Disclaimer: I own NOTHING.

A/N: So… I was working on some prompt fics but then this somehow happened instead. I'm not entirely sure how because I wasn't even drinking at the time, but… here you go. It's slightly angsty but mostly filth. Sorry. (Or not?)

Just a little post-ep for On the Clock (2x18). This has no doubt been done before, and done better, but it just… appeared on my computer screen, despite the fact that writing smut actually terrifies me.

And now I'll be leaving the fandom and the country to start a new life in hiding in a remote corner of Outer Mongolia. Aaggh. Hope you like. OK bye.


"If I tell you I'll take care of it, I'll take care of it. I'm going back to bed."

"I can be a few minutes late this morning."


She follows him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, moving quickly to try and catch up with his head start. She really shouldn't be late this morning. There's so much to do. She still has the loose ends of the most recent crisis involving Pakistan and India to tie up, and she received a slightly vague text from Daisy somewhere around three am about the Doomsday Clock situation, which apparently hasn't been solved but is, allegedly, all good, Ma'am.

Despite all that, she just wants to spend some time with her husband. They haven't had much of it recently, and when they have, it has been mostly snatched and slightly fraught. She feels often as though she's walking on eggshells around him, and she doesn't like it. They've never had that sort of relationship. Dealing with their broken washing machine is the first time in a long while that they've been anywhere near playful with each other, and she doesn't want to let that go.

It's only as Elizabeth approaches their bedroom door – already closed, despite the fact Henry only had a few seconds' lead on her – that she wonders if he really is just going back to bed. To sleep. Nothing else. He is tired, after all.

She isn't going to walk away, though. She gets the sense that while he's reluctant to let her into whatever it is that's been eating at him recently (and she can list several things, spends a lot of time thinking about those things in the dark while they're lying in bed at night, but tries to put them to one side during the day or else she'd never be able to do her job), her giving in and backing off would only do more damage. She needs him to see it's OK, to hurt, to let her know about it, to let her help him. Let him know that actually, she's hurting too.

Elizabeth pushes the door open and steps inside their bedroom made dim by the heavy curtains still pulled across the windows. She looks towards the bed, trying to make out the shape of her husband. It's empty.

She's just considering going for the light switch when Henry appears in front of her, apparently waiting for her to the side of the door. His hands grasp her shoulders and pull her a couple of steps into the room, before the door is kicked shut behind her and he pushes her back into it, his body pressing tightly against the length of hers and his sudden kiss insistent and all-consuming.

Momentarily stunned by the unexpected onslaught, he has just long enough to get the upper hand as his tongue slides into her mouth and his hands run up her torso to cup her breasts and stroke firmly through her clothes. It sends a wave of heat through her, warmth rolling through her and not given the chance to settle as Henry rocks himself against her thigh.

She gives as good as she gets, pressing up to meet his kiss and wrapping her arms tight around him to hold him to her. She slides one hand to his ass and presses firmly, enjoying the feel of Henry's growing erection trapped between their bodies and the way he groans and bucks into her at her touch, keeping her back pressed tight against the door.

She tears her mouth away from his after a minute, breathing heavily, needing a moment to stop her head from spinning. "I love it when you take care of things."

Henry chuckles and presses one leg between hers, moving his thigh up against her centre and making her gasp. "Oh yeah?"

She hums in the back of her throat, moving one hand up to tangle in the short strands of hair at the base of his neck. "Yeah. It's very sexy."

He practically purrs at her touch as her fingers stroke his hair, calming the mood slightly. His lips capture hers again, his kiss softer this time, more precise, but no less wanting. Elizabeth senses that he's on the edge. They should talk about that, they really should, but she wants this now and there's no time for both. His tongue touches hers carefully, and she can feel his breath on her face, heavy and intimate.

Henry moves his hands up to her neck, gently brushing her hair back over her shoulders and stroking his fingers through it, the care of the gesture making her shiver. Her head lolls back against the door and he moves to kiss her neck, biting softly the juncture of her throat and shoulder. She groans at the sensation – hot and comforting all at once – and it must be the sound that snaps something in Henry, because then he's back with his lips urgent and desperate on hers, breathing hard and his hands pushing insistently at her jacket.

