A/N: Prompted by anon on Tumblr. This one kind of ran away with itself. I tried to do a "mirror image" type thing with the different POVs, but I'm not sure if it ended up too repetitive. Also, there are some descriptions in the taste sections - I'm sure you can guess which ones - that make me hesitant to mark it as a "T", just because I'm conscious of the fact that it might be too "graphic". Not that I really understand these ratings anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

Sensory Heaven

If he hadn't known it before, when the two of them were living up at the big house, or separated by prison, then John Bates certainly knew it now, when they'd finally been allowed to be together properly.

Anna was entrancing in each and every way that she could be.

Living with her in their very own cottage had graced John with the opportunity to get to know Anna more intimately than he ever had done before. In those happy days, John had come to love her even more, though he wasn't sure how that was possible.

She always smelled incredible, he had found. A light, gentle smell, caught between winter flowers and Lady Mary's more overpowering scent, something that always seemed to cling to her after a long day of work. Her skin simply seemed to retain beautiful odours. Her hair always smelled of something sweet and fruity, a scent that often caught him unaware, creeping into his senses and leaving him dizzy. When she bathed, her skin smelled clean for days afterwards, of fresh soap and water. Even when they made love, her skin retained its natural perfume. Coupled with the musk of their exertions which settled over her body – the smell of him on her skin – it often left him feeling even more insensible.

It was a beautiful smell that he would never grow tired of.

Seeing Anna standing by his side always took his breath away. She was tiny when she stood beside him, especially when she stood in just her stockings, the heels of her boots gone. She didn't quite reach his shoulders, and his heart swelled with love and protectiveness. He loved the fact that he had to stoop down to rest his head against her shoulder in the kitchen, and the fact that he could span her waist so easily with both hands. It added to her faery qualities, her small stature, entrancing him further. He loved the feel of her in his arms, how she fit against him so snugly, how he had to bend low to kiss her, her face upturned to his. When they lay together in bed at night, he loved her light presence at his side, reminding him that she was always there to guide him, that she would help to keep him grounded. Most of all, he loved holding her and knowing in no uncertain terms that they were simply meant to be.

It was beautiful knowledge, and he would never tire of it.

Her skin itself was wondrous. The feel of her fingers against him always gave him chills, like velvet against his face. He often wondered incoherently how it was possible for her skin to be so soft when she worked such long, arduous hours, doing such gritty work. Her fingertips should have been rough, her skin cracked from so many years of working hard, and yet it felt like silk. He would never tire of running his hands along her body, seeking out the dips and the curves that he had memorised now, stroking his fingertips along her soft thighs and her supple legs and her satiny sides. He loved to press himself against her, feeling every inch of that perfect skin pressed up against his own. He always felt as if he was drowning in the smoothness when they made love, her every move against him taking him higher and higher; afterwards, lying together in the aftermath, her skin was a balm for his world-weary limbs, her hair like silk against his chest. And yet, despite it all, her skin did not yield easily, a testimony to the steely strength that had gotten her through the worst of times.

It was beautiful, and he would never tire of it.

He loved dipping his tongue to her and tasting every exquisite inch of her skin. There was plenty of territory for him to discover and learn, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than fulfilling that. He always started at her face, gently touching his tongue to her cheeks, tasting the cleanness and the wonder of the outside world upon her, then transferring himself to her mouth. He dipped his tongue inside eagerly, sliding along the line of her teeth, seeking out her own tongue. His senses burned and tingled, and he was unable to stop himself from holding the back of her neck with one hand, bringing her closer. The taste of her mouth was always so unpredictable, and he'd find himself in eager anticipation of what was to come. Would she taste of morning mint? Or chocolate, snuck from the kitchen? Perhaps she'd taste of the milky tea that she liked to drink. Whatever it was, his senses always burst, and he could never find any fault with her taste.

