhere down in his heart where they could never resurface. It was for the better, he told himself over and over again. It had to be.
_____
It took him about three days and in return using all of his remaining savings to find a job in the outskirts of Gunnocks. A shepherd took him in, after Matty explained in great detail what his care for the horses on the Cavendish Estate consisted of. “Sheeps are not that different”, the man said, “It’s a lot about anticipating what they want and need. And they’re less complicated than horses, I guess.”
Matty would soon come to learn that they weren’t. In fact, getting them out onto the meadow in the mornings would turn out to prove more difficult than handling Celeste on her worse days, if they didn’t feel like it. But they were happy to be left alone once they reached their intended destination and so Matty finally had enough time for not only his body, but his mind to recover a bit. Sleeping became easier again, the flashbacks became less. And somewhere beneath the pain the realisation set in: She was definitely better off without him. Because no matter what she said at George’s and Charli’s ball: Being with him would have come with a lots of inconveniences for her part. A decline in status, security, comfort, money. She deserved better and since her parents thought the same, it was most likely that they already made plans to betroth her to somebody as soon as possible. He didn’t like the thought of somebody else being what he had been for her these past few months. He didn’t like the thought of somebody else touching what had been his to touch the past few months. But if he was serious in his decision to want her happy, above everything else, he knew he had to let go of her. Emotionally, that was.
Seamus and Brigid were about his age. They invited him to dinner the first night he stayed at their place and made him a guest at their table ever since. They were parents to two daughters who both left home to work in a nunnery. Brigid especially seemed pleased to have Matty here, for exactly that reason.
“It’s been so long since we had proper company in here. And it’s actually nice to have somebody to talk to who lets himself indulge in a few more words than ‘really?’ and ‘fascinating’ when I go about my day”, she said at one of their first dinners, throwing her husband an unapologetic look.
Seamus on the other hand was happy that Matty took some of the workload off him, it seemed. While Matty was out in the wild, making sure the sheep ate enough and didn’t wander off, Seamus used the time to fix the stables and some minor things around the house which, according to his wife, he wanted to do forever. He still found enough time to accompany Matty out into nature though. And so those late spring afternoons like now came quite often when they lay next to each other in the grass, watching the sheep from afar, smoking.
“You look less shit. Finally.”
Matty chuckled. “I’m not sure if this was meant as a compliment, but I take it anyway. Plus, I’m pretty sure I owe the fact that there almost aren’t any bruises to your wife.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if you did”, Seamus just replied, “She knows exactly what she’s doing. Fixed me up after encounters way worse than yours.”
Matty puffed his cigarette for a while. He never told Seamus why exactly he came to them in the state he did. Why he woke up at night, disorientated and barely recovering from flashbacks he couldn’t tell anyone about. Why he was missing one of his right back teeth.
“You don’t even deserve her, you know that? She’s too pretty for you. And way too nice as well”, Matty said, lifting his index finger at his companion as if he was preaching.
“Now what do you mean by that?”
“Well, I, for one, would not let my husband keep a miniature picture of somebody else in his wallet all the time.”
Seamus didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, he said: “The secret to a long lasting and happy marriage is to not have secrets. Brí and I figured that out ages ago already.”
Matty decided to drag his cigarette again and to nod instead of laughing sarcastically. Don’t have secrets as a secret was quite some advice indeed.
“But what would you know about that, huh?”, Seamus asked and Matty couldn’t help but scoff.
“More than you know…”, he murmured absentmindedly and for the fraction of a second, just the tiniest part of it, he saw Victoria’s face in front of his eyes when he closed them. He shook his head as if to shake the thought of it.
“You’re doing that face again.”
“The fuck are you on about?”
“The face. You’re doing it again. Brí noticed a few days ago. You have a face that you sometimes pull that makes you look like you just received some terrible news.”
“I don’t”, Matty tried to defend himself. It didn’t work exactly.
“Yeah and what would you know about that? You can’t see yourself, eh?”
The sound leaving Matty’s lips didn’t deserve the term “laugh” in the slightest. He puffed his cigarette before answering.
“People think. It’s what they do. Even I do. Sometimes.”
Way more than he could freely admit to anyone, Seamus included.
“Yeah. And when you do you look like you’re never going to be happy again. Brí thinks you need help.”
“Then she’s wrong”, Matty said, maybe a bit more firm than he originally intended to.
“Listen, I don’t know what’s gotten into you at this point and I won’t make you tell me. But what I know is that if I didn’t do the dance meetings in townhall every second thursday, I’d probably look as miserable as you. So did you ever think about getting yourself something to do?”
“I think I have more than enough things to do here, thank you very much.”
Seamus grunted. “Yeah I don’t think you do, really. Or at least not enough fulfilling things. Life isn’t just work, you know?”
“What is it for you then? Dancing only?”
A smug smile formed around the corners of Seamus’s lips. “I’ve had several children to raise for the best part of my life. I’m happe enough to have a wonderful wife keeping me company, still. And I recently started to get a bit more into crafting.”
“... which is exactly my job”, Matty threw in dryly.
“Like I just said, why don’t you go down to the city for a bit? Try some new things? Maybe you’ll find something that will make you happy.”
____
Dublin at night was completely different from Dublin during the day. The constant mist from the factories gave way for a mixture of smoke, whine and smoked meat, the busy humming in the streets fading into its own personal melody of music and chatter. Matty came here once per week, mostly on Wednesdays. And every week he made another decision about where to take his money – Benburb Street or Camden Street. Today it was the first option, he wasn’t as exhausted from work for once and decided he could get off his face some other time as well.
He knew the barracks by now, the houses with broken windows lining the street, the smell, the rats. He still loved it though. It reminded him of the images of Manchester he saved to his mind, of which by now he couldn’t tell whether or not they were real. The Queen’s Mercy was, as in opposite of what its name would suggest, everything but a noble, polished establishment for the high society. On the contrary. The women in there were amongst the filthiest Matty had ever encountered. Direct, strict, not sugar coating anything. The sex they sold was rough. Dirty. Quick and definitely worth the price. Matty went upstairs with a blonde who didn’t tell him her name. He didn’t ask.
“You’re the one who likes to be tied up, aren’t you? Chapel told me about you, I think.”
“Not today, no”, he said while he already started to unbutton his trousers. He experimented a bit with the bondage thing in the beginning. He didn’t do it since Paris, not properly at least. For his first few visits here it had felt good to give up control. Not having to think much and having pain be the major thing he felt. But that wasn’t the goal today.
“Alright. What is it today then?”, she asked while Matty pulled his pants down.
“Get on your fours”, he stated. She wasn’t particularly beautiful. They rarely were. But her hair was the exact right shade of dark blonde, like a golden well falling over her shoulder. Maybe that would be enough. It had to be. He noticed quite soon that it was the only thing getting him off, recently. Helping him to imagine, at least, that she was somebody else. Forgetting her became harder during these last days of summer, when the memories of how he spent the last one came back to haunt him way more than once.
The prostitute did as told and looked up to him from the bed.
“Want me to suck you off?”
He just shrugged. “Whatever it is to get me hard”, he answered. Her hands were on him in no time. Jerking him off in fast, expert movements. It was clear from the very start that she knew what she was doing. Her lips wrapped around his cock and he did get hard indeed under her touch. That was the advantage of the brothel: The women were experts in her fields.
He forced himself to not think about the hardship of the day too much or the fact that Seamus and him just discovered today that termites had infected the stable and therefore several beams had to be replaced. Now, it could only be about her and her hands and her mouth on his cock. He buried a hand in her hair, pushing her further down on him. Spit ran out of her mouth and down her chin, getting lost in the valley of her tits.
“Look at me. Fucking look at me while my cock is in your mouth, filthy bitch.”
