Story by Trixie
It was going to be special tonight, she had decided. It was their anniversary. Five years of marriage. Six years since they had met. He had fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. She had fallen in love with him two months later. They had moved in four months after that and then, they were engaged, married. Her parents, divorced, had told her she was a fool. That it would never last. That she was wasting her life. His parents told him that she was a gold-digger, what gold he had yet to work out, that she would abuse him and leave. Their friends had discussed them in hushed whispers. Advised against the wedding and then, started betting on how long it would take before their marriage ended. They had been wrong of course, they had all been wrong and neither husband nor wife were able to hide their glee at the fact that they had outlasted all the bets that had been placed on their marriage.
They weren't particularly well off, she could have married someone with a better job, he could have allowed his parents to keep him at home and cosset their baby boy, but their house was beautiful. Simple. It was their home. A room would be painted one month. A new set of curtains run up three months later. Five years' worth of simple changes is a lot when you want it to be. When you have something to work towards.
She worked as a paediatric nurse. Twelve hour shifts. Six days out of fourteen. During bad months she would pick up work through agencies. Working long hours so that they could hoard away every cent that was earned. He was a professor who taught literature classes at a university to students who were either applying themselves or simply wasting his or their own time. He edited books occasionally, when they needed the money, during the long summer months, or that year, three years ago, when he had been to unwell to work.
They had met by accident. She was in her first year of nursing in a ward filled with children whose hearts were quite literally, broken. He was visiting his best friend's son who had broken his leg and had, by sheer luck, been placed onto her ward. She had nearly tripped over him. She had apologised. He had smiled, reassured her and said. 'It's ok, I'm used to it.' The eight year old was as good as a nephew to him, and so he had visited every day once he had been finished with his classes. They had begun to talk. They had so much in common. It turned out that the boy with the broken leg; his mother and she were second cousins. She had been invited for dinner the same day he was. They talked more.
She had been the one to ask him on a date. He had, after a lecture from his best friend's wife, asked her to move into his home, his life. When he had proposed, she said yes. When she had begged for a fast wedding he had agreed. It had been a mutual decision that they elope. His best friend and hers acting as their witnesses. Five years.
They had not been easy years. They laughed. They cried. There were highs and lows. They argued. They made up. She was beautiful, young, vibrant twenty-two when they were married. He was tired, shy, damaged thirty-three. They had been told that they were rushing towards disaster. Instead. They had blossomed.
Katherine Hudson surveyed her reflection in the full length mirror in their bedroom. She was frowning. Tonight would be perfect, she was determined that it would be perfect. There had been too many extra hours pulled in the last month. Too many shifts where she would come home and simply crawl into bed, too exhausted to even eat. The money was being hoarded away. They needed it. Tonight thought, tonight was about them. Five years. Five years since she had married a man who was eleven years older, since she had angered her entire family by eloping, five years since she had made one of the best decisions of her entire life. She had waxed and plucked every errant hair on her body. Her toe nails were painted. Her fingernails filed. She had had a bath and then rubbed the lotion that smelled like lavender into her skin. Her hair, washed and dried, hung around her like a cloud. The lace negligee was black and edged in crimson ribbon. It had to be perfect. They had both been so tired lately.
She smiled suddenly, her face softening and turned. There were candles spread over the room. She would light them before she let him in. Music, their wedding song, would be played and they would simply be together. One. Joined.
Twisting her hair into a bun she wiggled out of the baby doll camisole and placed it carefully on the end of the bed. Pulling a dress over her head she pirouetted. Perfect.
He had bought the house before he met her. With the money from the payout that he never talked about. When she had moved in it was suited to him, a bachelor who didn't care about things like being comfortable in his own home. She had moved her furniture into his home and claimed the kitchen table as her sewing bench. Within weeks it was more inviting. Five years later…. It was their sanctuary. The kitchen had been remodelled when he had bought it. She still loved the pristine benches and gas stove. Their oven was almost constantly in use and her baking was legendary on the ward that she worked on.
