A Very Bracie Christmas

Mr. Bracegirdle and his wife, Lizzie, along with Mssrs. Kennedy and Hornblower pay a holiday visit to the London home of Captain Sir Edward and Lady Pellew. Oh! That mistletoe is damned prickly stuff!


*****

"Christmas in England, Mr. Bracegirdle! Think of it!"

The Captain of the "Indefatigable" was in an unusually ebullient humor, and his dark eyes glinted merrily as he handed Tony a brimming glass of his best port. They raised their glasses in a mutually acknowledged silent toast, and drank, and Tony smiled contentedly. He was first lieutenant of the best ship in the Navy, and his Captain the finest fellow on God's earth, with a cellar and table the inferior of none. He had just enjoyed a worthy filet of beef, and a lobster pie that was nothing short of divinity. The port was dark and sweet, and the sauce on the pudding was that for the first time in three years, they would be home for Christmas!

As if reading his thoughts, Pellew said, with a bit of an ironically raised eyebrow, "I don't know about you, sir, but it has been quite some time since I have had a taste of my wife's excellent puddings, if you take my meaning."

"Indeed, sir, I believe I do!" Tony grinned, rocking back on his heels, the port sinking down, oh, so satisfactorily, all the way to his belly, making him feel ever so warm and jolly. He thought then, of his own dear wife Lizzie's lovely puddings, so wonderfully big and round, so full of goodness, peaked with fluffy whiteness and topped with a glistening bright red cherry. He suddenly began to wish that they were still sitting down at the table, instead of having risen and strode to stand before the stern lights looking out on the just risen five-eighths of a moon, which was casting its gleam of silver and blue to catch on the leaping light ripples of the dancing black sea.

Tony inclined his body ever so slightly forward, as if peering at something of great interest outside the windows, and he forced himself to think of standing watch in a high sea on a very icy night, until the evidence of his enthusiasm for puddings had safely subsided.

"Were you able to get a letter to your wife, then?" asked the captain, turning to one side, and appearing to take especial notice of something outside the windows, just as Tony had, and Tony wondered if perhaps the thought of wifely puddings was having a similar effect on his captain as it had on him. Just thinking that thought caused him to think of those other thoughts, and those thoughts, he thought, he should not be thinking! Therefore, he thought to turn his thoughts to an image of eight-year-old ship's biscuit, all a-crawl with weevils (always an effective measure when all else failed), and he replied presently:

"Ah, yes, sir. If all goes well, and weather permitting, she should be arriving in London just shortly before we do. It is good of Lady Pellew to have invited us. I cannot think when Lizzie and I last had a stay in London. Certainly not since before Franny was born." He sipped his port and smiled some more, thinking then of his three dear little girls, and how he could not wait to gather them all into his arms and squeeze and kiss and tickle them until they squawked to be put down.

"Very good, sir, very good," said the captain," I trust there will be something tolerable on at the theatre, and goodness knows Mrs. Pellew dearly loves to feed people. Mr. Hornblower will be stopping with us as well, and Mr. Kennedy, as it is rather a long journey for him to undertake to go home for so short a time. We shall be a gay houseful, then, and still have you home to your daughters in good time for the great day, eh?"

"Aye, sir," Tony agreed, falling back into happy thoughts of warm, soft beds and plump, sweet puddings, and Lizzie, his pretty, darling Lizzie, his wife, and the sweet, sweet girl of his dreams.

*****

Sir Edward and Lady Pellew's newly let townhouse in Grosvenor Square was in the midst of a redecorating, and Tony and Lizzie had been given one of the newly done-up rooms, a lovely, cozy chamber with its own little sitting and dressing rooms, and large windows that looked out on a sliver of a view of the winter bare tree branches and sugar-frosted greenery of Hyde Park that lay just beyond the intervening rooftops.

Susannah, Lady Pellew, the consummate hostess, had seen to her guest's every comfort, and Tony had availed himself of the unaccustomed luxury of a hot bath, and now felt himself to be a completely new man. Finished dressing, he sat on a little chair in the dressing room, watching as Lizzie applied the final touches to her toilette.

Seeing her for the first time after a separation was always a revelation. Always, she was more beautiful that he had remembered, and always there was that warm current of mutual desire between them, the heated stream that flowed just below the surface and never seemed to cool, no matter how long the time had been, or how they might have imagined or feared that awkwardness and unfamiliarity would somehow find its way between them.  