He could feel her throat constrict around him and for the first time, he really felt something like genuine arousal, not just his body reacting to things that worked.
“Yeah. That’s it. Fucking gag on me, that’s how this goes.”
It was what he payed for, in the end. Her doing whatever it was he needed to be satisfied and the tears in her eyes were cold, hard proof of that.
He pulled her off him when he felt himself come close. Where was the fun in paying for that if he didn’t get his other sense stimulated as well.
“Turn around”, he ordered and she did, no arguing, no questions asked. His cock was painfully hard now and he didn’t want to waste any more time if he was honest. He pulled her to the edge of the bed without a warning. Spit on her cunt to prep her at least a little bit and watched his saliva running down her slit. Still tight enough to make him feel something, he hoped. Then he pushed into her. She didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move. She just took it. His fingernails digging into her hips to keep him in place, his thrusts inside of her, slow and deep at first in order to enjoy the feeling of her around him to the fullest. One hand sneaking around her upper body to grope her right breast harshly. A nice one, he figured, just the right size so that he could grope it with one hand. He picked up the pace. Messily.
Hands still on her he ordered: “I want you to milk my cock. Do whatever you need to get yourself off but don’t touch me. Don’t expect me to do it for you.”
She obeyed, shoving her hand between her legs, rubbing herself off, he figured. The thought alone made him moan loudly, picking up the pace again.
“Yeah, that’s right. Do the work. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.”
She was close, he could feel it. The way her breathing became laboured. The way she clenched around him, making the pressure building inside of him even harder. He pulled out right before he hit his climax, jerking himself off the rest of the way. He came with a grunt, white ropes of cum landing on her ass. Ugly. Messy. Disgusting. He stood behind her, panting for a few seconds, just looking at her. The way the traces of him were on her skin, and for the first time he wondered if Cavendish knew something the day he came in. If he suspected something. There were always traces somewhere, weren’t there? The woman turned around again and looked at him, almost offended.
“You should have stayed inside”, she said, her tone almost accusing, “It’s less messy.”
“Well, good thing it’s not your decision”, he spit, pulling his pants back up. She stayed on the bed, looking up to him.
“You’re disgusting”, she stated while holding her open palm out to him.
“Yeah…”, Matty murmured while he put the money in her hand, “tell me something I don’t know yet.”
___
The first winds of fall brought in the worst kinds of decisions. Those he did put off this far, always telling himself there would be more time to care for it later. Now there barely was anymore. Seamus and Brí were preparing for lambing season and would need every hand they could get. And while Matty felt quite confident he could supervise and oversee the births himself if asked, the point he couldn’t argue was that it was a family tradition that the two of them spent the last few months of the year together with their daughters who came back from Dublin for that reason. That also meant that they wouldn’t have space to host Matty anymore as soon as they arrived. They told him a few weeks prior, giving him enough space to decide what exactly he was going to do next. The problem, however, was that Matty decided to push the decision back until way into the midst of fall. He knew he couldn’t stay, so leaving was his only option. But finding another farm that would need help during the winter months when there was nothing to saw, nothing to plant, would prove rather difficult.
He couldn’t exactly say how he ended up on the hills of Tiknock in the end. Maybe it was sort of his last resort, talking to somebody who wouldn’t judge him, after doing everything but not talking failed spectacularly. The wooden cross with the name of Timothy Healy on it was still there, but that was about it. None of the flowers he put there. Nothing left of the small circle of stones forming a sun, because the old man loved to watch the sun from here so much. None of the feathers he put on the grave in order to make it more lively. Because that was what his father said. This shouldn’t be a place for grieve. It should be a place for remembering a life.
“Hi dad. Sorry it took me so long. Life…happened a little bit.”
He had planned to come here so often. Ever since he dug this grave with his very own hands holding the shovel, that was. Come here and tell his dad how he made it – whatever that was supposed to mean in the end.
“I was in London the past few years. I lived there. I was…a stablehand for some duke. You would have hated everything about it, dad.” Entitled rich folk acting exactly the way you’d expect them to. Taking what they consider theirs, no consideration for anybody’s feelings except their own. No rules for anybody but them.
It felt weird talking down to the grave like that, he figured. Alas he decided to sit down. The grass was cold underneath him. He didn’t care.
“I fucked up though. I…”, he ran a hand over his face, his tongue hesitating to form the words. It was the first time he spoke them into existence and he somehow feared saying them out loud would make the pain they caused even more real. More real than it was these past few months when it kept him from sleeping. More real than it was when it fuelled his nightmares. More real than anything he allowed himself to think, most of the time. But feelings, nonetheless, were different. “I fell in love with the wrong person. She’s a wonderful person. She’s beautiful and brave and funny. She’s….she’s the perfect girl. And that’s why she deserves somebody better than me…”
Matty started to pull tufts of grass out almost without noticing it. “She can’t be mine. She’s the daughter of a duke. The same duke who I worked for until a few months ago. Beat the shit out of me when he found out. Deserved it though, I guess. Taking a girl’s virginity when you know you can never give her a life she deserves is an absolute shitty thing to do.”
A lump started to built in his throat and it took him a few attempts to blink the images away that started to form in front of his inner eye.
“I hope she’s ok though. No, more than that. I hope she’s happy. I hope she’s safe. I hope she got what she deserves because she deserves somebody better than me. Somebody who can provide her with the life she deserves. And I can never be that. I could never give her what she needs.”
He fell silent, again. Thinking about the ball and the sex they had in George’s and Charli’s bedroom.
“You know there were…times when I was mad enough to think we could really make it. Just…just leave. Her home. The country, even. Where it would just be her and me and we would have a life that is simpler than what she’s used to, but happier, perhaps. Where I would provide for her and show her how to dance, the proper dances, not just the ones performed at the courts. Where we would just kiss each other and fuck each other and love each other, above else, every chance we get. And then it all…just…ended. And I feel like a fool for ever thinking it would not.”
He didn’t wipe the tears away that were flowing over his face freely now.
“And the worst thing is: I know that this is for the better. It just…it just absolutely doesn’t feel like it. It fels like…lke I lost something I can never get back. And that something is-”
He took a deep breath. “Everyday. Every fucking day ever since I had to leave. And I don’t know how to handle it.”
A breath taken in, as shaky as his hands. “I thought coming here would solve everything.” But I still feel like I’m in the same place. Just…just more tired. More sad. More alone. And probably still not alone enough given what I did.”
Other pictures came back now. George. Charli. Their son Thomas, he hadn’t seen him in forever. He hadn’t been away from the kid for so long ever since he was born, Matty figured.
“I know that this was the one thing you never wanted for me, dad. You never wanted me to-” He stopped, started again. “And I’m sorry. I really am.”
For a moment, he just sat there in silence. Let the feelings come. The truth he had just built by saying things he suppressed all those months before. The cold, hard truth that didn’t provide any comfort. At all. And it was his fault alone it didn’t. Nobody was to blame for the mess he was in despite himself.
Then, at some point, Matty wiped the tears away from his face more harshly now.
“George is a Duke now by the way. Can you imagine?”
He tried to laugh. It turned out to be a sob. George. Charli. Thomas. He missed them. All of them. Deeply. He wondered if they had forgotten about him on the regular. He thought about writing them and didn’t dare to. Because they would ask why he didn’t come to them in the first place and rightfully so. They wouldn’t understand that leaving had been his only option.
But what if…what if it wasn’t anymore? A thought had entered his brain. A small, intrusive, almost dangerous thought. What if he went back? Took the opportunity of the fall winds making traveling by ship faster and went back home? George and Charli would absolutely host him without questions asked. And when it came to Lord Cavendish…He at least couldn’t kill him as long as he was under Canterbury's protection. So what was there for him to lose if the promised gain was to fill the hole in his heart that was aching so painfully?
