*Read with Caution, consensual sexual content marked with (*) *
News of the engagement soon spread over Tombstone, the happy event announced in the paper the following week.
Holliday-Grady
A ceremony will be performed on Saturday, 29th of Oct,
By Rev. John Daily. Miss Clara Delphine Grady and Mr. John Henry Holliday
Are to be married. The bride-to-be will be dressed in white we are told, with a jacket and
Hat to harmonize. The newlyweds plan to spend a few days in the city
Whereafter they will return to Tombstone, where they will reside.
That small article in the paper meant everything to Clara, who snipped out two; one to send to her family in Charlotte and the other as a personal keepsake. Along with this, letters of congratulations had been arriving in the post, wishing the couple every happiness in the world. After all the pain and suffering both endured, Clara felt light for the first time in ages, so much so that even the night terrors had stopped. Having something to look forward to had been the healthy dose of change that she needed. Taking up the new position at the schoolhouse also did Clara a world of good. She thoroughly enjoyed instructing the children, who had become her North Star, her anchor. All worry seemed to melt away like the snow after a harsh winter, promising new flowers in a field of untapped opportunities. Not even the Cowboys lurking in the town reigned over Clara. She was far too gay.
Louisa, Allie, and even Mattie had been all aflutter with helping their friend prepare for the big day. Many afternoon cups of tea were sipped between the women while thumbing over magazines containing the latest bridal fashions from Paris. The dresses were, of course, far too expensive for Clara to afford, given her new circumstances, but that didn't stop the women from piecing together ideas.
The whole Earp family decided to banned together to create Clara an attire, borrowing materials and ordering fabric. Lousia was the best with needle and thread among the lot, saying her wedding gift to the blushing bride would be the dress. A few weeks before the wedding, Wyatt and Mattie presented Clara with something new.
During one of their planning sessions, Mattie couldn't contain her excitement any longer, saying Wyatt wanted to present it to Clara on the day of Clara's wedding, but she couldn't wait that long. After fishing through the chest drawers in their living room, Mattie returned with a sachet packed with light pink tissue paper and handed it to Clara. As the others looked on in excitement, she delicately opened her gift.
It was a necklace. Blue silk ribbon trimmed with golden thread held a golden circle emblem that dangled from the center. The piece was thin but smooth and warmed to the touch. Etched in the middle of the metal was a bridal bouquet. The opposite side had engraving, which read Clara Holliday 1881, best wishes, W. & M. Earp.
"Mattie," Clara gasped. "It's beautiful... I–I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I'm touched by it, thank you."
Louisa and Allie agreed it was a wonderful gift. This had Mattie smiling with affection.
"Wyatt can be a hard man, but he was always one for gifts. You know, Doc has asked him to be the best man! Can you just imagine that?"
Clara smiled knowingly. Doc had never mentioned that information to her, but it was hardly a surprise. Clara would have been taken aback if she learned Wyatt wouldn't be Doc's best man.
"In regards to all of that," Clara fondly ran her thumb over her new necklace. "I've had some time to think on it, and well... Louisa? Do you think– what I mean to say is, if I asked Morgan to give away my hand—."
"Oh, Clara!" Lousia Earp's eyes filled with joyous tears. She wrapped her arms around Clara's neck, nodding with approval. "I think he'd be really chuffed if you'd ask that of him. He loves you. We all do."
The four women giggled with tearful eyes.
"Oh, look at the lot of us!" Allie playfully scolded. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged her shoulders. "Well, since we are all fluttering about, I'd as well tell you my little contribution."
Overwhelmed with so much attention, Clara attempted to tell them it was far too much, all the trouble they were going to. Allie, however, would have none of it and held her hand up to pause Clara's protests and reached into a hat box, pulling out a faded black derby hat. She laughed at the other women's puzzled faces.
"It's an old tradition... oh well, of sorts anyway. Clara will take the bridal party into the saloons, 'begging for blessings.' It is customary that everyone throws in a penny and kisses the bride. It brings good luck to the new union."