Lifting her shoulders from the door so he can get it off her, Elizabeth moves to slip her hands beneath waistband of his t-shirt, wanting to feel his skin. Henry stops with her jacket halfway down her arms, trapping her there as his tongue dances with hers and his firm body holds her against the door. She feels the thrill of being surrounded by her husband, something they haven't shared in too long, and enjoys the sensation of his hands holding her, sure and confident.

But she wants to touch him properly, too. She pushes her hips forward, using the leverage of the wood at her back to shuffle them back a half-step away from the bedroom door. Henry takes the opportunity to get her jacket the rest of the way off, letting it fall where they stand. Elizabeth pushes her hands up the back of his shirt, taking the fabric with her and breaking their kiss to pull the garment off over his head, abandoning it with her jacket on the floor. She smooths her hands over his back, his chest, feeling the familiar way he tilts into her touch, soaking up her affection and revelling in it.

It's only when her hands move down to his sweats that he stops her, hands grasping her biceps as he looks into her eyes, his own eyes dark and uncontrolled. He kisses her firmly, lingering for a couple of seconds. "I'll take care of it," he murmurs against her lips before pulling back to look at her.

The look of lust on his face makes her stomach flip, even as a tiny part of her sends a warning signal that this isn't the way to deal with the issues between them. She ignores it. She just wants her husband. And she trusts him, and she thinks that maybe he needs to be reminded of that. His disappointment in her calling the repair man was about more than just a broken washing machine, she knows.

An involuntary whimper escapes her and it makes Henry smile, a warm, pleased thing that lights up his face; he has always taken pleasure in being able to make her feel good. The smile displaces his desire for a moment – just a moment – but then it's back, and he's unbuttoning her blouse and his tongue is in her mouth and she just holds onto him, letting him have the lead for a while, letting him take care of things.

She's aware that she's throbbing - and wet, uncomfortably so, and that should be a problem because most of her stuff is still in the laundry, but she can't bring herself to care about ruining a pair of her sad underwear. It's totally worth it.

Henry takes her clothes off her with skilled assurance, palms brushing tantalisingly along her skin as he does so and setting her nerve endings tingling. She pushes his pants over his hips in return, his hands holding onto her shoulders and catching in her hair as he uses her for balance to step out of his clothes.

See. He can still lean on her. They can still hold each other up, despite everything. The thought bolsters her.

He lifts her then, holding her thighs securely to pull her up and then wrapping his arms around her when she curls her legs around his waist. She loves this strength in him. She bites at his earlobe. "Tell me again," she says.

He gets it straight away, looks her right in the eye when he says, "I'll take care of it."

"Oh, that's sexy."

It's sexy too when he holds her gaze as he walks them around to her side of the bed and leans over the mattress slightly before releasing his arms and letting her drop to the covers. It's as much a concession to age as to the heat of the moment; Henry's still in great shape but she's aware he's not quite as agile as he used to be and carefully lowering her down isn't something he has the control for right now. But that's OK. He can still take care of things.

The dark lust is back in his eyes as he stands over her, her legs still around his waist and the cool air of the bedroom providing a stark contrast to her feverish skin and warm bed covers beneath her. Elizabeth shivers and reaches up to take Henry's hands and pull him down to her.

He lets her tug him down, his knees braced against the bed as he strokes her face and her hair, kisses her sweetly and then lets one hand dance down between her legs to stroke her, making sure she's ready. He hums at the wetness he finds there, dipping two fingers briefly inside her before running them back up over her clit, making her jolt. "God, Henry."

He gives her a smile and brings his hand back up to her mouth, touching his fingers to her lips. Her tongue darts out to taste herself and then his mouth covers hers, sucking at her lips, tongue delving inside and teeth clashing together slightly as the urgency between them starts to grow. Henry runs his hands up her arms to dislodge her from holding him against her, drawing her hands from his back and holding them up by her head. His fingers wrap carefully but firmly around her wrists, pressing her down into the mattress and, oh, she really needs to come.