Kate had prepared the dinner plans meticulously. His favourite meal followed by desert. Or maybe two deserts, the bowl of chocolate ganache would no doubt come in handy… later. She danced when she cooked, the music from the I-pod on its dock drowning out any noise or distractions that could bother her. She loved cooking, how many hours had they spent, him stealing tastes of whatever she was making, her rapping his knuckles with a wooden spoon. Laughing. Kissing him. Kissing her.
The weather was cooling down, it promised to be a cold winter and she hated that. He hated winter. The cold, miserable, bleak days depressed him. She hated that. There was, of course, the long winter nights, curled together on the couch near the fire, or snuggled under the many blankets on their bed. An upside to everything.
She had slid the pie, with its home-made pastry, into the oven when a hand lightly swiping across her bottom made her jump.
"Jon!" Her eyes lit with pleasure. "You are home early."
Jonathan Hudson tugged his wife closer. "I decided that grading papers could wait until tomorrow. It is, after all, the best day of my life. Is it not, dear one?"
Kate laughed and straddled his lap. "Yes, I should hope it is." Her lips met his and their kiss was slow, a perfect dance as their mouths worshiped on another. Pulling back a little she studied him closely. Her fingers brushed an errant lock of greying hair away from his forehead. "How was your day, Professor Hudson?"
"Better now," Jon murmered as he feathered kisses down her jawline.
"Oh, you do know exactly what to say!" Kate murmered as his lips moved down the column of her throat, his path made easier as she lifted her head, her fingers pressing deep into his shoulders, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly.
"I love you," the soft whisper was against her lips again.
"I love you too." Kate smiled. "I was meant to have everything ready for when you came home!"
"I wanted to be with you," Jonathan confessed rather cheerfully.
"Well, I won't object to that." Kate began to loosen his tie. "How are you feeling?" The question was very serious.
He smiled at her, a gentle smile that smoothed some of the deep lines on his face. "Better now, my heart. Perhaps in a few hours I will feel even more wonderful than I do right now with you in my arms."
Kate's soft laugh rang out again as she removed his tie and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt. He loved her laugh. Loved that he could make her laugh. "I think that is entirely possible." She rose, clearly reluctant. "I should clean this away and prepare your desert."
"Do we need desert?"
Kate flashed him a smile as she piled the used dishes into the sink. "Do you want croissant bread and butter pudding."
"Ah, then, love, why don't I empty the dishwasher?"
The music that had continued playing, ignored now, was suddenly switched off.
"Excellent, no yelling."
"No teasing." Kate scolded, flicking him with a tea towel and darting out of his reach with a quick laugh.
"I was being perfectly serious," the twinkle in Jonathan's eyes gave him away. He had opened the dishwasher and was beginning to unload the cutlery onto a try that rested across his lap. Every movement was careful, deliberate. He had been in the wheelchair for twelve years now. After a horrific car accident when a drunken driver had collided with his car.
Ruining so many of his dreams and leaving him dependent on others for so long. His fight for independence had been long, painful. This house, their home, had been bought four years before he met her. Bought and then adjusted to suit his needs. His parents had hated the step of independence that was so strongly encouraged by his best friend and his family. He called them his cheer squad, his world before he had met Kate. His beautiful Kate who had seen past his wheelchair. Past his hands that were slow to grip objects. Past everything that complicated his life.
"So, how else are you planning on spoiling me tonight?" Jonathan questioned suddenly. He was watching his wife restack their dishwasher and admiring the view that he knew that she knew she was providing by keeping her back to him while she bent over.
"Who said there was anything else? Maybe you have to spoil me too."
"Ah, that will be easy, my heart. There is something of a spoiling tucked away in my satchel."
"We said no presents this year!"
"I know," he held his hand up quickly. "This is small, I promise. Something that is more sentimental than anything. I know we are saving for…" an odd, shuttered look crossed his face.