"Let me," he said softly, rising and moving up behind her, taking in his big hands the unclasped ends of her necklace, a simple golden strand with a large, round aquamarine surrounded by tiny diamonds, his gift to her after the birth of their second child.  In the mirror he could see that on this night, the stone matched her marvelous, ever-changing eyes, soft blue-green in the light of the glass lamps that flanked the dressing table.

The back of her neck was so sweet. Soft, smooth biscuit colored skin with its nearly invisible furring of pale downy hairs, and a wisp or two of shining corn silk that had escaped her upswept coiffure curling so seductively onto her bare shoulders. Fastening the clasp, he bent to kiss the spot just in the middle, barely brushing the skin with his lips and causing her to scrunch her shoulders and give a little shudder.

"Tony…" she sighed, leaning back against his chest in spite of her resolve. He smelled wonderfully manly, freshly shaven and doused in lavender and bay, a faint smell of the sea lingering in the wool of his dress uniform. "Really, we can't…"

"Really, we can't…wait?" he whispered hopefully, as he buried his face in her shoulder, his arms sliding around her still-tiny waist and his hands moving up to cover her lovely breasts over the glossy pale blue silk of her gown. "First the theater…then supper, then…it will be hours and hours and hours," he moaned.

"They are waiting for us," she said, raising her hand to stroke his smooth, ruddy cheek. "But after the theater, and after supper, and after…I promise you, Mr. Bracegirdle, I do intend to welcome you home."

*****

The parlor, newly decorated in contrasting shades of dark green and cream, was looking wonderfully festive, and it was warm and fragrant with the holiday smells of rosemary and holly and evergreen that draped and festooned and swagged every logical place: mantles, mirrors, portraits, tables and window frames. The room was lively with the flicker of candlelight and the tinkle and flourish of the pianoforte. A delicious little supper had been laid out when the party returned from the theater, but Tony had done his best not to overindulge, not wanting to render himself drowsy with food and drink, with the penultimate event of the evening still to come. It was ever so difficult, though, to pass up second and third helpings of so many of his favorites. Plates were piled high with slices of beef and veal; there was herb-roasted chicken and a grand display of ham in Madeira wine sauce. It was a trial to stay away from the tiny pear tarts wrapped in marzipan, and the fruit-filled almond cake, and there was spiced wine and rum punch and champagne besides!

Tony had stolen as many kisses from Lizzie as he dared beneath the mistletoe that hung at the bottom of the stair and in the entrance to the parlor, but he feared to get too carried away, lest he should find himself once more in an embarrassing state of public tumescence. He was impatient, and anxiously awaiting the time when it would be late enough to say their gracious goodnights and be off to bed, but still, he had to confess to himself that he was enjoying the evening.

It had been most amusing to watch poor young Mr. Hornblower color and choke when Lady Pellew, having had a glass or two of champagne, had responded to her husband's remark about the pleasant anticipation of sleeping in a bed that neither rocked nor rolled, with a quip to the effect that "some others of us were looking forward to something rather the opposite."

Miss Julia Pellew, just seventeen and on the cusp of coming out for her very first season, was being permitted to try her wings in this intimate company and in the privacy of the family home. She seemed utterly captivated with the admittedly very attractive young Mr. Kennedy, and he seemed more than willing to indulge the pretty dark-haired miss who would cut her first flirtatious teeth upon his person. Plumped down beside her at the pianoforte he helped to bang out tune after tune, adding his complimentary tenor to Julia's somewhat husky, but appealing mezzo. While the music played, Hornblower, Tony noted, looked ready to climb a wall.

Winded at last, Kennedy turned his fallen angel's smile and eyes of messianic blue on the hapless young lady, and recited the evening's umpteenth toast:

"Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here's to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting, extravagant queen,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty!
Let the toast pass;
Drink to the lass;
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass!"

"Hear, hear!" called the eldest member of the party, dear old Admiral Sir Tudball Sapperthwaite, Lady Pellew's godfather, who was looking a little unsteady on his spindly pins and much the worse for wear as he sloshed champagne all over the front of his rather rumpled and slightly moth-nibbled dress coat that was lavished with every decoration he had ever earned in his long years of service.

"Really, Grandpapa!" cried the lovely Miss Patricia Sapperthwaite, rushing to his side and tugging his handkerchief from his vest pocket to dab at the wet spots. It would seem something of a losing battle, as Sir Tudball continued to dribble as she dabbed, and at last she despaired, saying, "I suppose it is time I got you home!" She looked about her, her pretty head turning on a slender swan neck that seemed almost too delicate to support the weight of an artistically arranged pile of shining red-gold hair.