She bucks her hips into his, smiles wickedly at the answering groan. Yeah, he might think he has the control, but they both know it's only because she's letting him. She could get it back in an instant. But she lets him keep it, because damn it's sexy when he takes care of stuff.

When he lets her in.

Henry pulls back slightly to line up his pelvis with hers. Elizabeth looks down to watch him, her heart banging against her ribs. Her husband is so gorgeous. And hers. He looks back up at her and holds her gaze as he thrusts inside, driving himself into her in one move. They both shout out at the impact, and then he's drawing back, repeating the move, slower this time, burying himself as deep as he can go, stretching her deliciously.

"Oh God," she says, clenching her hands into fists and feeling his thumb curl at the base of her palm as he holds her secure.

"So good, babe," Henry tells her, before he pulls back and surges forwards again.

She can feel him deep within her, and she's pretty sure her eyes would be rolling back in her head if not for the fact he's staring at her and she can't look away from the heat in his gaze.

Henry continues to move, alternating his pace, driving her crazy. With her arms by her head and her torso not fully on the bed and her legs around his waist, she doesn't have much leverage to meet him halfway. Exactly how she feels in a lot of her interactions with him these days. At least now he's with her, and present in the moment rather than hiding behind work and insisting he's fine. This is the most they've communicated in weeks.

Elizabeth feels the pressure start to build in her lower body, the force of Henry's thrusts hitting her just right – but it's not enough to come. She tries to raise her hips to meet his, but can't quite get enough purchase to manage it. He grins, like he knows exactly what she's trying to do. His gaze softens and he stills for a moment, climbing fully onto the bed over her body, slipping his fingers from around her wrists so he can hold her hands in his, his thumbs stroking softly over her palms.

Her legs fall from around his waist and she lets her knees fall open, pulling her thighs up around his hips to cradle him against her. She stretches her neck up to kiss him, and the emotion behind his returning kiss is enough to bring tears to her eyes.

He starts to move again, slowly this time, almost reverently. "You feel amazing," he whispers against her lips before he moves to rest his forehead against hers, looking down into her eyes.

She can see the pain there, and the uncertainty and the anger that he has yet to put proper voice to but she knows is there and has been for a while now. But the distance is gone, and the love shining through is enough to convince her that they can get past whatever it is that's happening to them right now. They have to. There's no other option. She stretches beneath him, arching her spine and pressing her hips into his. "This is incredible."

The smile he gives her makes her feel cherished.

"Let me touch you." She tugs her right hand and he lets her go, his hand stroking firmly down her body until he can cover her breast with his palm and stroke his thumb over her nipple, making her gasp.

In response, she skims her fingers down his chest, a little awkwardly given the angle. She can feel the rumble in his chest as her groans against her, and it encourages her to keep moving, sliding her hand down to where they are joined, grasping the base of him with her thumb and forefinger and feeling the slide as he thrusts into her once more.

Her touch makes him slam into her, his control slipping even as he lets go of her other hand to move his arm beneath her shoulders, cradling her against his chest. "Elizabeth," he says, sounding like there's more to come but abandoning it to a moan as she cranes her neck so she can nip at his chin.

He drops his head to her throat, licking a hot line over her skin and down to her shoulder before suckling at her pulse point. She wraps her free arm around his back, holding him against her and enjoying the play of muscles beneath his skin. She scratches lightly with her fingernails, knowing that it will spur him on.

It does. His thrusts are growing increasingly uncontrolled and erratic. She can feel him against her cervix at the bottom of each stroke, making her feel impossibly full.

"Come for me," Henry says, pressing wet, hot kisses to her neck and shoulders. "Babe? Please. Come for me."

The feel of him inside her and his mouth at her throat are working to make her feel amazing, but it's when his hand drops from her breast to press his fingers against her clit that she starts to fly. She can feel his hand brushing against hers where she's still holding him and the combination makes her feel heady and close.

So close.

