fawcett, sylvie (onlytoday) wrote in thecellardoor, @ 2018-03-18 21:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! incomplete, ! plot threads, dorcas meadowes, teddy lupin |
Who: Dorcas and Teddy
Where: Cottage #12
When: Sunday, afternoon
What: Teddy goes home
He didn’t care. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore: not that he was married, not that Dorcas was his dad’s friend, not that his parents would be disappointed in him, not that his baby boy would be even more so if he ever found out, nor even that he knew this was the village’s doing. While those thoughts may have kept him at his father’s the past four days, Teddy simply no longer cared. It was done caring about any of that; he knew what mattered - Dorcas.
By the time he arrived at the cottage he shared with his beloved, Teddy had forgotten the note he’d left behind on his father’s counter, his attention solely devoted to thoughts of Dorcas. He searched the house and called her name, but it quickly became obvious that she wasn’t there - and neither was Angelina. He was alone. Where could she have gone? Didn’t she know he would be here? Couldn’t she sense that this was the time? The date? The place? Had she gone for him at his dad’s?
He’d only just considered it and turned for the door when it opened, and in came Dorcas, sweating and breathing hard from her run. If he’d had half a mind of his own, he might have said something more than a simple breathed “Dorcas” before closing the distance and engulfing her in an embrace, his lips tight to hers. They pushed and tugged at each other’s clothes as they kissed, breathing the same air as they went their way to the loo, leaving a trail of shirts and trousers and knickers behind in their wake. Their shower was loud and frenetic, and by the time they emerged nearly two hours later, both of them were pruned, the water was cold, a tuft of his hair had been pulled out, and there were bruises on Dorcas’s inner thighs and Teddy’s back, but both were deeply satisfied. Still, they couldn’t stop touching long enough to get to either of their rooms, though they eventually made it there.
They lay on Dorcas’s bed, limbs entwined and their noses touching when he asked, “What’s your type? What sort of… man do you like?”