"Oh, Mr. Hornblower!" she implored, "I do wonder if you would be so good as to accompany us? I fear I shall never get him in and out of the carriage by myself, and our coachman, Bumbight, is of no use at all, with his bad back."

Hornblower looked as if he'd just he'd been asked to stand at the back of an eighteen-pounder that was ready to be touched off, but with a nod from his captain he squared his shoulders, and taking the old boy's one arm, with Patricia on the other, took command.  

At long last the evening seemed to be in its decline, but goodnights were taking far too long for Tony's liking, and then, to his despair, Lizzie was able to slip off ahead of him, while he was prevailed upon to share a last glass with Sir Edward in his private study, and compelled to endure a lengthy and enthusiastically exhibited viewing of the captain's prized collection of misshapen musket balls, gathered from the decks of various ships over the years.  There was one that looked exactly like a sleeping rabbit, several that could only be described as rather rude, and the piece de resistance, placed reverently in Tony's palm, was an uncanny simulacra of the face of Nelson----the hero of Cape St. Vincent himself---in profile.

After leaving Sir Edward, Tony then discovered the need to make a trip to the necessary, which he had some trouble finding. Ascending the stairs in semi-darkness, seemingly hours after Lizzie and everyone else had gone up, Tony sighed and hoped she had not dropped off to sleep already. Hopeful and smiling to himself, he snatched down a sprig or two of the mistletoe that hung suspended from a red velvet ribbon at the foot of the stair, and tucked it into his top buttonhole.

Then, reaching the landing, he realized with some alarm that he must have overindulged in drink in spite of himself, for he could not for the life of him remember which of the identical tall mahogany doors ranged on either side of the generously proportioned upstairs hall belonged to the room that he and Lizzie shared.

After pondering helplessly for a good several minutes, Tony got hold of himself," Look here, man, you are an officer in His Majesty's Navy. What is needed here is a command decision!"

With that he strode forward decisively, confidently grasping the heavy brass knob of the door he now knew with certainty was his own, opened it, and went inside.

*****

Horatio was feeling gallant and chivalrous, returning from his mission, which had not been nearly as harrowing nor dangerous as he might have imagined. Miss Patricia was not only pretty, but very clever and amusing, and they'd had a most enjoyable conversation in the carriage, she sitting comfortably close beside him whilst poor old Sir Tudball snored away on the seat opposite.  She smelled so deliciously lady-ish, and she laughed with delight at all of his "quips and sallies", which, for once, seemed not to be falling as flat as the proverbial pancake.

He was blowing air through his lips in what, for him, passed for a casual whistle, and running a hand through his tousled dark curls, shaking off a few flakes of fluffy snow that were melting there, as he approached the door to the room he was to share with Archie.

"H-h'ratio?" a shaky voice came to him in the darkness, and looking down he saw a figure in a white flannel nightshirt huddled against the wall.

"Archie?" he whispered. "What are you doing out here?"

At first there was no reply.

"Archie?" Horatio repeated himself, and then, impatient, fell into habit, "Mr. Kennedy, report!"

"Horatio…" came a strangled voice at last, "Its Miss Julia!" Archie swallowed hard. "She took me by surprise, she came out of nowhere!"

"What are you talking about?"

The blue eyes were wide with terror, "She's in my bed, Horatio! The captain's daughter! When I saw her there, I…I panicked! I knew I was doing it, but I couldn't stop myself! That's when I ran out here…only now I don't know what to do!"

"Archie," Horatio squatted down, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I don't think you have anything to fear from Miss Julia."

Archie shook his head vehemently, "She means to seduce me, Horatio!"

"Aye, of course she does!" whispered Horatio, "And to my mind, you asked for it, with all that flirting you were doing downstairs!" He pursed his full, sensuous lips in prudish disapproval.

"It was terrible Horatio! And…she smelled really lovely too! She said she'd used some sort of rose-scented dusting powder!"

"Archie," Horatio spoke calmly. "Her powder's no threat to you. As long as you keep your head, and keep your nightshirt on, she can't possibly touch you."

Archie sighed, shuddering as he hugged his knees. "I tell you Horatio, I came damned close! I'm only human! And Lord, by the way, did you happen to get a look at the spritsails on Mrs. Bracegirdle?