Part 9 (which doesn’t have a smut tag but it exists and it is still important to the story I promise!!)
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7
Summary: Matty and Victoria take playing with fire too far.
Warnings: 18+ (Here: spanking, the riding crop is back, p in v sex, spitting, a tiny bit of praise and degradation if you squint), very graphic description of massive violence, mdni, massive age-gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Spring came and it made both of them dangerously careless. In hindsight, Matty would think that the night at George’s and Charli’s moved an invisible line dangerously far forward. Because for the first time, they had been together out of the context of the Cavendish estate. They had taken what they had into another place and saw that it still withstood. And that made them both take more risks. In the upcoming few weeks, he went up into her room way more than once and stayed until after dawn, even, on one occasion, rushing out the window in panic when he noticed, breaking a toe. She read Brontë to him and he just listened to the sound of her voice without understanding a word. He used every opportunity to be close to her, to touch her, his hand lingering on her thigh way longer than necessary when he helped her get onto her horse. It wasn’t hiding in plain sight anymore at this point – it was openly playing with fire next to a stack of hay. Matty didn’t think about it, didn’t care or to be more precise, he actively chose not to.
Because those little moments Victoria and him got to share like this were too precious, too beautiful, too much healing something within him not to. Every hardship of the day, every hour spent on his knees scrubbing the stable floor or carrying equipment from place A to place B, was so much easier to bear when he knew it was rewarded with even a fraction of her presence. He fell asleep at night plotting how he might surprise her the upcoming day and grinned like a fucking fool when he woke up to a little note of hers carefully placed on the doorstep to his room. It was absolutely ridiculous to behave like this at his age. It was absolutely ridiculous to feel like this at his age. He wouldn’t have changed it for the world though.
Just like he wouldn’t have changed the feeling of fucking her for anything. Of being buried as deep inside of her as he was now, her legs wrapped around his hips. He knew that realistically speaking they didn’t have time for what they were doing. For him fucking her as slowly as he did now, candid, well placed rolls of his hips only occasionally. Taking everything in. The way she sighed with every movement of his body against hers. The way she clenched around him, desperate to increase the pressure and make him come. The way her neck was on display for him so beautifully when she threw her head back, hair disheveled as it was, fair, soft skin presenting itself to him. Usually, he would have let his lips glide along there now carefully, tenderly, his breath ghosting over he neck as he felt her hackles rise. But today he didn’t feel like it. He buried one hand in her hair, tilting her head back further. One more thrust into her, a swipe of his fingers over her clit in synch making her moan for him, grab onto his upper arms more tight. He lowered his head to her ear so that his lips grazed the skin there as he spoke:
“Open up for me, My Lady.”
She did. No hesitation. No questions asked. Just looking at him, opening her mouth.
“Good girl listening to me so nicely. You know who’s in charge here, don’t you?”, he murmured, not even waiting for her to nod before he spit in her mouth.
“Swallow.”
The sight of her doing it made him buck his hips forward almost involuntarily. Harder thrusts, faster, picking up rhythm for once, his eyes glued to her mouth where the obscene incident just took place. Victoria’s eyes were closed in pleasure, her hips meeting his in a perfect rhythm. He could feel her whole body tighten, he knew she was close. He knew her so well by now. But he couldn’t leave her like that, not today, that was. His gaze wandered around the room again, getting caught on the riding crop lying on the table she sat on right next to her. The same table they ended up in front of the very first time they fucked in the stables. Matty smirked, took the crop and carefully guided it along her neck. Victoria whimpered immediately, recognising the hard leather tip without seeing it.
“You know what this is, don’t you?”, he hushed and she just nodded, too far gone as to being able to answer him in full. Matty took his time guiding the crop down her neck up until where her breasts spilled out of her dress. Then he lifted the crop and hit. One sharp, precise blow to the top of her right breast. Watching the tender flesh tremble underneath it did something to him and so did Victoria moaning his name loudly. He rewarded her responsiveness with two more thrusts of his hips into her. She gripped on to him so tightly, moving into him even more letting him know he wouldn’t last much longer. The next harsh contact of the crop to her skin made her whimper.
“Matthew…please…I…”
He hit her again, two slaps right after another this time, Victoria threw her head back, completely lost in pleasure. Completely lost in what he was doing to her. Oh she was beautiful, when she was like this. So beautiful for him. Always. His rhythm got lost entirely, he just couldn’t keep it up anymore. Fast, hard thrusts were all he knew, while he kept on slapping her breasts with the crop.
“Is that what you want? Huh? C’mon, tell me!”
Her reply was a mix of broken syllables of “yes” and his name alike, so he kept on going. Moved faster. Hit harder. Until it hit him. He came inside of her with a grunt, burying himself even deeper by his last thrust, Victoria’s legs shaking around him as she fell apart herself. He pulled her body into his immediately, grounding her, drawing soothing circles on her shoulder with his thumb. Staying buried inside of her as he was, holding her as close as possible. Because that was what was important. The tension slowly started to leave her body, making her shake less.
“You good?”, he asked, kissing her temple, her face, slowly, calmingly. She nodded, head resting on his shoulder. And then she froze. He could literally feel it. Her whole body went stiff in between his arms.
“What-”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Matty didn’t even have time to process what was happening before a hand closed around his shoulder and pulled him away from Victoria.
“Get the fuck away from her! Now!”
Charles Cavendish’s voice cut through the stable like a rolling thunder. From this moment forward, all he noticed were fragments. He stumbled backwards and was pulled around before he had a chance to fully realise what was going on. His master’s face was distorted in raw, unfiltered hatred.
“Father, no!”, Victoria screamed but he knew way before it ended that this wasn’t to change anything. His master grabbed him by the collar. Matty knew what was coming even before the first punch hit his jaw. Nonetheless, he didn’t put his arms up to defend himself. He had no right to. He knew that much. The punch didn’t even hurt, at first. The impact sent his body into shock so that the pain didn’t come through. He tasted blood on his tongue and wondered if he lost a tooth.
“Dishonouring my daughter! Under my roof! Which I gave you!”
The next punch, straight in the face, again. Matty spit out blood that was running into his mouth now continuously. He wanted to move but he knew he couldn’t, not as long as his master kept him in his hold like this.
“She’s not even half your age!”
The next punch hit him right in the stomach, making him gasp for air that wouldn’t reach his lungs. His knees gave in. Charles pulled him back up.
“Father, please!” Victoria’s voice only broke through to him faintly. So did the picture of her pulling on her fathers shirt.
“She’s my child. And you filthy, disgusting, disgraceful-”
“He didn’t do anything. I did!! Father I beseech you, sto-”
The rest of Victoria's plea drowned in a scream as the lord Cavendish punched Matty in the ribs. He was sure he felt them break. Breathing became hard. The ringing in his ears didn’t stop anymore.
“Silence! I’ll deal with you later. I have to handle this disgrace of a human being first.”
The next punch to Matty’s stomach made his knees go weak and his body fall forward. It wasn’t even planned, just a natural protective instinct to shield himself somehow. He was pulled back up again. The next blow to his jaw. Two, three hard ones, no breaks inbetween. Cavendish’s face became blurry, the ringing in Matty’s ears persistent. He could barely breathe, blood gathering on his tongue, again.
“I should kill you”, Cavendish hissed, his pupils blown out as he looked at Matty, “I should kill you right here for what you did.”
Matty looked back up to him again, before turning around as best as possible to look at Victoria. She was pale as a ghost, from the shock, he guessed, clothes still a mess, so was her hair. So beautiful. So innocent. So to be protected at all costs. Do it then, a small part within him whispered, do it. Because death is the better choice if living without her is the other.