Her skin was a different matter, and much easier to predict. After a long day of work, she tasted of sweat and hard labour, a salty tang to her skin that he ardently declared that he loved, though she often told him that she couldn't understand why. On the days that she bathed, he would catch an undercurrent of soap against the more natural flavour, and he would nuzzle himself against her, groaning. And, after their lovemaking, she tasted of a different sort of labour, the kind born of love and desire. The musk of their union settled heavily against her skin, and he touched his tongue to her skin, tasting the usual salty tang of sweat entwined with him. He shuddered pleasantly to know that it was their own unique brand, that no one else would ever know what Anna tasted like.

And then there was the taste of the rest of her body. The sweetness of her fingertips. The spice of each individual toe, her ankle. The secret place between her thighs, reserved only for him. She tasted musky there, delicious. He could spend hours with his head buried between her thighs, tasting that honeyed wetness against his tongue, lapping again and again as if he was a dying man drinking for the last time. It would fizz against his tongue, taking over his every sense, bringing him such sweet delight.

The taste of her skin was beautiful, and he would never tire of it.

Listening to Anna speaking was one of John's favourite pastimes. He loved the breadth of her accent, the way that she elongated her vowels and occasionally cut off her consonants. He had always found himself feeling out of sorts when she'd drawled "Mr. Bates," back when society hadn't permitted her to call him John, the way that she'd drawn out the middle of his surname leaving him shivering as if he was ill. He loved it no less now that she called him John – hearing her soft, dulcet tone calling out for him made him shudder pleasantly. She kept her voice soft at all times, even if he probably deserved more than a gentle scolding, and he was entranced by her poise. She always had a kind word for everyone, and sometimes he would simply sit there and listen as she gave advice to the younger maids, her tone firm but kind. He loved the intimate way that she told him that she loved him, lying wrapped around him in the dark, her voice barely above a whisper, flowing over him like silk.

He would insist that they took turns reading on the evenings that they chose to, just so that he could listen to her speak for an extended period of time. Closing his eyes, he tuned out her words and just listened to the quality of her voice; the way that she pronounced each word, the rise and lull of the pitch, the slight rasp in her throat when she was running out of steam.

He loved to hear her sharp cries of pleasure in the darkness of their bedroom. She mewled and keened, high-pitched and breathless, and he would smile against her skin at the guttural groans that vibrated deep in her throat, coupled with the panting cries of his name over and over again. He could trace the story of her pleasure through her moans, knew exactly which ones meant that she was getting close.

And, what he loved more than ever, was to hear her laughter. He would try to make her laugh as much as possible. Laughter and happiness had been an absent thing through most of their courtship and the trying year at the beginning of their marriage. Now that they were reunited, John was determined to do as much as he possibly could to make her happy. He loved digging his fingers into her side and hearing her squeal, high-pitched and breathless. And he loved her laughter even more than her sweet giggles, because it was full-throated and honest, and nothing made his heart swell quite like that.

They were beautiful noises, and John would never tire of them.

Anna was beautiful, and there was no denying it.

She'd try to, of course. She'd say that she wasn't as striking as Lady Mary, or as pretty as the late Lady Sybil, but John disagreed on both counts. Anna didn't need pretty dresses and new hats and the newest cosmetic products to turn heads. It was her natural beauty and her sweet personality that attracted men to her. Men still glanced her way even though they were married now. John would feel jealous if it wasn't for the fact that Anna didn't even notice.

He loved to watch her at any opportunity that he possibly could. He'd sit and watch her brush her hair, the long, golden locks curling gently down her back. He'd watch her face throughout the day, going through every emotion. The slight frown that creased her forehead when she was concentrating hard. The way she bit her lip absently when she was thinking. The deeper frown that signified frustration. The way that she laughed, her eyes glowing with absolute joy. The smile that would brighten her whole face and leave him fighting for breath.

