Work Text:
The End
The Beginning.
He sits waiting on the edge of the bed. She's not coming. The days before were all an illusion. He'd dreamed her dear hand in his, the wedded words, the press of her lips, the promise to never leave him. And now he feels himself awoken in the darkness. Famished. Forbidden. Alone.
She stands in front of the door. The brass door handle taunts her. She grips her candlestick with white fingers. She stares at the door to her husband's room. She shivers in her muslin nightgown and woolen wrapper, her feet bare and cold on the worn wood floor.
Enough already, she thinks and she opens the door. She sees him sitting there. Her husband and she finds herself in one of those times when words abandon her and she knows not what to say.
He hears the door open. He hears his light, his djinn of smokeless fire as she walks in the room. It wasn't a dream.
She looks at him sitting there on the edge of his bed in a robe, and she can see his bare throat. She takes a deep breath and says pertly, "Is this any way to prepare for your new bride, sitting brooding in the dark? You, sir, are far too given to gloomy thoughts." Closes the door. Looks at him sitting on their bed. Her voice sounds a bit squeaky and thoroughly lacking in the oil of confidence.
He smiles at her, "My Janet's come and now I'm not." He beckons to her, beckons to the light of the candle, "Why so standoffish my wife of five hours?"
She grips the candle. She forces the words out, "I must admit my husband of six hours that I am a bit nervous. Mrs. Fairfax spoke with me. Before. Therefore, I know what to expect of a marriage bed." Her toes curl on the cold floor. "It sounded fairly dreadful, but she assured me that it isn't and that I can think of England if I wish, but I don't particularly wish to think of England. So I find myself not quite knowing what to do with myself." The words tumble one after the other. Lumpen and misshaped.
He pats the bed next to him, "My little friend, put down the candle. Sit next to me and rest your weary head. Let me feel your warm hand so that I can know that you're not some sweet illusion."
She nods even though she knows he cannot see. She puts down the candle on the table. She carefully removes her wrapper. Folds it up and places it on a chair. Then she sits next to him. She fidgets with her hands.
After a moment, he slides his large hand under her small one, his remaining hand. She glances at the sad scars seamed across his unbeautiful dear face. She sighs and leans into him. He kisses her temple.
He runs his hand down her braid. She's braided her hair, neat and tidy. Ah, Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane.
She turns in towards his shoulder and breathes. He smells like soap and sandalwood and him. He smells like Edward, her husband, sitting here beside her. She kisses his face. Little kisses. She reaches up to touch his hair, wild and unruly even after a trim to remove his Nebuchadnezzar air.
His hand drifts up to the high neck of her nightgown. He smiles at the little fabric buttons down the front. He says, "Ah, Janet." The bit of lace on the front of her grown is scratchy. The cotton has just been starched. She smells like soap and rosewater and her. She smells like Jane, his wife, sitting there beside him. He kisses her face, her fairy face. Little kisses. He kisses her resisting brow. He kisses her eyes that want to smile. He kisses her lips, her soft loving lips.
They drink each other down.
He can feel her heart beating under his hand. Like a fragile bird.
She can feel his breath across her face. Like a warm summer breeze.
She touches him. The fabric of his robe is soft, silk shot with rough gold. The lapels slide back at her touch and she skims her fingers across his bare skin. There's hair on his chest. She's never touched a man's chest before. She's never seen one. And there she is and there he is and he's kissing her and she's kissing him. She's touching him.
And he's touching her. His hand slides down the lace front piece of her nightgown. Scratchy and starchy, and beneath it, is her. He touches her small breasts, soft and curving. "Oh," she says.
Her heart is beating so fast under his touch. She's not wearing a corset. All that lies between them is lace and cotton and nerves.
Her hands slide down. He's so different from her. She touches his chest. She touches the firm muscles and the flat planes. "Mmm," he says. His heart is beating so fast under her touch. His bare skin and hair that feels rough and smooth under her fingers. She leans into his mouth and they kiss. She slides her hands down. Her fingers tangle in the belt around his waist. She tugs it free so she can touch his waist, narrow and hard. She runs her fingers over muscles that shiver at her touch. "Oh, Jane," he says.
He kisses his way down her cheek. He doesn't want to leave her mouth, but her collarbone is calling him from somewhere under the fabric of her nightgown. His fingers fumble at the buttons. They're so tiny, these little guards that resist his attempts to unbutton them. He wants to curse, but then she'd chide him and he wants...all that he wants is bursting his pounding heart. So, he concentrates on giving her a necklace of kisses.
Her hands slide down farther and she touches...it. The skin is so soft and hot. It jerks in her hand and she can't help but pull away and look at it. It's so...odd.