“I-”
Before he could finish the sentence, Victoria stepped in the space inbetween them. Back turned at Matty, she looked her father directly in the eye, hands on his wrists as if this would indeed stop him.
“Leave him. Please, for the love of god, father, leave him. I love him. I need him, I-”, her voice broke but she pulled herself back together, stepping closer to her father as if she was to get more than just her body’s weight as space inbetween them, “I love him. Please don’t do this to me. Let him live. Please let him live.”
Cavendish looked at his second eldest daughter as if he saw her for the very first time.
“You don’t know what love is, Victoria”, he said, cold as ice, “You barely discovered lust, it seems. And now you’re confusing the two of them. You can’t know better at your age.” He directed his gaze back at Matty. “But he should have.”
The grip on Matty’s shirt loosened and finally he was let go. It took Matty a few seconds to fully realise what just happened. And then a reflex kicked, old as men. Flight. Now. Immediately. He pulled his pants back up. And he ran. No last look back. No telling Victoria she should join him. He just left.
He didn’t make it far, at first, just barely away from Cavendish's estate. Dizziness slowed him down, so did the sickness in his stomach, the pain in his ribs. Every two steps, it seemed, he had to stop to spit some of the blood out that kept on gathering in his mouth. He wasn’t even close to processing what happened just yet. There were only one clear thought in his head. He needed to leave. The Canterbury’s estate wasn’t an option. He couldn’t drag George and Charli into a mess that was probably way, way, way bigger than he could oversee it himself at the moment. Matty paused for a second, the pain bringing him to his knees. He sank down into the grass, panting. He pressed his forehead to his knees as if that would help slow down the thoughts running wild in his head. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Please let her be safe. Please, for the love of god let her be safe. A couple went by. Just casually strolling over the estate.
“... and then there’s a fuzz going on at the harbour, currently. Lots of ships coming, even more leaving. It’s a mess down there. They go up to America, it seems.”
“Fascinating… Do you really think…”
Their voices got carried away by the wind. Matty instinctively patted his pants. A faint clinging sound told him that there was some silver in there. How far it would take him was to be seen. But for now it would be enough to leave. Even though it meant leaving Victoria here. Leaving the two of them behind. He only did it for her, he convinced himself. For her safety. For her happiness. Because that was all that mattered in the end. Her being happy.
Thank you sm for reposting the ask game!! My questions for you are:
9, 17, 20 x
- bels / knockat102 xx
Oh hi lovely! Thank you for the numbers!
Let’s goooooo!
9 - What would your job/field of study be if it wasn't what it is now? I’ve always wanted to become a therapist but cowarded before studying the subject. So my dream job would be that I guess? Realistically: probs something of a civil servant. Keeping family traditions up and stuff.
17 - Who was your childhood role model? That’s interesting because I think I never had one. I don’t think I do now. I was a fangirl my entire life, but the people I fangirl(ed) never where or are role models for me (which I think keeps me from being too disappointed by their sometimes questionable life choices lol). So…unfortunately…I think I have to go with the most boring answer and have to say my mum because I love and admire her a lot.
20 - What is your fatal flaw? I unfortunately am a very lethal combination of extremely insecure and extremely easy insecured and at the same time deep down convinced I’m better in doing my job than anybody else is in doing theirs lol. I am also the living, breathing chaos which doesn’t make my life easier most of the time.
You should all be scared of Friday by the way. If I’m mean I’m not even going to post a teaser and just let you run into this hell of a chapter yourselves.
A/N: This is part of the Victorian!Era-AU but it’s George and Charli centered. Not exactly tagged so exclusive to followers I guess? Lol.
Warnings: Childbirth, most probably absolutely inaccurately described. Typos, most probably.
There are a lot of myths surrounding childbirth. One of the strongest once is that the mother’s brain romanticises it afterwards or else, nobody would ever have more than one child.
George, however, is convinced that it’s not just mothers who romanticise the process. It’s the fathers too. Alas when he tells the story of the night their first son is born, he always starts by saying that he woke up because he knew something was off. Because he felt she didn’t lie next to him anymore. Realistically speaking, it was the sun falling in through the window or a soft urge to go to the toilet. But in the story George tells, it’s always him realising Charli doesn’t lie next to him anymore. When he opens his eyes and slowly gets his sense of self back, he realizes she stands by the window. Morning sunlight softening her dark hair with its glimmer. For a moment he wonders if she just couldn’t sleep, went out of bed and now just enjoys some fresh air by the window. But then it hits. Unavoidable. Clear. She doesn’t stand, or, to be more precise, she doesn’t stand like she normally would. Her upper body is slightly tilted forward, head hanging low between her shoulders, feet a tad too far away from the window sill for it to be normal. Something about the scene is off. He doesn’t know what it is though. But he doesn’t have to know to get up from his bed and make his way over to her. He says her name. Once. Just once. Asking and reassuring alike. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here. I’ll stay. When he reaches her he notices that her breathing is uneven. Like she tries to follow a pattern she doesn’t quite understand herself. He doesn’t say another word when he steps next to her. He just puts one hand on her shoulder, one hand on her hip. Steadying. Grounding. Giving her the opportunity to lean into him if she wants to and the space to stay like this if she prefers. He feels the tightness in her muscles. The labored breathing. He has 100 theories about what is going on, only very few of them are good, actually. George doesn’t speak though. He stays. There are three rules they put in place weeks ago already.
Don’t talk unless you’re told.
Don’t come unless you’re fetched.
Don’t leave unless you’re dismissed.
Some time passes before he feels her body soften beneath his hands.
„Count!“, Charli orders all of a sudden, voice strained but clear. „I need you to count. Now. Stop when I tell you.“
He does as asked. One. Two. Three, going through the numbers in his head, suddenly hyper awake. He makes it to 22, then Charli tells him to stop. Her whole body tenses, again, moved by something she doesn’t control. Something that is bigger than her. It seems to push her head down even more in-between her shoulders.
„How far?“
„22.“
Charli doesn’t react immediately, not consciously, that is. Instead he can feel her body give in in his arms a little more.
„Alright…“, she says breathlessly after a while, „then we do this.“
He just nods and withstand the temptation to put a kiss on her temple. It’s not what she needs now.
„I can take you over to the bed.“
No order. No offer. Just information for her to decide how to handle it. Charli shakes her head no and leaves him no choice but to let go of her. A part of him, of his heart, his soul, his consciousness stays in the room while he leaves. Stays with her while he goes looking for the maid to tell her to send for the midwife. A part of him always will. He feared that from the very first moment he saw her.
The midwife comes in the afternoon and she reinstates order first. Counts, touches, checks, measures. And then she says the words he feared ever since he saw Charli by the window.
„You can leave now.“
She’s not harsh. Not rude. But her tone is of such that doesn’t leave room for negotiation. So he nods before putting a final kiss to his wife’s forehead.
„You’ll be alright.“
It’s a statement. It’s a wish. It’s a good luck charm. It’s a prayer. All of that at once. And Charli nods. Weakly. Barely. But she does. He’s halfway out the door when he hears her say his name again, making him turn around immediately. Charli lays there, hand clinging to the bedpost as if she was to loose something if she lets go of it. But her gaze is clear, her voice doesn’t shake one bit when she speaks.
„Do you remember them?“
He doesn’t hesitate for as much as a second.
„Of course I do, my love.“
The way she looks at him makes it clear that this isn’t even close to being enough. So he takes a deep breath before he says: „Thomas and Phoebe.“ Charli smiles weakly. He doesn’t feel relieved when he goes downstairs. At all. Regrets his promise to not linger about by the door the moment said door is closed behind him. But he knows it can’t matter now, that his feelings don’t have priority. They can’t. They won’t.