He loved watching her as they made love, seeing the pleasure playing out across her face. It was an incredible sight. Her throat working silently. Her mouth open. Her eyes alternating between boring into him and squeezing tightly closed. The way her body rippled. Her hands running themselves down his body. That sweet tension that overtook her expression as she came, one of the most incredible things he had ever seen.

But it was the sight of her first thing in a morning that he loved the most. Usually, he awoke with her back pressed against his front, his arms around her waist, and he admired the curve of her shoulders and the slender back of her neck. Sometimes, however, he awoke flat on his back, with Anna curled up against his side. Most mornings he was awake before her and, on those days, he relished the opportunity to run his eyes along her relaxed body. With the sunlight peeping in through a gap in the curtains and hitting her in the face, he was struck so acutely with how beautiful she was. He loved to see her hair tangled all around her face, knotted by his hands in a fit of passion. Her eyelashes brushed gently against her skin. Her cheeks were rosy with the heat of his body and the warm bed sheets. Her breath blew gently from her half-open mouth. He suppressed a chuckle at the sight of her unladylike expression. Her pale flesh was pink in the sunlight, and her wedding ring caught the light and flashed against the wall from where it rested against her temple.

When he got his first glimpse of her blue eyes as they fluttered open, smoky with the remnants of sleep, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. No words were exchanged, not then. She simply shifted herself up and into his arms, pressing her mouth against his. He held her bare body against his, and thought that he could forego getting ready for the day for just a few more minutes.

She was beautiful in every single way, and he loved her so much.

If she hadn't known it before, when the two of them were living up at the big house, or separated by prison, then Anna Bates certainly knew it now, when they'd finally been allowed to be together properly.

John was entrancing in each and every way that he could be.

Living with him in their very own cottage had graced Anna with the opportunity to get to know John more intimately than she ever had done before. In those happy days, Anna had come to love him even more, though she wasn't sure how that was possible.

He always smelled incredible, something that never failed to make her shiver. Usually, he smelled lightly of aftershave, something that made her stomach contract. The scent would cover their bed, making their sheets smell like home. Occasionally, he would smell of smoke. Anna didn't like him smoking, and she suspected that that was why he rarely did it, but she had to admit that there was something alluring about the scent of smoke settling over his skin. It was much less overpowering than whatever Thomas and Miss O'Brien smoked. Somehow, it smelled comforting. It was even more alluring when it mingled with the musk of their lovemaking, settling gently over his skin, and she inhaled it eagerly, unable to stop herself from sighing in contentment.

It was a beautiful smell that she would never grow tired of.

Standing by John's side always took her breath away. He towered over her, and his size made her feel safe and protected. She loved feeling his large hands spanning her waist, strong and warm, holding her tight against him. That strength, hidden so delicately underneath his layers of clothes, only added to her awe of the man that he was. She loved being in his arms, feeling the breadth of his chest beneath her hands, having to lean up on her tiptoes in order to kiss him firmly. When they lay tangled up together at night, she loved how it felt to have him by her side, his weight so heavy and warm. It made her feel so secure, and she loved snuggling herself up against him, knowing that this was how their life would always be now.

It was beautiful knowledge, and she would never tire of it.

His skin was perfect. The feel of his fingers against her face always made her knees feel weak. They were so large, and rough, which felt heavenly against her skin. Those fingertips symbolised the years of long, hard labour that he had endured, and represented everything that he had ever fought for. These were a man's fingers, and it set her alight to know that he had already been shaped by the years of experience that he possessed.

She would never tire of running her hands along every inch of his body. Every inch of him had been memorised, from his solid sides to the ragged tissue of his knee. John was wary of her touching his knee, but she always shushed him. He didn't understand. Not one inch of him could be ugly. Her fingers sought out the broken flesh easily, stroking her fingers along the lines of the lumpy scars, tracing the stories they told with her fingers, kneading the knotted skin gently. The hairs on his chest were wiry, and she would often giggle as she stroked them softly, loving how thick they were, and how they drizzled the entire top of his chest so liberally. A man's chest. The downy hair on his stomach always felt deliciously tantalising beneath her fingertips, leading to the coarser hair below. She loved to press herself against him, feeling every inch of that skin against her.