She says, "I simply cannot keep thinking of part of your anatomy as an it. Mrs. Fairfax called it a man-thing, but that doesn't seem quite right. What is it called?" She looks up at his face, at his dear blind eye and he's laughing.
He hugs her, holds her to him, "Oh, Janet, my Janet, always the teacher."
She slaps his shoulder and pulls away, "And you, sir, are avoiding the question."
He squeezes her arm and says, "It's called a...ha. It seems I only know the crude words. Ugly words." He grimaces at his own awkwardness.
"Edward Fairfax Rochester, you're blushing," she says. "After all your talk of mistresses, I didn't think you still had blushes in you." She grins at him.
He can hear her smiling; it's in her voice. "I didn't either, my wicked fairy." His fingers glide across her cheek, "You must have worked some magic spell on me." He runs his hand back and forth across her breasts.
"Oh," she says, but still she pushes his hand away and reaches down. Touches it...touches him with light fingers running down his length.
He catches her hands in his hand. "Perhaps you shouldn't do that just yet or we'll be done before we've begun." He shakes his head, "My fairy, men are different than women."
"I know that." She says, "For one thing, I don't have one of those."
"And glad I am of it." He brings her hands to his lips. He kisses them. "However, when a man is pleased by a woman, it takes him awhile to recover and begin again."
She tilts her head and considers him in the flickering candle light. She says, "How long does it take? Ten minutes? An hour? Several hours?"
"Let's say several hours. If he is eighteen, which I am not. It is merely that," he shrugs, "I'm not the man that I once was. I don't want to waste this for you," he kisses her hands again, "so if you will, hold off for a bit."
"Mmm...," she purses her lips and says, "So how long does it take for a woman to recover? Mrs. Fairfax didn't mention any of this."
"Ha, I'm sure she didn't, my clinical little skylark." He runs his hand down the side of her face, tangles in her hair to pull her to him. He whispers in her ear, "A woman, or so I'm told, can be pleased as often as she likes in a night."
His breath is warm and full of shivers, "Hmmm..." she says.
"Hmmm..." he says and runs his fingers down the one button that he's managed to unfasten. "In any case, you're a bit ahead of me." He runs his hand down the curve of her side, to her cotton covered hips, starched fabric and soft curves. He falls back into the softness of the bed, down and feathers and plain linen. "I'm twice your age, Janet. I'm too old to sit on the edge of the bed." He lies back and looks at where he feels her to be, where he knows she's sitting whale-boned straight; her legs pressed primly together.
There's a rustle and she says, "You have mentioned something to that effect before," and there's a swish, the sweet sound of fabric falling to the floor. The edge of the bed hardly dips as she climbs up. She says, "You, my good sir, should get under the covers or you'll get cold."
"My good madam, I am not overly worried about that," but he sits and shrugs off his robe and slides under the down. She slides under the covers with him, bare legs and breasts and skin, his Janet, his prickly fairy with the tight braided hair. He runs his fingers along her braid, curling along the pillow next to him. "You have such lovely hair," he says.
"It's plain Jane brown hair." She says and twitches her braid away.
"It's soft," he says. His fingers reach the curve of her head, the curve of her cheek, "Like my Janet." And he kisses her.
And she kisses him. She runs her hands along his back. She revels in the dimple of his spine and the hard line of his ribs. She counts them with kisses.
He pulls her back up.
He pulls her on top of him. She's so light, the comforter is almost as heavy. Her heart is beating so fast. Or maybe that's his heart. Their heart.
He touches her breasts with light fingers. Feels her nipples pebble. He feels the mole on her right breast and gives it a kiss for good measure. He runs his hand down her sides. He revels in the curve of her, the sweet flare of her hips. Bare to his fingers and open. He touches her where her legs meet. He slides a finger along her.
"Oh," she says.
"Mmm," he says.
He glides his fingers. He wants to touch her center. He wants to pull the little sighs and sobs from her forever.
He groans as her slight fairy fingers make their own downward journey. He whispers in her ear, "We should go slowly. I'm told that it hurts the first time for a woman."
"I know. Mrs. Fairfax told me." she says. He smells like warmth and soap and home, so she hugs him close.
He kisses her brow and eyes and sweet, sweet mouth, "I want this to be good for you."
She holds a hand over his beating, beating heart. She whispers, "It will be." She kisses his scars and says, "I love you, my dear friend."
He says, "And I love you, my dearest friend," and hugs her awkwardly.
She wriggles on top of him, so soft and warm. She says, "Since the hor d'oeuvres have been," she pokes at him with pixie fingers, "agreeably pleasant, we should proceed to the main course."