"Archie," Horatio began reproachfully, "I hardly think that's---" He sighed. "God, yes! She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Archie nodded. "It’s no wonder old Bracie never stops smiling." Then, remembering his dilemma, he asked, "Where are we going to sleep?"

That was a good question, admittedly. Horatio stood for a moment, then started pacing back and forth in front of the door. His shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and felt something there.

"Here, Archie," he said, "You'd better put on my boat cloak."

"Why?" asked Archie, bewildered.

"I need you to come back to the Admiral's house with me. Maybe by the time we get back, Miss Julia will have given up and gone to her own room."

Horatio reached down, pulling Archie to his feet.

"But why are we going to the Admiral's house?" queried Archie.

Horatio held up the object he had found in his pocket. A faint gleam of metal showed up in the dim light.

"Its his Knight-of-the-Bath Star," Horatio lowered his voice and said a little sheepishly, "Sir Tudball was asleep in the carriage on the ride home, and Miss Patricia…well…she was letting me try on some of his medals. How the devil it got into my pocket, I don't know. But I think we'd better get it back before he misses it! Come on! I shouldn't like to get Miss Patricia into any trouble with her grandfather."

"But I'm not wearing any shoes!" Archie wailed as Horatio dragged him off down the stairs.

*****

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. While the door he had chosen was not, in fact, the one to his bedroom, it did appear he had opened the one to the little adjoining sitting room. Stealthily he crept to the chamber door and opened it a crack, peering in. Lizzie was abed, with the curtains drawn against the draft, and a single candle had been left burning on the little table beside the bed.

Lizzie. It had been so long! His thoughts got the better of him as he began to get undressed, dropping his clothes onto floor and chairs. In a few more moments he would be home! He would gather her lovely, warm, soft, nakedness in his arms. He would kiss her breathless and make love to her for as long and as many times as his body would allow.

Oh, he was already in a state! Standing to like a marine, his musket cocked and trigger ready!

Untying the ribbon from his queue, he suddenly found himself inspired by a rather wicked idea.  Bending down, he fished about in the folds of his topcoat that he had dropped on the floor. Grinning mischievously, and thinking himself very naughty indeed, he retrieved the sprig of mistletoe he'd tucked into his buttonhole.

It took a bit of doing to get it just right, the ribbon tied just so, snug enough to hold the mistletoe in place, but not too tight, mind, and to arrange the greenery so as to display it at just the right jaunty angle, the waxy, white berries sort of drooping over the top, a perfect invitation to a kiss.

Mistletoe was damned prickly stuff, Tony observed, as he let himself quietly into the bedroom, and advanced on tiptoe towards the bed. He could scarcely contain a giggle as he stood before the drawn curtains, ready to make his grand entrance.

"Give us a kiss, darling!" he crowed joyfully, flinging the drapes open wide. He was grinning from ear to ear, and he thrust himself forward enthusiastically so as to call attention to his lovingly prepared surprise.

Lady Pellew was marvelously calm. She merely blinked several times, and raised one elegant hand to her mouth, and in that ghastly and horrifying first split second, Tony saw astonishment, and then a most definite twinkle of mirth in her light blue eyes. Then, another agonizing quarter of a second later he gasped, and clapped his hands over himself as he saw those eyes flick downward.

"Good God, man!" roared Sir Edward, rising off the pillows like an avenging god, eyes afire. "What the devil do you mean appearing before my wife---" he was waving his hand in the air, furiously searching for the word, "En flagrante!"

"Sir!" Tony stammered, "I-I beg your pardon! I did not mean to…I thought I was…"
Lord, he had a sprig of mistletoe tied 'round his cock! "I beg your pardon!"

There was nothing to do but fly before the wind! He felt he was burning all over with embarrassment, and he wondered, as he fled, if his arse was as red as his face surely must be.

"Oh, stop that!" growled Sir Edward, watching his wife, who was dissolved in giggles, the tears streaming down her soft, pretty face. "Really, Susannah, it's unseemly!"

"Oh, oh Edward!" she squealed, doubled over with laughter. "Oh, the poor man! Oh, did you see what he'd done to his—oh!" She flung herself back down, hugging her pillow, unable to stop herself tittering.

"That's enough, Susannah," fumed Pellew. "Honestly, you're behaving like a schoolgirl!"

Finally she got a hold of herself, and rolling over to face him, gave a long sigh as she began to catch her breath.

"But you know, Edward," she began, blue eyes still dancing, "I really have to say, when I first saw it…I mean before it started to…I did think it most impressive!"