"I didn't mean it like that." She abandoned layering the croissants in a try to move to his side. Settling herself on his lap she cupped his face in her hands. "We don't have to go down that route. There are other options."
"All equally as expensive," Jonathan's smile was bitter, forced.
"We don't have to do anything. I am happy just you and me. We have Jake and Cindy's kids to look after us in our old age."
"No. You want to have a baby. I want us to have a baby. I just…" His hands curled around her wrists. "I am being maudlin."
"Yes, but I love you anyhow."
"Good, because I really don't want to tell my mother she was right and that you were after my money."
"That's all it is, Love, just your money!"
His smile was real now but Kate was suddenly serious once more. "And love, any baby we have, no matter if we adopt or if we use donor sperm, it will be our baby." She kissed him again before springing to her feet. "Stop distracting me! I have things to do! Go shower and freshen up. No going into the bedroom. There are clothes in the bathroom."
"Bossy." He retorted as he manoeuvred out of her way. He adored her.
There were two bathrooms in their house. The main bathroom and the en-suite. Both had been remodelled to suit him and his needs. There was a strap around his waist, essential so he did not fall from the chair and he unfastened it carefully, feeling the slump that came from the loss of support. He undressed with the ease of two years of practice, shirts over his head, Kate would unbutton them before they were washed and re-button them once they were ironed. Shoes were always more difficult but there was a plethora of aids in this house to assist him. When he was finally naked he made the transfer to the shower chair. He avoided staring at his naked body in the mirror, emaciated legs, the soft paunch of a stomach that had no muscles, the catheter that snaked its way out of the incision in his stomach that had been made so many years ago. It made him wonder how his beautiful wife could see past it and still desire him. Blessed.
It was dark. They had eaten dinner in candlelight, desert had been finished and Kate was curled against Jonathan, the flicker of the candles the only light in their kitchen.
"Viagra?" He whispered the word against her ear.
"Up for it?" They had to be careful. If he was having a bad week, if the pain was overwhelming and he'd been forced to treat it then they couldn't use the drugs that treated his dysfunction. Any hint of headaches or dizziness could mean disaster if the drug was used. They were always careful.
"Oh, yes, my heart."
Kate rose and popped the tablet into her hand. Placing it onto his tongue she watched him swallow it with a glass of sparkling grape juice. "Give me five minutes, darling," she kissed the corner of his lips. "And then you can come in. And don't you dare undress yourself!"
"You can come in now." Kate was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Jonathan froze in the doorway. "My god." His eyes racked over her and a slow smile spread across his face. "My love."
Kate laughed. "Yes, this is all yours."
He pushed his chair closer to her and she straddled him, sitting across his legs, staring into his eyes. Her arms twined around his neck and his hands rested lightly on her waist. They were quite for a long moment, staring in silence, eyes locked in wordless communication.
"Yes," Jonathan whispered. His hands slid under the lace and he cupped her breasts in his hands. They were heavy, soft against his hands. His thumbs carefully scuffed over her nipples, and then again. Kate moaned softly and arched into him. His injury often left him with cramping hands and even this simple movement did not come as easily to him as it did to so many others.
"Arch up," Jonathan whispered against her lips and she shifted so that her breasts were presented to him, his hands tangled in her hair as be began to suck and pull at her swollen nipples. Ignoring the need to lift her camisole, the rough lace only making her nipples stand out harder against his lips.
"Bed!" Kate demanded suddenly. "Before you send me over the edge."
"And that's bad?"
Kate smiled at him, the candlelight flickered over his face. "I don't want to waste any time." Rocking her lips against him she watched him catch his breathe. Five years had made her an expert on his body, on how she could give him the pleasure, joy and release that he had thought lost with the feeling in his body.
"Not the bed, not yet," Jon mumbled.
"Here." He was kissing her against, lips fierce against her own, his hands tugging at the lace until he had pulled it off over her head.
