Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

ℭℌą℘ţℯr XVI

Eye of the beholder

You slept all through the day without meaning to. The stress of what you had learned, and the near hypothermia you had encountered was enough to knock you out until dinner. You opened your eyes slowly, unknowing what time it was. There was a fading yellow light filling the bedroom. Close to sunset then. But something was blocking the light. A figure sat on a stool in front of the window.

Blinking, you saw it was Thomas, poised with a pencil and sketch pad, enraptured in whatever he was drawing.

"Hello," you greeted warmly, surprised to see him so early in the evening. Of course you were not complaining.

Thomas jumped a little at your words since the last time he had looked up, you had been sound asleep. He quickly composed his surprised expression into a gentle smile.

"I did not mean to wake you," he said guiltily.

"You didn't," you promised. "It's about time I got up."

"Are you not feeling well?" Thomas asked, moving to sit on the bed with you. He placed his sketchbook behind him.

"I was just feeling a little... under the weather," you replied carefully.

"And now?" he asked.

You felt your warm fingers and toes, noted the candles that had been extinguished after you fell asleep and sighed happily.

"Much better."

Thomas beamed at you as you sat up. He cupped your face and pulled you in for a long kiss. When he pulled away, you saw the sketchbook sitting closed behind him.

"Can I ask what you were drawing so intently?" you asked.

Thomas' cheeks flushed and he reached back for the book. He held it against his chest as if guarding his heart.

"Do not judge me too harshly, my love. I am but an amateur."

Slowly, he handed you the book. The leather that bound it was rich and soft. The pages looked thick and expensive. You opened to the first page. There were a few drawings of his machine, all different parts, sketched in great detail. The intricacy intrigued you. You flipped through and found a few more pages of similar drawings, all of his machines and ideas about how to improve it. Calculations and incoherent words surrounded the drawings and you again marveled at his mind.

"Thomas these are--" you stopped mid sentence as the next page you turned to revealed your own countenance looking up from the page.

Slowly, and with pure love swelling in your chest, you looked through the rest of the sketch book. Every page had you on it. Some had just your face, with your eyes immaculately drawn with every detail tended to. Others had you lying naked in bed, or reading in the library. Every picture took your breath away. He was exaggerating your features, if not completely fabricating your beauty.

"These are of me?" you confirmed.

"Yes," he chuckled. "Is it not a good likeness?"

"Surely this woman is my more beautiful twin sister?" you chided self consciously.

Thomas looked at you seriously.

"You do not see yourself in this way?"

You glanced again at the easy curves of this woman's breasts, the confidence in her eyes, the pure sexual presence.

"I believe you exaggerated certain aspects," you smiled.

"I never exaggerate," he said seriously. "I draw what is there. I have a mind for inventing, for engineering. It does not suit me to draw something other than how it actually is."

He moved closer to you and gently placed the sketchbook on the bed, leaving your hands open to him.

"There was a time when all I could think of were my inventions. I drew them constantly in all angles, all conceptions... But now I cannot. Now I can only draw you, for you are the only thing on my mind."

"Truly?" you asked, feeling the blush in your cheeks.

Thomas nodded and leaned in, kissing you passionately. Your hands roamed down his chest and you tugged at his shirt. He obliged by lifting up his hands and helping you rid him of the intrusive fabric. His lips then returned to your lips, only to leave them and trail kisses down your neck, sucking at points so hard, it would surely leave marks. Still in your dressing gown, Thomas easily slipped it open and found you nude underneath.

Quickly undoing his pants, he slipped those off to join his shirt on the floor. The two of you pressed together, your bare skin tingling at every point you touched. Thomas' tongue was in your mouth, claiming you as his own, and at the same time begging you to be his.

You opened your legs for him and he obliged by filling you up completely, watching you attentively as you gasped with pleasure. He smiled down at you and licked his lips.

"I shall have to draw that face," he whispered mischievously. "I think that may be my favorite of your expressions."

In response to his proud smirk, you bucked your hips up to meet him. The change was instant, and his expressive dissolved into that of ecstasy. You gave your own smirk in response. He leaned his head down to gently bite your lower lip.

"That was not fair," he said breathlessly. You smiled in triumph and repeated your move.

The two of you picked up the pace fairly quickly after that, clutching on to each other and gasping into each others mouths. When you came together, you watched as Thomas' eyes filled with more love and adoration, his lips crashing down to meet yours desperately.

He kissed you while your pleasure washed over you in waves. When you had found the last of your high had gone, he slipped out of you. Without disengaging contact at all, he pulled your back to his chest and held you tightly, as though you might float away if he let go for an instant.

"Do you feel it now?" he breathed against your neck and kissed it.

"What's that?" you said, half lost in the sensation of his lips on your skin.

"How beautiful you are?" he asked.

You thought about the way he held you, the way he looked at you. Even if you could not see it yourself, you knew that Thomas certainly did. There was no doubt to his feelings.

"Yes," you answered. And when you said it, you started to believe it yourself. You were beautiful. You deserved the love of this man, and he yours.

Suddenly, the plan of making money and moving away seemed more important than ever. If you wanted this to continue, if you wanted to be with Thomas, to be truly happy, you would need to get out of this place. The thought of little dark haired children came unbidden, but not unwanted, and you felt in your soul that this was what needed to happen. All you needed was some kind of plan.