"Agreeably pleasant!" he says, listening to the laughter and the nerves in her voice. He swallows his fears on down and he holds her. They roll on the bed. And now he lies on top of her. He's almost as light as the earth. His heart is beating so fast. Or maybe that's her heart. Their heart.
He says, "Am I too heavy?" his breath is rushing like a runner past her ear, and warm as sunshine.
"No," she says and she wraps her arms and legs around the solid weight of him.
He wants to hold her hips in his hands, but he only has one hand. He wants to look at her sweet, sweet face, but she's an angel's shadow, better than he deserves. He frames her with his arms and guides her under him.
She rubs him against her, and he slides in a bit, "Oh," she says and he pushes down.
They're right; it does hurt. She feels so wrong. Alien in her own body. Surrounded. Overwhelmed.
He lays still and he's shaking.
She lays quiet and she's trembling.
"Shhh...shh..." he says, kissing her, "Do you want to stop?"
"No," she says, feels him around her, inside her. Filling the lonely places. Feels the thread from his heart, his soul to hers. Stretching. Tightening. Melting the edges of him and her. Feels herself warm and wet and a woman with a man, her man, her husband. She begins to move beneath him, slow, small movements.
"Oh," he says and he's crying a bit and he's laughing a bit, "Oh, sweet Janet," and he feels her taking him in, taking him home in her warm, sweet self.
She wants to move faster, but she doesn't quite have the rhythm. She whispers in his ear, "Edward, make my happiness and I will make yours."
So he does and she does. They do.
Her legs are around him and he's moving in her. Faster and slower and there's a rhythm and it's the beat of their hearts. It's like they're one moving, laughing, crying being. Hard and soft. Kind and cruel. Fairy and earth. Man and woman. He cries out and she cries out. She breaths in his scent and he breathes in her scent. And it's like England, rippling hills rolling through and filling her with forever green. And it's like heaven, pouring all the pain away in the shining light of his angel girl.
And when they're breathing slows and their hearts cease to thunder, he rolls over and she tangles on top again. She runs slight fingers in the curls of his chest. She says, "So that's making love." She runs her hand down to where the unnamed it lies, "So, you did you say several hours?"
He laughs, "Minx!" and cuddles her close.
"I'm not a minx, sir. I am a mustard seed," she says, "and I have the strength to move mountains." She hugs him, content to lie sprawled and loose, bare under their covers. Her legs tangling with his.
He hugs her, content to have her lie across him, naked under their covers. Her soft body enfolding his.
In the morning, the sun will rise and some will say the light has come, but his light is already here in his arms.
And closing their eyes, they fall into the dream that is their future.
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Comments from yuletide:
From: Kara Date: 04/30/2009 Just finished watching the 1983 adaptation, and this was a perfect dessert. Thank you!
From: Rozi Date: 06/25/2008 Please - may we have some more?! Terrific
From: Courtney Date: 12/29/2007 I must here heave a contented sigh and at last give up my search for the perfect Jane Eyre fan story. For I have found it and I do not believe another could possible touch this one. Like many others I have seen post here, I thank you most profusely for writing this lovely piece.
From: mungo Date: 11/04/2007 This is so pure and beautiful it made me cry.
And I thought I am cynical.
You are very good :-) Thank you.
From: Theredrose Date: 09/09/2007 Although I don't have the eloquence to adequately express how I felt upon reading this work of fanfiction, I just had to thank you for writing this! You wrote this scene so beautifully! As someone else mentioned, it was erotic, yet proper at the same time; exactly how this scene should have been written. There were moments that made me laugh out loud (such as the "think of England" line, and the part where she doesn't know what to call his "man-thing"), and the whole story was so tender and heartfelt. I am so glad I came across this piece of fanfiction! Thanks again for writing this scene which, as others have said, so badly needed to exist ;D
From: Kristin Date: 08/08/2007 Finally someone has written this! Utterly beautiful.
From: Lindsey Date: 01/05/2007 Um, thank you! This fic needed to exist very, very badly. I love the story of Jane Eyre to death, but dammit, the thing just isn't complete without the wedding night scene, and this one is so good I'm tempted to print it out and tape it inside my copy of the novel. ;)
From: Chloe Date: 08/05/2006 Such a wonderful and description text... It's full of emotion and happiness and all of that... Very interesting... Hehe... I guess all I can really say is; Wow!
xXx
From: Lilly Date: 08/05/2006 Hello, Your story made my heart beat faster than I thought it ever would. I have never read Jane Eyre but it has inspired me to. I am very young and in my early teens and have never experianced such things, and it tought me better than any Science lesson would on what really happens and how this pleasure should take it's toll in time slowley for rushing into it would spoil that moment which changes your life. Your way of telling it is just how I tell my stories, as I think you have wrote it with your heart and soal not through studying and hard work, I can just imagine your pen flickering down each word in your script as if magic. What are your secrets are they the experiances or the way of the imagination, please tell, for you have made me see life more clearly as before I felt as if I was in fog, thank you, Lilly
From: Aliright Date: 07/01/2006 Hi,
I have been a fan of "Jane Eyre" since I was 16 or so. (I won't say how many years but my daughter is now older than Jane when she became a governess)
Your story "Mustard Seed" is one of the most beautiful things I have read about "Jane Eyre" in all those years. It is far and above all the other fanfiction that I have come across on the internet and outshines anything I have eveer attempted to produce.