Alas, the hours pass. They stretch and pull and twist and every time he goes somewhere to check the time it didn’t pass half as much as he thinks it should have. He stays in the house, of course. No visiting the stables, no stroll around the estate like he likes doing them so often. He doesn’t even retreat back into his study to paint. He paces the floors, the rooms, sits down, gets back up, orders tea, doesn’t drink it. He’s as restless as he never was before, yet he freezes every time he hears a movement from upstairs. Movements, that’s all he has. No words. No sounds. Just the assumption of what might happen up there and the pictures his mind tortures him with. He remembers a birth he whitnessed, rather accidentally, back in his teenage days in Manchester. Matty and him strolling the market, occasionally steeling fruit and fish and breadrolls when they heard a weird sound from an alley. A girl stood there, a red puddle beneath her feet, screaming as if her life depended on it, hands grabbing onto the stone wall in front of her for dear life. He’ll never forget that scream. Deep. Almost animalistic. As if her spine was ripped out of her alive. As if something was pulling her apart. He tries to push the memory away. Harshly. This is not what Charli is going through, he’s sure of it. It can’t be. Because if she was, there was no way he could just sit here. There just wasn’t.
There’s no way of telling the time anymore when a maid enters the saloon he’s sitting in. He can’t go to his study, it’s too close to the bedroom. The room where it happens. The room where Charli is currently most probably fighting her body, exhaustion and god knows what else in order to give birth to their child.
„Your grace“, she says, bowing down hastily.
„What is it?“
The words sound more harsh than he intents. More harsh than he could want to. He doesn’t care. Can’t bring himself to.
„It’s your wife.“
He’s on his feet before he even realizes it. He wants to tell her to speak, immediately. He also wants to storm upstairs without a further word from her. He also knows he can’t because it would break the rule. Alas he stays, frozen, waits without knowing what for, unable to ask.
„She asked for you.“
And that’s all it needs for him. He doesn’t go upstairs gracefully or contained. He runs. He never ran that fast in his life. Escaping his heart that’s beating way too fast. Escaping his own mind that comes up with 500 things at once that might have happened and that require such a request from her now. It’s just in front of the closed door he stops, suddenly. All at once unsure if he’s really allowed to enter. But the maid just stands behind him. Doesn’t hold him back. Alas he takes one last deep breath and enters.
Charli isn’t in bed anymore when he comes in. She kneels on the floor, halfway hovered over a chair, shoulders slumped, breathing heavily, moaning loudly.
„Who the fuck is-“
The pain cuts her off, grips her entire body. Shakes it. Her head drops, almost hitting the stool she’s kneeling in front of. He allows himself one more second to asses the scene, then he enters. Doesn’t pay attention to the midwife standing way too far away from Charli for it to be natural. Doesn’t notice the wet, blood-stained towels on the floor. She is all he sees. She is all there is. He kneels down in front of her, so that she doesn’t have to turn her head to know he’s there, doesn’t have to move. He carefully takes her left hand and puts it onto his right shoulder. It grips down immediately. Shaking. When he’s sure she’s steady, he takes her right and puts it on his other shoulder.
„I’m here“, he says, as calmly as possible. „What do you need?“
Charli’s breathing is irregular and it’s just now that he sees how the sweat plastered some strands of hair to her forehead.
„I can’t do this anymore.“
Her voice is broken by pain and exhaustion, thinned out from all the hours she already endured this. He hears it. He sees it. All of it.
„I know“, he says, voice calm, speaking slowly, putting all the honesty in the world in those two words. „You’re doing everything you can. I see you. But I also know what you can do. And I know you can finish this.“
He doesn’t speak loudly. Those words are for the two of them and the two of them only. Just like these other nights when he hushed similar ones in her ear, trying to lure her back to sleep, holding her in his arms like he could take some of the weight of her body that seemed way too much recently onto his shoulders.
„And what if I can’t?“
„That’s not an option.“
The next wave hits her before she can reply again, whole body tense, he can see her pushing down, literally. Nothing moves. At least nothing he would notice.
„Your grace, you have to-„
„Shut the fuck up!“
He never heard his wife speak like this to anybody ever before. But he knows her well enough to see this for what it is. This isn’t anger speaking. This is pain and exhaustion running so much deeper than just these past few hours. She grabs his shoulders tighter again, whole body moving forward as if it wasn’t her choice to do so. He puts one hand in her neck, drawing soothing circles. It calmed her down in situations worse than these. He’s confident it will now. It doesn’t.
„George…“, she lifts her head as slowly as if this was the biggest effort she had taken today, „I can’t do this anymore. I really can’t. Everything hurts and I feel like my spine splits with every contraction. I can’t go on like this. I’m not going to make it.“
It’s not the first time he hears her speak like this. She did so on several occasions during the past few days. But it never seemed as honest as it did now. He looks around, assessing the options. Getting her back up on her feet doesn’t seem like one given her obvious exhaustion. He contemplates the bed but figures if she wanted to be in there, she never would have gotten up in the first place. And then he sees it. Quietly sitting to his right. The giant tub she let the groom bring in here days ago already. Thoroughly cleaned by several maids for days. As sterile as it gets. Continuously filled with hot water by a maid and kept warm.
„How about we get you in the tub?“, he asks, careful to make it sound like the suggestion it is and nothing it isn’t. „So that you can relax a little? You’re doing so well, my beloved. You deserve some rest, don’t you think?“
When she looks up to him now there’s so much visible in her face it almost overwhelms him. Exhaustion. Pain. Love. And a glimmer of something that might develop into hope at some point.
„Yes“, she breathes and he gets everything in motion so that she doesn’t have to worry about it anymore. Gives orders and explanations while he keeps holding onto her. Grounding. Holding. Not letting go. Because sometimes that’s all it takes.
The sound Charli makes as they guide her into the tub is one of relief. A sigh, oceans deep. He holds her arm, lifts her leg, everything to make it easier for her. She sinks into the water like it’s a long awaited bed, groaning from something other than pain for the first time in hours. George kneels down at the top of it, carefully pulling her hair out of the water and laying it over the tub’s rim. She doesn’t need soaked hair pulling her down. She’s carrying enough. Charli’s body tenses again and this time the sound leaving her lips is deeper, more led by pain. It also takes longer until her body lets go again.
„I fucking hate you“, she rasps, as soon as she can speak again. „I fucking hate your guts. You say you love me? Why did you do this to me then?“
„I don’t know“, he says calmly. He doesn’t see himself in a position to lie. He doesn’t seem in a position to explain the complexity of it all either.
„Yeah I’m sure you don’t you-“ A scream cuts her off. Guttural. He can see the water move where her legs are. The midwife says something he doesn’t understand. Charli growls like a hurt animal in response. When the tension leaves her body, she slips further into the bath, arms too weak to let her hold onto the tub much longer.
„I wish you’d be lying here instead of me. I wish you were in pain. I wish I never married you. I wish I’d never let you fu-“
The next wave hits harder, he can see it. And this time, she doesn’t just scream. Her body convulses. Her head presses to her chest in effort, making her slip into the water even more.
„Hey…“, George says, not sharply but reassuringly, „Hey I got you.“
Before thinking about it twice, he wraps an arm around her chest. Keeping her upright. And more of it, he hopes. George lowers his head and whispers in her ear: „Lean into me. Let me hold you. I got you, don’t worry about that. Use me. Bite my arm. Scratch the skin open. Tear me apart. I don’t care. I know you’re hurting, Charli. And I wish you weren’t. But I got you, my beloved. I promise I got you.“
„I swear to god I will bite you!”, she groans, hoarsely. He just graps her shoulder tighter. Holding her. The next contraction. Charli screams, entire body under tension now. And he just holds her. Tight. Secure. Save. Trying to trust the process. Nobody tells him what’s happening. He doesn’t need to know. Charli is all he needs to know. The way her muscles loosen again, make her fall back against the wall of the tub and against him.
