Written because of a completely reasonable request on Tumblr- given the lack of Richard/Isobel this series. I'm not entirely sure if the request intended this much smut, but there it is.

For ellylilly-pcmh.

Perking Up

"Hard luck," he heard her voice over his shoulder as he bent down to pick up his bag at the end of the game.

Clenching his jaw a little so he did not smile at her obvious coy amusement, he straightened up, his bag in hand, and turned to face her. Like him, she was dressed all in pale whites and creams, but she was smiling openly.

"Still," she continued levelly, "You have to admit, it was a very good catch."

"I don't deny it," he admitted quietly, "And I don't pretend that I'm not glad that Branson did so well, the poor lad's had a difficult year and it's marvellous that he should be the hero of the hour. But I only wish he didn't have to make me look like such a fool in order to do it."

Isobel smiled consolingly, daring to rest a hand on his arm, though they were still in public.

"At least you managed to hit it," she pointed out, "Not like Molesley."

"True," he conceded, "There is that."

"And anyway, you would have thought you were used to being caught out quickly," she told him, more coyly still, "The amount of time you spend with me."

There was a definite twinkle in her eyes as she spoke, one that gave him hope that he might imminently be able to claim some of her time and her undiverted attention.

"Are you going to go back to the pavilion?" she asked him, apparently thinking exactly the same as he was.

"There's no point," he told her, "I can just as well change at your house."

"Can you indeed?" she asked him quietly, a smirk perking the corners of her mouth.

He was just about to protest heartily- and not at all seriously- that she should treat him like this after the defeat he had endured today, when she took his hand before he could get a word out.

"Come on," she told him, leading him away, "Let's go before anyone stops us."

He gladly followed her, enjoying holding her hand in the open- which they seldom did- even if no one else was there to see them, being mostly waylaid by changing in the pavilion and the second round of refreshments.

"I was so proud of you today," she told him quietly as they left the cricket ground and began down the short stretch of road that led to the main street.

"Why was that?" he asked her, not really caring why; the fact that she was was enough for him.

"You took defeat so gracefully," she told him, "I think if the house had lost either Robert or Molesley would have had a little stroppy fit. You took it like a real man."

When Isobel said things like that he could never quite tell if she was being serious or not. He looked at her face and found no trace of anything but sincerity there. Their pace seemed to slow a little, and he kissed her gratefully on the forehead before they continued to walk on.

"That and the fact that you were the most handsome man on the field," she told him, the twinkle returning to her eye, "I must say I'm rather taken by the sight of you in whites. I was hard pressed to stop myself coming up to you and showing my appreciation."

He smiled at the thought.

"That would have probably raised a few eyebrows," he remarked.

"It would have indeed. I thought I'd just have to wait until we got home."

It was difficult for him not to groan out loud; Crawley House had just come into view at the end of the road. She smiled, seeing the look on his face.

"Come on," she squeezed his hand, and they increased their pace, until the front door was shut firmly behind them.

"Is Ethel in?" he asked her.

"No," she replied, "I told her she could go to Ripon this afternoon to look at the shops. She didn't want to go to the match, and I thought we might like the house to ourselves."

"What gave you that idea?" he asked her, smiling, and kissing her thoroughly as they stood facing each other at the foot of the stairs.

She wrapped her arms around his body.

"Because every time I see you in cricket whites, with your pullover off like that, I want to do this," she told him, kissing him, and pressing her chest flush against his.

Even when their lips left each other, their bodies stayed close together, and his mouth drifted to linger by the curls at her temple, nudging her hat off.

"I'm glad you did," he told her, "You're a very clever woman. It makes a change not to have to dive up the stairs like outlaws for fear of being caught."

"I don't know why we do that anyway," she told him, "I'd wager that she knows exactly what we get up to. And I never thought it was because we're frightened of being caught that we're so quick to get up the stairs."

He gave a low laugh, so close to her ear that it made her knees quiver.

"I take it that's your way of telling me to get a move on and get you to your bedroom?" he enquired.

"Well, I think we're probably too old to do it in the corridor," she told him, completely casually.

He couldn't help his eyes widening a little in surprise.

"I think I'd better choose a day when I haven't already played a game of cricket to contradict you," he replied.

"Probably best," she agreed, "Come on, though," she told him, taking his hand again and leading him swiftly up to her room.

Throwing her coat down onto the chair by her wardrobe, she flopped down onto the bed, propping herself up on her elbows and regarding him.