I want to thank you for bringing such a joyful treasure to life and for sharing it with such an "Eyre head" like me.
Aliright
From: mamculuna Date: 01/03/2006 Love this so much, esp. things like "his Janet, his prickly fairy with the tight braided hair." I don't usually like fanfic but this is different, by far.
From: mayhap Date: 12/31/2005 I adore Jane Eyre and this is a very worthy and pleasant coda! Nicely done!
From: Susa Date: 12/31/2005 Brilliant. You've captured the essence of both characters so well here, and added an erotic 'missing scene' that is somehow just right. I have a feeling Currer Bell herself would enjoy this!
From: Lili Ward Date: 12/31/2005 This is one of those things that shouldn't exist, but does. And that's a good thing, because this story is really well-written. I really enjoyed it...
From: finmagik Date: 12/31/2005 Nice.
From: vissy Date: 12/30/2005 Charming! (And surprisingly hot.)
From: resmin Date: 12/28/2005 My English teacher would be horrified but I can only clap and cheer that someone somehow made an English sex scene that actually seems English! Damn good job.
From: Margaret Date: 12/28/2005 Very beautiful.
From: Mimm Date: 12/28/2005 *sigh* This was so warm and sweet, and the dialogue put a happy smile on my face. I very rarely read het, but this pairing is special so I gave it a try. It was lovely to see one way the story could have continued. :)
From: Minerva McTabby Date: 12/28/2005 Ahahahahaha, this is the fluffiest thing I've read all Yuletide! And you're so right: they totally *would* do it like this. Great fic, very vivid. *applause*
Um. Any chance of an AU sequel with St. John Rivers...?
From: Yonmei Date: 12/27/2005 Yes. This is how it happened. (And next year, perhaps I'll ask the aether hopefully for something from -Villette-, and hope to get something as good as this.)
From: Triskellian Date: 12/27/2005 Oh, I always wanted to read this scene, and you've made it beautiful :-)
From: memorycharm Date: 12/26/2005 Oh, this is so wonderful.
From: Kass Date: 12/26/2005 Oh, this is wonderful. It's like a Christmas gift for all of us who loved this novels as adolescents, and who couldn't help wanting to read this part, even though it hadn't been written. And now it has.
From: ari Date: 12/25/2005 I love this. I never knew I wanted to read just this story until you wrote it. Thank you.
From: tenar Date: 12/25/2005 this is so incredibly beautiful.
you did a remarkable job with tone, imagery and... damn, pure emotion. i loved it.
From: elynross Date: 12/25/2005 Oh, what a lovely imagining, proper and yet erotic, funny and sweet and tender and just wonderful.
From: Catrinella Date: 12/25/2005 Oh, Jane, so sure of herself at long last, when it's Rochester who's tentative and worried. I loved this - sweet and reassuring. Yay Laura for asking for this *g*
From: mercuriosity Date: 12/25/2005 I really enjoyed this! Makes me remember how my heart fluttered when I read the book. I'm just a sucker for romance, after all. :)
From: Katta Date: 12/25/2005 I loved this. The dialogue was so very Jane and Edward, with Jane's wicked little jokes. I adore the "think of England" line - so *her*. You really reminded me why she's one of my favourite fictional characters ever. And I could see and feel the two of them all through the story, which made it very hot indeed. (There was one point where you used "hands" instead of "hand", but I think it was only once and I know from experience how difficult those things are to remember!)
From: mechaieh Date: 12/25/2005 Oh, so lovely and lyrical.
From: Laura Kaye Date: 12/25/2005 Oh! Thank you thank you THANK you, Yuletide Santa! I have so long wanted to read a story like this, and you came through like a champ. And Mrs. Fairfax, telling Jane to think of England! And Jane not particularly WANTING to think of England! Because she wouldn't at all, now would she? Not Jane.
This just gave me a warm glowy happy feeling. Thank you so much- what a perfect Christmas present!
From: Ijemanja Date: 12/25/2005 Wow. This is so perfect... It's Jane, and she's sensible and stoic and brave, and I love her, and I love this. A delight to read, truly, thanks.