“Still fucking hurts”, she states, breathless. He strokes her hair, keeps his grip tight. The next push. Charli’s forehead almost drops to his arm. He waits until she’s done, then starts to scratch the small of her neck slightly. Giving her something to focus on that is not pain. Charli’s breathing becomes uneven. There’s no control anymore. Something bigger. Raw. Unfiltered. And he just holds her. Because it’s all he can do. And it’s good to do something. So good. So much better than to just sit here and notice how the water turns red. How Charli’s gaze unfocuses like she’s barely holding on to consciousness. How she literally starts to slip away in his arms a bit. So he doesn’t. He just holds her. And then, there it is. No scream. Not yet. But the midwife pulls a tiny body out of the water. And the baby screams. Charli’s body goes slack against his arm and he uses the second one to keep her up.
“It’s a boy. Congratulations!”
Georges notices a tension leaving his body. IS she said. IS as in: lives. Breathes. His hands that still hold on to Charli start to shake. “He’s alive, Charli. He’s alive. We have a son.”
He repeats the words back to her over and over and over again. Because he’s not sure if she heared them alright. If she knows. But she has to.
Charli makes a weird sound. Something between a sob and a sigh and a laugh. Her head rests on his arm now, but her gaze follows the midwife and the child. Attentively. Carefully. And from that moment he knows: she will never let go of the child again. None of them will. He looks down on her. On her wet skin. On the sweat culminating on her forehead. On her messy hair. Her glassy gaze. And it would be exaggerating to say that he never loved her more than he did now. But it’s a deeper kind of love. A stronger one. One that can’t be broken. By nothing in this world, that is.
Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 7
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6
Warnings: 18+ (Here: oral - f receiving, hand jobs, p in v sex), massive age-gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Matty drew crooked circles in the dirt before him with his foot. He told himself this was more healthy than shooting the portal another nervous look. It wasn’t. The trigger behind it didn’t vanish either way: impatience. Waiting for things had never been his strong suit and waiting for Victoria to come was definitely one of his very worst subjects. Partly because every second he didn’t spend with her was a second lost anyway in his opinion. Partly because he knew that every second that she was late meant that something went wrong in the plan they had so carefully crafted. The Duke and the Duchess of Devonshire were visiting the Duchess’s mother in Bath because she had suddenly fallen ill – a visit that did not allow any delay and therefore made them leave their children under the supervision of the maid in charge.
The perfect opportunity, Matty figured, to come back to the idea of the Canterbury’s ball which took place tonight at George’s and Charli’s place. In order to not be caught, they had agreed to arrive there separately with Matty already leaving for the estate when he finished work, Victoria following as soon as everybody else was asleep. Another advantage of all of this was that Matty had some time to make some arrangements beforehand which should prove to come in quite useful. George had agreed to lend him some of his old clothes. They used to do that all the time when they were younger, but back then it had mostly been about having something else to wear, other than the usual stuff that was just the same all the time. Here it was about reasonableness. Because George earned a lot of proper clothes ever since he became a duke and not only were they slightly too large for Matty due to the difference in between George and him, they also felt foreign. Fabric that wasn’t itchy, clinging to the skin in all the wrong places or bore years of smelling like horses and stables that no amount of washing could ever get out. But the clothes George wore were exceptionally clean and they also were made of a fabric so soft and cozy, Matty didn’t even know the name of it. They felt like a constant hug. Heavy. There. Made to suit him, not his work, primarily.
Matty looked over to the gates again, where more and more of the noble guests were arriving. He didn’t pay much attention to their fancy carriages though, despite quietly noticing that not many of them were more beautiful than the one the Cavendische’s owned. What he noticed though was the state of the horses, and most of it was horrible. Poor creatures not properly taken care of, dirty in places that weren’t on display at first, limping, with scratches on their calves. He groaned in disapproval more than once. How people as rich and with as much power as those sitting in those carriages could justify it before themselves to treat their animals, who were also a representation of their household, of course, so badly, was completely beyond him. A reminder that money alone could not buy class, after all – or empathy, for that matter. Matty had assumed this to be the case for quite some time and with way too many carriages passing, he felt validated in it.
It was right after one remarkably big and opulent carriage passed him with a particularly bad looking horse that almost made him jump up to at least tell the driver that one of the animals was bleeding from its hoof, that he saw her. There was nothing special about her entrance, nothing in particular telling about the small figure hiding under the caped hood sitting on Celeste but he would have recognised her anywhere. The gracefulness with which she sat on the horse’s back, the subtle way she gave it directions, always very gentle but firm, leaving no place for confusion with the animal about where this was going to go.
And then her slight shift in posture when she saw him. The way her shoulders tightened just a fraction, the way she sat up a bit more upright (Matty wondered for a while if she was trying to seem taller than she was. Older than she was. More mature), everything was there right away. He wasn’t quite sure she saw him until she directed Celeste into his direction a little bit more, making her stop right in front of him. He greeted her properly, the bow so deep it was close to a mockery indeed without becoming one. Victoria didn’t respond immediately though, she just looked at him with her mouth slightly agape. He couldn’t help the self-indulgent smile forming around his lips. To be fair, it didn’t happen this far that she was impressed by the way he looked – at least not as long as he had his clothes on, that was.
“Do you like what you see, My Lady?”, he said, gently taking over the reins without even properly thinking about it. Victoria just looked at him, mouth slightly agape, shamelessly drinking him in with her eyes. He could see all too well how her gaze roamed his body, especially clinging to the places where his clothes were slightly too badly fitting to really be his.
“Good to see you, Matthew”, she said finally and he reciprocated the greeting again.
“Let me take care of the horse and I’ll meet you inside”, he offered but Victoria clicked her tongue.
“Now why should such a fine gentleman like you have to take care of a horse himself?”
Matty felt caught for a second, hiding his confusion behind clearing his throat.
“You…you’re right”, he said, trying to pull himself together. “How about I accompany you over to where the stablehands take care of the horses and I’ll take care of you.”
A small giggle filled the thick air in between them.
“That was the answer I was hoping to get from you tonight, Matthew…”
And with that she let him take the lead and guide her through the gates of the estate.
In hindsight, Matty was almost grateful that he didn’t get to see Victoria in the light until much, much later. He had watched her in the half dark, only the silhouette of her, mostly, when she got off the horse, put a hand on his arm and let him guide her inside. When they crossed the threshold to George’s and Charli’s home, she took her cape off and when he had the chance to see her in the light for the first time that night, his breathing stopped. Victoria’s hair wasn’t in an updo like it was so often during the day. Instead, it fell freely over her shoulders, soft, golden flow of long, perfect waves. Only the front strands were braided and intertwined with each other at the back of her head. The dress was a darker shade of white (Charli would educate him that it was called “cream” later in the evening), loaded with lace and pearls applied at the top. But what did it for him, and he had no idea it would, at first, were the gloves. Opera gloves to be more precise, the same shade as the dress and hugging her thin arms perfectly up until way over her elbows.
These beautiful hands whose touch he loved so much, covered in fabric, not directly touching him no matter what he tried. The thought alone made a considerable amount of blood rush out of his brain and into other body regions.
“Everything alright, Matthew?”
The smirk on Victoria’s lips was absolutely obvious in her voice.
“Yeah. I mean, I’m absolutely sure your only intent with this look was for me to loose my mind but apart from that…fine. Of course I’m fine.”
He wasn’t. And it was obvious she knew.