His hair was thick and surprisingly soft when it was free of pomade. She loved running her fingers through it, shivering as it caressed the spaces between, tousling it and giving it a most pleasing look of ravishment.

When he moved over her, pressing her down into the bed sheets, she felt as if she was drowning in the warmth and the solidness that he brought and, in the conclusion of their lovemaking, it felt wonderful to have his whole weight leaning against her, crushing her briefly in the most magnificent of ways.

It was beautiful, and she would never tire of it.

She loved to taste his skin, letting her tongue trail delicately over him as he shuddered below her. It pleased her that there was plenty territory to explore, because he was a big man. She loved knowing that she was making him feel as good as he made her feel, and always took her time to be as thorough as possible. She always started at his face, kissing his soft cheeks, feeling his skin shift beneath her lips. Occasionally, his skin would be rough with light stubble. Not-so-secretly, she loved that, to feel it scratching against her own skin. His skin always tasted clean and fresh. Kissing him was always a steady comfort, because she knew him. Her tongue would slide inside his mouth eagerly, seeking out his, and she'd shiver when she made contact with it; no matter what, he tasted of cool peppermints, and she trembled at the way that it tingled the tip of her tongue. Sometimes she'd detect a hint of smoke beneath the peppermint. Somehow, that was even more erotic, and she'd kiss him as deeply as she possibly could, needing more of it.

His skin was just as easy to predict. John worked very hard, and she would often taste sweat against his collarbone. Her tongue would flick over the area ardently. There was something so enticing about the idea of him working hard, because it brought such images to her mind. Of his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, those perfect forearms on show. Of his body sheening with his efforts. After their lovemaking, he would taste subtly different, the tang of his sweat perfumed by her own body scent. It made her heady to know that she owned him in that way, that their own unique aroma was something that no one else would ever know or be able to match. She loved to touch her tongue to him and simply savour that.

And then there was the taste of the rest of his body. The sweetness of the shell of his ear. The hard-to-place tang of his fingertips. And the length of him. He was more reluctant about allowing her to touch him in such a way than she was about allowing him, but she tried to let him know as plainly as possible that she simply adored it. He tasted bitter there, of something that she couldn't quite name. She wasn't sure how many women would enjoy such a taste – but, as she had often asserted, she wasn't a lady. Running her tongue along him, tasting the acrimonious tang of his tip, his rigidness...and finally, the hot, salty liquid that signified his end. She would always swallow eagerly, licking him clean.

The taste of his skin was beautiful, and she would never tire of it.

Listening to John speaking was one of Anna's favourite pastimes. She loved the soft burr of his accent, that hint of Irish that peeped through every now and then, changing the way that he pronounced his words and making her feel suddenly flustered. His tone was always gentle and soft, which was all the more welcome in the blanket of night, when they were wrapped up in nothing but each other, the sheets long discarded. She loved to hear him speaking with the other men of the house, and she would secretly compare John's softer, more melodious tone of voice with Mr. Carson, who she could always hear coming a mile away.

When they took turns reading, she would cling eagerly to each and every word he spoke. He had a way of pronouncing every letter that couldn't be captured by her rather brash accent, a precision that made her heart flutter. His tone was always rich, a deep baritone, and it never failed to make her squirm with want, no matter what he was reading. He could have been reading a recipe, she'd joked once, and she'd still find the enthralling side of it. She often wondered if John put even more emphasis on his tone of voice, just because he knew what it did to her.

The sounds of pleasure that he made when they were together always made goosebumps erupt over her flesh. His sounds were low and growling, quiet grunts that matched his quiet personality, rumbling against her ears. Even when he moaned her name, it was quiet, only loud enough for her to hear, as if he was shutting out the rest of the world and it was just the two of them. She loved the way that his quiet noises countered her louder ones, until they mingled together in the air, creating a tuneful crescendo as their passions reached their peak.