"Now," she told him, before he could follow her, "Just let me look at you."

It was disconcerting to say the least- she knew how aroused he was and she was doing this deliberately- but he stood a still as he could, encouraged by the obvious signs of approval in her eyes as they swept over his body, omitting nothing, and lingering on the bulge in his trousers. For his part, he did not miss the tiny lick of her lips.

"Now, she told him, "Come here."

He joined her gratefully on the bed, covering his body with hers and bowing his head to kiss her, wrapping his hands into her hair, knocking the pins out.

"I love you, Isobel," he told her, "You know just how to cheer me up."

She smiled against his mouth.

"I love you too, my darling," she replied, "And it's very much my pleasure to do so."

He bowed her head, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the curve along the top of her breasts.

"Isobel, take your corset off?" he asked her.

"Richard, take your trousers off," she replied.

He kissed her lips once, rolling away to acquiesce to her demand. She sat up, shaking her head a little, so her wild hair fell further down her back. He complied to her demand, but she busied herself with his shirt rather that paying any mind to his, and so it happened that he was lying there before her completely naked while she was still fully clothed. He frowned at her, only minding a little.

"It's meant to be me cheering you up, remember," she told him, and before he could reply, she put his hand on his stomach to prevent him from turning over, and took him into her mouth, as deeply as he would go, caressing the rest of his length with her hand.

He almost protested, but he was so taken by surprise and sheer pleasure, that he was rendered incapable of speech, or coherent thought. There was no holding back, she wasn't going to let him, effectively, she took him with complete control, wanting him to crumble entirely. He couldn't stop himself, all the way through a few sharp barely restrained thrusts into her mouth, through coming as she swallowed, through crying her name out in agonising pleasure, as he felt her caressing his body as he rode the sensation out.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found that she had shed her dress and her corset as he had asked, so that his first sight was one of her breasts pressed perfectly together. He reached out, caressing them tenderly, eliciting a tiny moan from her before she bend over to kiss him.

"My love..." was all he could think of to say, "My darling Isobel, you-... you didn't-..."

"I wanted to," she told him, "I've never seen anything more exciting in my life."

"Oh, Isobel," he whispered, drawing her body close to his, kissing her again, slipping his hands under the waistband of her soaked underwear.

"Isobel," he looked at her questioningly, "Have you...?"

"Not yet," she replied, holding softly on to the back of his neck, "I was hoping you could help me with that."

He needed no further encouragement, kissing her mouth once more, her chin, her jaw, then down to her breasts, he pressed his hand firmly against her so that she writhed. The smell of her excitement was strong as he drew her undergarments off, pushing both hands between her legs, to rub the inside of her thighs with one hand and to fondle her with the other, all the while kissing and licking her breasts, biting gently around her nipples.

"Do you want... like you did for me?" he asked.

He felt her quiver a little at the suggestion, but nevertheless she answered between breaths:

"Only if you want to."

"On, Isobel, I want nothing more," he assured her, his hands settling firmly on her hips, dipping his head down to kiss the wetness of her centre.

She arched her hips against his mouth and he withdrew for a second.

"You taste like heaven," he told her, burying his head back down and withdrawing again, "Like nothing else in the world."

He stayed there for a long while. Her body was sometimes a little slow, but the result was that her climaxes seemed to be all the more powerful, and he hand no objection to staying here, stroking her thighs and drinking her in for all eternity. He loved it when she came against his mouth, the cry she gave, the exquisite taste of her, the way she arched up and he leant his cheek against the mound on her groin, his hand soothing over her behind to calm her. Such was his wonderment at her that he felt himself becoming hard again, and, as soon as he was ready- it didn't take long with the sounds that she was making- he pushed into her, surprising her, and rocking them both to a second climax.

"Oh, my darling," he whispered as he lay atop her, still inside her, while their breathing returned to normal.

Her hand crept lazily into his hair, playing with it a little.

"I love you, Richard," she told him, "I love it when you do that to me. Only you can."

He smiled up at her, resting his chin on her collarbone so he could look into her eyes.

"I'm glad," he replied, "Remind me never to win another cricket match again. I like this prize far better."

She laughed, pushing their bodies more tightly together.

"If we can do this every time you lose, I'm going to start sabotaging the matches," she told him.

"I shall enjoy that," he replied, "Very much."

He rested his head back on her chest, held there softly by her hands, and they both drifted gently to sleep.

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