“Will you help me finish it then?”, she asked, the innocence in her voice so pure he almost fell for it. He didn’t understand what she was going for, not until she held the mask directly into his face. Once he understood, he immediately started to tie the bands together behind her head. When she turned around soon after, he could feel his knees falter for a second. The combination of the innocent, lace woven dress in the most beautiful shade of white, the mask hiding and accentuating her most delicate features alike and the goddamn gloves made his stomach turn in the best way. So unbelievably beautiful. Victoria leaned in, only a little.
“You have to put your mask on too, Matthew”, she said so hushed it was barely more than a whisper, “It’s a requirement so that we can be free tonight.”
The words alone made his hackles rise in the best kind of way. Free. Anonymous. Acting like their differences in class didn’t matter for one night and one night only. No hiding, or at least not more than everybody else did. No fear. No shame. Just two people enjoying each other's company. And oh did he enjoy hers. With steady, determined movements, he put his mask on.
Charli had insisted on greeting them in person. “I’m absolutely tired of you chewing my ear off about that girl everytime you come here and not having seen her yet”, she said in the tone very unique to her which, as Matty knew, left no room for discussion whatsoever. Alas, the first thing he did after guiding her into the ballroom was directing their steps towards the hosts of the evening. The Duke and the Duchess of Canterbury sat at a table on one side of the room, gracefully having an eye on their guests, the music, the state of the drinks and everything else that was considered important for the outcome of the evening. Matty went over, subconsciously pressing the fingers of Victoria’s hand down on his arm a little bit harder. Holding her close. Keeping her his.
“I’ll do the talking”, he said in a voice so soft only Victoria could hear him speak and didn’t wait exactly for her confirmation before they arrived in front of their hosts.
“Your graces”, Matty hinted at the ghost of a bow, courtesying in front of George still felt odd as hell to him, even after all these years, “If you allow me to introduce my escort for the evening: Lady Victoria Eleanor Cavendish, daughter of the Duke Charles Cavendish and the Duchess Harriett Cavendish, Duke and Duchess of Devonshire.”
Charli smirked. "Good evening, Lady Victoria.”
Victoria courtesied again before reciprocating the greetings.
“It’s my pleasure to welcome you on my estate and to this ball. Allow me to note how magnificent you look tonight.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Matty noticed how she kept her head slightly down, only looking up to Charli when she spoke to her directly, hands firmly folded in her lap and her right foot still in front of her left, ready to courtesy again as soon as it was necessary. As natural as breathing.
George patted Matty on the shoulder. “You two go enjoy yourselves, please. The freedom of anonymity.”
Matty thanked him briefly, noticing the glimmer in George's eyes all too well – and the curious frown on Victoria’s face. He also didn’t miss how George bowed down to her a little bit.
“You’re a very lucky girl, you know? I happen to know that Matty is actually an excellent dancer.”
Matty learned dancing from his father, a gifted musician. He would not only play music himself in the evenings on a regular basis while Matty was little, he would also teach him. Instruments, music, rhythm, how each instrument had its own language and how they could be made to fit all together. And how when that happened, something new could come of it. Dancing. A thing to be felt with every bone within your body. A thing to be executed with the heart and the soul as much as with the body itself. A motion that, if executed correctly, could become something almost as intimate as sex as Matty figured out during his teenager years.
Victoria was a magnificent dancer, he could tell within the first 20 seconds they moved across the hall together. She knew the exact steps to every common and every less-common dance, didn’t just let him guide her but also made it clear that she knew what was coming next. She moved in a natural grace and beauty he had barely seen anywhere this far, a flowing state of letting herself be guided by the music and by him alike. All of this without losing her loveliness, her continuance, the slight air of nobility that naturally surrounded her everywhere she went. She absolutely belonged here in her beautiful dress, with her carefully done hair, her jewelry, her fancy shoes. They kept on twirling along the dancefloor and while they did, Matty noticed that nobody seemed to bat an eye on him. Nobody seemed to think he didn’t belong here – not even Matty himself.
And for the first time ever, Matty let a small thought creep up into his head he had this far pushed back with everything he had within him: What if there was a place, somewhere, anywhere, where they could be like this together?
This far, the red line in his thoughts had always been the moment where it became too real. Where he was actually making plans. Because that was the point where he had to protect her. Not from himself, but from the life that would come with her choosing him. The poverty. The struggles. The reality of conditions of living she was in no way used to. But now that he was here, with her, moving across the dancefloor with her, him and her so mixed in with all the upper class folk like it was meant to be this way, it made him pause for a second. Just a second. Could it actually be worth it, all of this life he did neither want nor understand because it always felt nothing but superficial to him, just to keep her in his reach? Just to make her happy? For the fragment of a second he really started to wonder what would happen if he went to Lord Cavendish after his return and asked him for Victoria’s hand, officially.
For the past few months, every thought in this direction had felt absolutely absurd because in his head, the only option possible would have been for him to take her down with him. But somehow now that he moved along all those rich folk with her, all of those people who were here because Charli herself had chosen his best friend at some point, against all odds, against all opposition, he wondered if this wasn’t a path they might choose as well. And now that he looked at Victoria like that, he really began to wonder if “as well” might not actually refer to sooner than later.
“What is it?”, she asked softly, his gaze lingering on her obviously not escaping her notice.
“Nothing…”, Matty replied, hastily trying to pull himself together. “Nothing I just…got lost in thought a little bit.”
Victoria smiled at him like she knew.
“And while getting lost, what were you thinking about?”
Now Matty himself couldn’t help but smile. “How absolutely beautiful you are. And how amazingly lucky I a m that I get to see this beauty of yours every single day of my life.”
He could see her blush, only a little. That didn’t happen too often, but at the same time more often than both of them would admit. Victoria took the next chance where the dance moves required them to get even closer: “Do you want to see more of it?”
“Fuck me yes.”
Matty inhaled sharply, his head already hazy with ideas about what this might actually lead to. Victoria cleared her throat almost non audibly.
“Do you…happen to know a place that is perhaps a little more private?”
To say they ended up in George and Charli’s bedroom was a bit of a stretch, although Matty knew that when push comes to shove neither of his friends would have killed him for it. But fortunately, there was way more than one master bedroom in Canterbury’s house and Matty knew which one wasn’t usually in use by his friends. And so it happened that for the first time ever since they started this, he got to lay Victoria down carefully on soft sheets made of the finest fabric he knew. Matty stood in front of the bed for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, the sensation that she was. Beautiful, young, almost angelic as she lay there, the white of her dress melting into the white of the sheets, her golden hair flowing around it all so amazingly beautiful. He wanted to worship her with everything he had. Tonight wasn’t about the cold fulfilment of need, not about the want taking over. It was about dedication, he decided that just now.
Alas, he started with her mouth. Kissing her deeply. Passionately. Slowly. Making every second of it count, while one hand rested next to her head, the other softly stroked her hair. Slowly. Carefully. Not only did they have time, for once, they had the space. No threat of disturbance. No fear of who might see something and come to a conclusion. Nothing on his mind but her and her only. The taste of her lips was a familiar one by now. The movement of her tongue against his as beloved as every touch of hers to his body was. He almost couldn’t pull away. But he knew he had to.
“Let me make this special, Victoria. I want you to remember this night for the rest of your life, how does that sound to you?”
He hoped that the honesty he felt was present in every look they shared, in every touch in the tone of his voice.
“Perfect”, she whispered, putting a hand on his cheek and caressing his lower lip with her thumb. He didn’t bother with a proper response.
Instead he lowered his head to her neck putting slow, intense kisses on the delicate skin there. Feeling her pulse rush under his lips almost made him go feral. But he knew he couldn’t lose it. Not yet. So he kept on moving forward, slowly untying her dress, slipping it off her body inch by inch, his lips following suit. Her breasts were unveiled first and he used what he got, sucking on the skin, grazing her nipple with his teeth, swirling his tongue around it, all of that for both breasts, one after the other, taking his time, not rushing anything. He loved her breasts, he had ever since the first time, the perfect size to be cupped by one hand, innocent flesh never touched by lips other than his, never kissed by anyone but him. He slid the dress down further, caressing her body, her ribs, letting his breath tickle on her skin and watching her breathing become laboured the further down he got.