And, what she loved most of all, was his laughter. It didn't happen very often, and had been very rare during their courtship and that testing first year of their marriage, when the weight of the world had rested heavily across his back. John was a reserved man. He was always ready with a wide grin, just for her. He chuckled often enough, amused by her quick wit and her cheeky ways, but it took more to make him truly laugh. Anna had resolved that that would be her goal now that they had begun their lives together properly, and she glowed internally whenever she succeeded. John's laugh was infectious, coming deep from his belly and making him shake all over, his guffaws deep and true. Nothing made her heart swell quite like that.

They were beautiful noises, and Anna would never tire of them.

John was a handsome man, and there was no denying it.

He would, of course. Vehemently, as was his nature. He would say that it was impossible that he could be considered a good looking man. Mr. Matthew was, and Mr. Branson was. Jimmy was. But he most certainly wasn't. He lacked the striking eyes and the charm and the easy smile. Anna knew that he was completely wrong. He had outgrown boyish good looks. He was a man. But he still had those same traits. He had eyes that shone with absolute adoration whenever he looked at her, eyes that twinkled when he smiled and that burned intensely in the heat of desire. He had the easy smile that made her stomach contract. And he had the charm that could arouse her within seconds. But he also had more. His broad shoulders and long legs were striking. He had a gentle kindness that was unmatched. She could well imagine how effortlessly he'd turned heads as a younger man, and was just glad that those days were behind him, that he was content with being with her.

She loved to watch him at any opportunity that she could. She'd perch herself on the edge of the tub when he shaved, watching each precise stroke of the razor against his face, the little frown scrunching his forehead as he concentrated on not nicking himself. The large hands, so delicate despite their size. She'd watch him talking with the others at work, engrossed in the conversation, his brown eyes earnest and sincere. And she'd watch him watching her, see the smile that bloomed on his face, the way that it reached his eyes so completely, the crinkles that she loved so much creasing the corners. The way his face glowed in those moments would always leave her short of breath.

She loved to watch him as they made love, tracing the lines of pleasure that captured his face. The way that he gritted his teeth as he moved within her. The devoted expression on his face as she hovered above him. The way that his body jerked as he pushed them both closer to the edge. And the way that he always squeezed his eyes shut when the end overtook him, his mouth hanging open. It was incredible to see.

But it was the sight of him first thing in a morning that she loved the most. It was rare for her to be awake before he was. Usually, she opened her eyes to his gentle breathing against her ear, or else to find him already staring lovingly at her, eagerly drinking in every move that she made. But, on some extremely rare occasions, she would jerk awake suddenly, to find her husband still in the arms of slumber. Their favourite way of sleeping was with Anna in his arms, back pushed tightly against his front, but sometimes she would awaken on her side, curled up as John slumbered on his back, and those were the days that she cherished the most. With the sunlight hitting his face, he looked more handsome than ever. His face was completely relaxed, void of any lines, the shadow of stubble kissing his jaw. He snored lightly through his half-open mouth, and she giggled at the sound. It was a good job that she was a heavy sleeper. The covers were halfway down his chest, and the sight of his thick chest hair made her breath catch in his throat. His hair was all over the place, tousled from their hours of passion. He looked so at peace with the world.

When she got her first glimpse of those dark eyes, blinking sleepily as he adjusted to his surroundings, her heart skipped a beat in her chest.

"Why didn't you wake me?" he said. His voice was scratchy and hoarse. "You should have."

"You looked so lovely," she cooed, giving him a smirk. "I would have felt terrible if I had."

He opened his mouth to reply, and she took the opportunity to shut him up with a kiss, smiling when she felt his arms winding around her and pulling her further into the warmth of their sheets. For a few minutes – or perhaps even half an hour – they could forget about getting ready for work.

John was beautiful in every single way, and she loved him so much.