She unbuttoned his shirt quickly and flung it into the corner of the room. His shoulders were hard, muscular and her fingernails lightly scraped over the skin, making goose bumps rise on his pale flesh. Her lips began to trail down his chest as she shifted, bracing herself on the arm supports of his chair. A slow, sensuous assault on his nipples left him glassy eyed and her lips moved lower while he watched, unable to feel her actions but waiting, curious, thrilled with the emotions pouring through him. Kneeling, she gently slid off the flat slippers that he had painstakingly forced onto his feet a few hours before. Her fingers traced the curve of his foot. Without muscle tone or shoes support his feet curled in. His trousers were next, gently undoing the button, nibbling his ear as she worked until his breathing was ragged, her breasts close against his face so with the slightest movement a nipple was between his careful teeth, making her gasp, distracting her. "Lift," the word was soft and Jonathan lifted his weight off his buttocks with his hands, watching as she stripped his pants and jocks and discarded them. She had removed the strap that held his legs in place and now she replaced it, her lips pressing softly to each knee. He watched her as she worshiped his body. God, he loved her. He stared at his erection with clinical disinterest. It didn't concern him, at least, not yet, somehow this angel made him feel his release. Her mouth closed over him and his hands tangled in her hair again. It was only a few moments before she looked up at him. "Ready?"
She pulled the arms of his chair off and discarded them, for the moment. Her hands were on his shoulders until she was sure he was comfortable with his balance.
She climbed onto him and his hands curled around her waist to steady her. Slowly she lowered herself onto him and her lips curled. She moved slowly at first, rocking her hips, grinding against him and he watched her face before he dipped his lips to her breasts. "No." She lifted his face and kissed him deeply as she continued to move against him. "I… want… lips."
Jonathan tugged her closer, he could feel his body reacting to hers, hers fingers were playing with his ear and hi breathing was growing more and more ragged, she could, and did, bring to him to orgasm simply by touching, stroking, kissing, biting his ear. Her simple touch there, along with the way her body moulded to his… It didn't matter he couldn't feel their joining, he could see it, watch her, feel everything so acutely in his upper chest and face.
She cried out suddenly and her head flung back, her movements had increased and as she cried out, Jonathan could feel release spread through him, she collapsed against his chest, both gasping for breath, her arms tight around his shoulders, his resting on the curve of her buttocks.
She smelled of sweat and he pressed his face against her neck. "I love you," he whispered and she smiled against his shoulder. "Love you," she whispered back, pressing a kiss to a small scar on his shoulder tip.
"Lie up on the bed," His words were still ragged. "Legs over my shoulders."
"Hey! I am meant to spoil you."
"Oh, you are, I plan on making you work for my next thrill. But right now, it's your turn."
"It will be worth it."
Kate leaned back. "Will it now?"
"Fine. But then you have to get into bed and," she whispered something in his ear that made a flush suffuse across his face.
"Mmhmm." Kate rose and kissed Jonathan. She replaced the arms of his wheelchair and waited for him to moved closer to the edge of their bed. He unfastened the strap around his waist and legs and pulled himself forward, the bed taking his weight as the young woman hooked her legs over his shoulders. "Ok?"
"Shut up, daft darling. Now… lie still.”
Kate watched as Jonathan transferred himself to the bed, the muscles in his arms bunching and relaxing before he leaned forward and pulled his emaciated legs onto the soft mattress.
"Comfy?" Kate curled into his side.
"Very." Jonathan tangled his hand in her hair and smiled when his free hand was curled into her. He couldn't straighten his fingers completely any more, they were curled slightly, his hands were soft, he wore gloves over them during the day, to protect his skin from the strain of moving his wheelchair. "You are so beautiful."
"Biased," Kate mumbled.
"You are so perfect."
Kate snorted. "You just made me scream like five times in an hour. I think you are pretty damned perfect."
"You make me perfect."