He kissed himself lower from the valley of her breasts to her hip, pressing little kisses on the soft skin, feeling every inch of her under his lips. He pulled the dress down over her hips, unveiling her completely. So beautiful. So his. She sighed when he pulled her underwear down, moaned softly when he bit down on the inside of her thigh. So responsive. So his. He buried his face in her cunt at once. No teasing. No testing the waters. all in. Licking one broad strip along her slit before sucking on her clit harshly. Determinately. Victoria moaned obediently, deeply like something was ripped from deep within her. He teased her hole with his fingers, his tongue drawing slow, calculated circles on her clit. He pushed his fingers into her in one swift motion and stilled, not letting go of her clit, railing her up a little bit. Enjoying every last bit of response he got from her. How wet she was. How her legs started shaking. How her breathing became laboured. He moved his fingers slowly while doubling his efforts on her clit. Victoria screamed his name but he didn’t let go of her in the slightest. He wasn’t done yet. He could feel her clench around him, faster, tighter , her entire body buzzing with want and need. Pushing a third finger in was what did it. Fast, swift motions, still letting his tongue swirl around her clit mercylessly. She fell apart screaming his name, and he could feel himself becoming painfully hard in his trousers. When he looked up to her again, he could see she was not really back yet. Her pupils were blown out, her legs still shaking and her gaze was glassy. Nonetheless, her grip on his shoulders was determined. She pulled him back up to her again, kissing him harshly.
“Lay down”, she whispered and he didn’t even think about contradicting her when she told him. He didn't exactly realize until now that she still wore her white gloves. They were the only thing she wore by now and she was a sensation in them. Kissing him softly, she let her clothed hands run along his body and the feeling of the silk touching his skin instead of her fingers almost drove him crazy. She was so close, yet there was a part of her he couldn't have. A part she deliberately held back from him. He bit back a moan. But it only became harder when she wrapped one of these clothed hands around his cock and started to jerk him off slowly. Deliberate, precise movements, but not skin on skin as per usual, but soft fabric closing around where he needed her most.
“You’re killing me”, was all he managed to mutter while he could already feel precum leaking out of him and assumed it was dripping onto her right glove. Victoria just smiled at him. So innocent. So anything but. He told her to stop when he got dangerously close to come. Because that was something he couldn’t risk. Not like that. Victoria looked at him in confusion for a moment.
“Let me make this right…”, he murmured before slowly sitting up and pushing her back down into the mattress. He kneeled between her thighs now, his gaze not leaving her eyes for as much as a second.
“Let me give it to you slowly…”
He lined himself up and pushed into her as if he was enjoying every second of it. Letting her feel every inch of him. Letting himself feel every inch of her. Victoria moaned softly.
“We have all the time in the world today, My Lady. Let’s make this right.”
He pushed into her further. A slow but controlled movement. When he sank into her completely, he put a kiss to her forehead.
“Tell me how it feels”, he demanded and Victoria sighed softly.
“Perfect”, she answered and he pulled out of her again almost completely before slowly sinking back into her.
“Matthew-”
But he put a finger on her lips before she could go on any further.
“Don’t. It’s ok. There’s no need to rush today. No need to hurry. I’ll give it to you properly, I promise. But let me enjoy this for a bit, ok?”
And with that he moved again. One slow, calculated withdrawal of his hips until nothing but his tip was still burried inside of her. He pushed back in just as slow, paying attention to her breathing, her eyes, her fingers gripping the skin on his shoulders. He set a rhythm. Slow. Deliberate. Just for enjoyment. The enjoyment of everything. The closeness. The shared intimacy. The conscious decision for one another. Over and over and over again. He put a hand on her right upper thigh, pushing it up, allowing himself to sink even deeper into her. Victoria closed her eyes in pleasure.
“Matthew…Matthew, please, I- I can’t I-”
He kissed her. Deeply. Perfectly synced with the movements of his hips. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer himself, not with the way she was clenching around him, not with him knowing how absolutely deep he was buried inside of her, hips flush against each others, not with how much he enjoyed being united with her, actually. He kept her thigh pushed up when he picked up his pace now. Strong, controlled movements that had her scream his name breathlessly. He stole some if it from her lips with kisses, some he let go. Kept on fucking into her like it meant something. And it did. This was theirs, finally. For the first time there was no “What If”, no forbiddenness anymore. It wasn’t in this place. His orgasm almost washed him away with how good it was and he came inside of her, staying where he was.Victoria followed soon after, he could feel her whole body tension under him when she came. Afterwards, she lay there with her eyes closed and he kept on caressing her face. Her skin. Her hair. Kept on telling her that he was there, that he was staying, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Sealing each promise with a kiss to her forehead.
She hissed when he pulled out of her slowly and he tried to make up for it with another kiss and by replacing his cock with his fingers, fucking the leftovers of his cum dripping down her thigh back into her slowly, deeply, deliberately. Because that was where it belonged. Where he belonged. As close to her as possible. Victoria sighed in pleasure and what he figured was overstimulation. He didn’t stop though. Not until she fell apart on his fingers for a second time and not until all of the spurs of white were gone from her thigh.
He didn’t let go of her after, not for much more than a second, pulling her head onto his chest the second he did in fact let go of her. Victoria looked up onto the ceiling. He looked down at her.
“Do you think George and Charli are aware of what we’re doing here?”, she asked
“They perfectly are.”
“Do you think they hate us?”
“They absolutely do not.”
Victoria giggled and lifted her head to kiss him once more. “Thank you”, she whispered against his lips, “For coming with me and for putting on the fancy clothes and the mask and…you know…it’s…nice to not have sore legs or having to worry about your back for once.”
Matty chuckled. “You never have to worry about my back, My Lady, you know that.”
“But I do!”, Victoria insisted, stroking his cheek. “Anyway, what I meant is: I love our little secret meetings in the stables. You know I do. It’s just…”, she cut herself off and sighed.
“I know…”, he murmured, burying his head in her hair, “I also know that you said my home is what you wanted. But this is more like it, isn’t it?”
His hand got lost in her hair a little bit more. Keeping her close. Because he knew the answer would break his heart. Victoria didn’t reply for a while. She also didn’t take her gaze away from him.
“It would seem like it is…”, she said slowly, “but at the same time, it isn’t. I think what makes it feel like it is you, in the end. And not the fact that there’s a thicker mattress here and a fluffy blanket and actual cushions.”
Matty could feel a lump built in his throat at her words. A different one than he would have expected though. Because her words didn’t hurt. They made him dream. Of a future together, an actual future, that maybe wasn’t as glamorous as Victoria once expected hers to be, but filled with love and support for each other, no matter what. A life in a small little house somewhere in the countryside. A ring on her finger. Children running around them they could raise together. Him coming home to her every evening and seeing her standing there in the kitchen, exhausted but happy just like he was. Because he could be with her. And she could be with him. He looked down at her again. Tried to focus on the weight of her body in his arms to ground himself. To remind himself that this was real. This was now. This was what they got.
Little did they know that this night would change everything. Little did they know what was going to come.
“The thing you wanted to say for ten minutes. The talk. How I’m playing with fire. How I don’t know what I’m doing, all that.”
George didn't reply immediately. Instead he scoffed and raised his eyebrows at Matty before saying:
“Oh I think you’re fully aware that you’re playing with fire. I also think you’re fully aware of what you’re doing. What you’re not aware of is that you lit the fuse months ago - and you have no idea how burned down it already is.”