"Bah!" he spat in disgust, reaching across her body to snuff the candle. "I'll show you impressive, woman!"

He drew the bed curtains closed with a snap. The room was completely dark, and then, after a minute:

"There! What say you now, madam?"

A giggle and a sigh. "Oh, Sir Edward!" she cried. "Now I know why they call you 'post'-captain!"

*****

"This is madness, Horatio!" said Archie, hopping up and down in an effort to stay warm. They'd nicked a pair of boots for him out of the gardener's shed in the back of Pellew's house, but with no stockings, and clad in only a nightdress and a boat cloak, it was bloody cold. They stood on the darkened street outside the admiral's door.

"What are you going to do now, hm?" Archie inquired peevishly, his teeth chattering, "You can't just walk up and knock on the door, can you? It looks as if everyone's gone to bed!"

"I must give it over to Miss Patricia, Archie," said Horatio, a man who knew his duty.

"And how are you going to manage that?" Archie hissed, stomping his feet to try and restore sensation to his frozen toes.

"Well, " said Horatio contemplatively, "If I am not mistaken, that's her standing in that window in her nightdress, waving a lighted candle back and forth to get our attention."

Archie looked up, and sure enough, high above the street in a third story window stood Miss Patricia Sapperthwaite, candle in hand, smiling gently down upon them, her glorious red-gold hair streaming over her shoulders. She made an astonishing, yea, an inspiring sight, and Archie wondered if she was aware that the backlight from the lamp in the room behind her was shining through the thin fabric of her nightgown, casting the slender, curving shape of her body into a seductive silhouette.

"Wait here," said Horatio, moving forward. "I won't be a moment."

"But Horatio, that's three floors! How are you going to—"

"I shall ascend the rigging---I mean, this rose trellis," Horatio called back, vaulting gracefully over the low iron fence, and hurling himself onto the trellis, and without hesitation, beginning to climb like a right proper tar up the side of the building. Above him, Miss Patricia was opening the window, and she leaned out, calling soft encouragement.

Standing beside the fence, Archie looked up at his dangling friend, and said in a loud, bemused whisper, "I remember when you used to be a-feared of heights, Mr. Hornblower!"

"Nothing's changed, Mr. Kennedy!" Horatio whispered back as he slipped in through the open window.

"Well. He's not coming back," Archie sighed to himself, wrapping the boat cloak close around him. "And I'm not bloody waiting around." He glanced up at the third story window once more, just in time to see it go black as the light was doused.

"Well, Julia, m'dear," he said, shuffling off down the street, "Make sail, or prepare to be boarded, is all I've got to say!"

*****

This time, Tony found the right door with no trouble at all.

"Tony!" Lizzie exclaimed, when he burst through the door, panting and heaving, completely naked but for a scrap of ribbon and a bit of something else dangling from his privates. "Darling! What on earth---? Where have you been?"

"Oh, Lizzie!" he cried, making a beeline for the bed. Like a panicked seal making for the safety of open water, he dove beneath the bedclothes, pulling them up to cover his head.

Lizzie lifted the blankets to look at his flushed, anguished face. "Tony, what is it? What's happened?"

"Oh, it was awful! Awful! Oh, this is the worst night of my life!" he groaned.

"Tell me!" she demanded, exasperated.

She did her best to keep a sympathetic face as he related the tale, feeling the corners of her mouth twitching almost uncontrollably, as she stroked his sweating forehead, and tried to soothe him.

"There, there, never mind," she crooned, "It will all be forgotten in the morning."

"No it won't!" he moaned, putting his hand across his eyes. "Oh, luvvy, all I wanted was to come to you at last. I've missed you so!"

She pulled his hand away from his face with her own. "Well, here I am, my darling. And here you are. We're together now," she whispered. Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed each finger in turn.

"Oh, but now I don't think I can!" he said despairingly. "I am unmanned!"

"No. Not my Tony," she said firmly, laying another kiss in the middle of his broad chest. She ran her hands over him, feeling his strength, the comforting heft of him that she loved.

"Now, let me have a look. What have you brought me, hm?" she said lightly, her golden head vanishing beneath the covers.

"Its no good, Lizzie," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm done for." He could feel her wriggling her way down his body, felt the prickle and scratch of the mistletoe as her fingers fiddled around down there, untying the ribbon. After a moment, she scooted back up, mistletoe in hand, and she dangled it above his head.

"I claim a kiss, sir, and you may not refuse me!"

"Lizzie…"

 Her smile was so gentle, so loving, her eyes dark indigo in the faint candlelight.