Sensing she needs just a tiny bit more, he rubs his fingers over her clit and Elizabeth feels the pressure in her lower abdomen tighten and coil together before it releases like a spring and she cries out, feeling shockwaves of pleasure running through her, nerves tingling and electric as Henry increases his pace, his chest skimming hers with every move he makes.

"You," she says, unable to say anything more articulate but feeling as though that just about covers her point. She breathes in deeply trying to catch her breath. "Henry."

She tightens her thighs against his hips and clenches her abdominal muscles around him. He moans loudly, and a few seconds later he goes tense and still above her and she can feel hot, sticky wetness between her legs.

Henry collapses onto her, breathing hard, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress. She wraps both arms around him, enjoying the feel of him against her and appreciating the moment to come down from their shared high. He doesn't move, except to slide his arm out from under her and brush the sweaty hair back from her forehead as he turns his face into hers and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Elizabeth," he says.

She hums in acknowledgement but he doesn't say anything else, his breathing starting to even out and the sweat on his skin beginning to cool. She can feel her own skin starting to grow slightly chilly even with Henry on top of her, but she's still reluctant to move.

Eventually Henry moves the both of them, pulling out of her before securing his arms around her and shuffling back off the bed with her wrapped around him like a koala. He stands and then sets her down on her feet, keeping her close as he kisses her softly and walks them towards the bathroom.

By mutual understanding, they don't say anything as they switch on the shower and climb inside, her hands washing him as he washes her. She can still feel him between her legs and is pretty sure she'll be able to sense him there for the rest of the day, despite the shower.

Elizabeth switches off the water after a few minutes and they redress in silence, both of them scraping the depths of their wardrobe until they have time to actually do their laundry. The quiet is nice and companionable and intimate for all the time it takes them to get dressed, and even though there are plenty of things they could – should – be talking about, she appreciates this calm, shared silence. It's comfortable, and like they should be.

She only starts to regret the silence slightly when she's slid her shoes back on and Henry is pulling on his suit jacket and he turns to her with a look that breaks her heart. The emotion is still there, the love and all the rest, but it's clouded slightly by the distance that has been growing recently, back in place after he so recently let her in. "You're really late," he says, and though she thinks he means it to sound joking and suggestive, it comes out slightly harsh.

He looks guilty a moment later but doesn't retract it.

"Yeah," she agrees, wondering what shifted so fast. "This was… amazing," she says, glancing over at their bed with its rumpled covers that will still be warm and that no doubt smell heavily of sex.

Henry smiles and for a moment is back with her, eyes sparking as he follows her gaze to the bed. "Yeah, it was."

She decides to press it a little. "You want a lift to the office? Make it last a bit longer?" She's pretty sure her security detail wouldn't mind a little bit of making out in the back of the car. That's what the partition is for.

He laughs. It sounds just the smallest bit forced. "Tempting, babe. But you're late. And now so am I."

"Right." She wants to ask him what's changed, how he can switch so fast, exactly what it is about her that has him holding himself at arm's length from her when they've always been so close, how he can be one step removed for so long and then suddenly desperate for her, until he suddenly isn't again.

But she can't ask him, because he's right. She was already late, and then instead of using their time to talk about the things that matter, they had sex instead. And it was good, and necessary, and the closest she has felt to him in ages and therefore worth it, but she can't help but feeling like an opportunity has passed by and with the way that Henry is these days she's not exactly sure when another one is going to present itself.

He kisses her cheek then, the scent of his soap in her nostrils as his lips press against her skin. "I'll see you tonight," he says, squeezing her arm as he puts on his glasses with his other hand and starts for the door, heading off for work. "We can do laundry."

It's probably meant to get a smile out of her, or at least a rise, but Elizabeth finds that all she can do is stand there as Henry disappears out of the door, leaving her alone in their bedroom and beyond late for work as he heads off to deal with whatever issues he's dealing with that for some reason she isn't a part of.

Maybe she'll try to talk to him later, she thinks, as she collects herself together and heads out the door for work.

Then she thinks that no, she won't. She isn't sure she's ready for that, and she knows somehow that Henry isn't either.

So yeah. He's right.

Maybe they'll just do laundry. It's an easier problem to fix.