"Kiss me, Tony," she whispered, her voice throaty with desire, softly demanding. She kissed him lightly, brushing her warm, soft lips over his, until they parted, then letting the tip of her tongue glide for just one tantalizing instant between them.

Then her hands were on him, stroking him.

"Oh, that is a sad little pudding," she commiserated, touching him as gently as she would the fragile petals of a flower.

"I told you," he sniffed.

"Is there really nothing to be done?" she asked innocently. "I must say, I am rather disappointed," she went on caressing him gently, rhythmically. He closed his eyes, soothed by the sound of her voice, her tender touch.

She lay alongside him, her body molded to his, her lips moving against his cheek, as she went on talking. "All day, and all evening, I confess," she was saying, "I've been able to think of nothing but…" she lowered her voice to a husky whisper, her breath tickling the tiny hairs in his ear, and his body tensed as she suddenly began to say the most wicked things.

Little fingers tickled at the underside of his balls, circled the shaft of his manhood, sliding up and down the length of him, coaxing, encouraging, as she continued to whisper the filthiest, loveliest things, and her hot little hand stroked and squeezed and circled and slid, slowly bringing him back, in spite of himself, to burgeoning, blossoming readiness.

"Take me, Tony!" she urged him. "I want you, my darling! Oh,  how I love you!"

An odd little sound came from his throat, something between a whimper and a sigh as his arms went around her, crushing her sweet, yielding body to his, and kissing her fiercely. She opened to him, warm and wet, tasting faintly of sugar and champagne, and he rolled her onto her back, hands searching for the hem of her nightdress, pushing up under, caressing her smooth, plump thighs and scrumptious bottom.

"Why, Mr. Bracegirdle, sir," she purred, grasping him firmly and increasing the speed of her stroke. "I thought you were unmanned!"

"Temptress," he murmured. "Vixen! Dear little witch!" he removed her hand and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "What man could resist you, my own Lizzie Jane?"

In a single swift motion he pulled the nightdress off over her head. Laughing, she sat up astride him, and threw back her shimmering moon-pale hair.

"What man would not want you?" he asked her, running his thumb along the silky soft underside of one full, creamy breast. "You are so beautiful."

"But I belong to you," she said, letting herself fall forward onto his chest, laying her hands on his big shoulders as he wrapped her in his arms. "I am yours," she whispered.  "Make me yours again, Tony."

He claimed her sweet mouth once more in a kiss that held his whole heart, and all of his tender passion. He rolled her in his arms, pressing her down into the enveloping softness of the deep feather tick. She was all yielding sweetness beneath him, all soft breasts, and open thighs and welcoming arms. He wanted to make love to her slowly, to learn and to know every part of her all over again, but he'd been too long without her, and he needed her so. There would be time for the other the next time.

She was like honey, like silk, all smooth, sticky, slippery and good as he slid inside.

"Ooh!" she said.

"Yes!" he whispered in reply.

The current of joy at their joining hummed through them, and they twined together, kissing and whispering, desperate to prolong the delicious sensation. At last, he began to move slowly within her, knowing it was hopeless, unable to control his own arousal, let alone Lizzie's. Already he could feel her tightening on him, clasping him with tiny little spasms that drove him to bite his lip and groan, as he tried to keep his rhythm.

"Go on," she urged him, her hands moving to his buttocks, squeezing him, bringing him closer and deeper, "Yes…oh, yes! Oh, come!"

He held himself on his elbows, and the need of his body took him, his hips plunging strongly, relentlessly, as she held him to her with gripping thighs and grasping hands.

He kissed her again at the moment she came, and then the wave broke over him, and he was tossed on a sea of sensation, his heart beating wildly against his ribs, and he could feel her heart, too, pounding against his bosom as if trying to break through the flesh to join with his. There was nothing in the world to compare with this, this joining of hearts, this union of souls, two bodies made to be one in the sweetest expression of earthly love.

 He lay lightly upon her, as his passion ebbed, holding himself a little on his arms so as not to crush her with his weight. Lying on her pillow was the rather flattened sprig of mistletoe, and he reached for it now, and held it over her, letting it trace a line from her forehead and down over her pretty upturned nose, over her mouth and chin.

A drowsy contentment was overtaking him, as his body's pressing hunger was for the moment assuaged, and the love he felt for this woman, the love he would always feel, had found its expression. He was at peace. He'd come home.

*****

Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Robert Louis Stevenson "Requiem"

The End

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