Clara tried to smile, thinking the whole idea and custom were medieval. Not wishing to appear rude or ungrateful to her friends, she agreed to it. A flittering image of Mama crossed Clara's mind; she would die knowing her daughter was paraded about in such a manner. Thank heavens she wouldn't be subject to witnessing it.
.
.
One evening, the day before Allie's little hen party, Doc and Clara sat in their room much the same as always. He had opened a volume and was reading slowly from A Midsummer Night's Dream.
He was the epitome of grace, poised in his pronunciation and guile. Clara had not loved him more than in those sacred moments when it was just them. John Henry held the book with a delicate touch, one hand balancing the texts, the other draped over the arm of the chair. His legs crossed over his lap, and for all the show of an open book, he recited the words with his eyes fixed upon Clara.
". . .For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth."
Her heart beat rapidly, so enamored with her beau. "Do you believe as Lysander believes? That true love never runs smoothly?"
He smiled then, closing the book. "It's Shakespeare, Clara. I don't believe he wrote anything to be taken literally; unless you find yourself fooled by fairies on the regular."
She blushed deeply, embarrassed by her childish ponderings. "I can't help myself, I suppose. You transport me to another world entirely when you read."
"You flatter me, Mrs. Holliday."
Clara's cheeks burned. "Not yet. It cannot come soon enough!"
Doc chuckled, setting the book on the table beside him, and stretched out his long limbs. For a long while, he sat there, staring at her. She was always a refreshing sight, as fresh and inviting as the magnolias and azaleas he remembered from childhood. He told her so.
"Oh, Doc—stop all that. You needn't convince me of your affection. You have all of my love."
Clara's eyes grew wide, realizing what she had just admitted. She loved him. Without thinking twice in the innocence of conversation, she told Doc exactly what had been lingering in her heart for quite some time now. And for the very first time, at that.
Her mouth hung open, trying to comprehend the weightlessness she was experiencing, and accepting the expression of pure joy and completion on John Henry's face.
"Oh, Clara," He beamed. "That is all I've ever wanted. Thinking back, the first time I saw you, I knew I could not let you go in good consciousness. You were so green for every quick nib you'd take out on me. It wasn't long after that I knew."
Rolling her eyes, she placed a stack of clean linens in the chest at the foot of their bed. After, Clara grabbed a knitted shawl and pulled it around her shoulders. Tilting her head, a waterfall of hair fell down the front of her chest.
"It wasn't long after that you knew what?"
Doc stood up, closing the small space between them. He moved her hair to her back and rubbed his thumb against the softness of Clara's cheek. "I love you far more than I could ever love myself or others. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life coming home to you."
Steadily, a heat grew between them in the silence that followed that confession. It came in waves of minor panic for Clara, mixed and mashed with a great desire for actions she wasn't convinced she'd be ready for.
Without much thought, she outstretched her hands, placing them flat and firm against Doc's chest. His lungs rattled beneath his clothing, though he was still very strong and lean. A hand fell from Clara's cheek, dropping to Doc's side. Looking longingly into her eyes, he conveyed everything.
It was all right, he told her. She was free from judgment. Consent was hers to give and take away on a whim.
Somewhere in the corner of her thoughts, she remembers that day with Ringo. She had given him consent, too. That had all been her fault, hadn't it? A nagging emotion pulled at her heart. She feared one day, it would come back to haunt her.
"Come on back, darlin'. Don't go down that road. Be present. Be here with me." Doc whispered, lacings his fingers around hers at his chest.
Clara's gaze darted up at his handsome face. Her delicate hands unlaced themselves from his without thought, ruled only by instinct. They found themselves running the length of the plane of his chest again, lingering over his woolen waistcoat at the first button. A soft sigh slipped passed her lips as her fingers unlatched that closure. It was followed by the next one and the one after that. Soon the garment was on the floor along with any pious or modest pretenses. Clara was terrified. She was terrified and thrilled.
(*)Daring to lift her eyes to his face, her breath is caught in her throat as she notices Doc staring at her. His features were wide and inviting, offering himself freely to Clara. He caught her mouth in his, reacting with panting expressions of a love-filled lust at her intimate actions of retiring his suspenders, leaving only a white undershirt between her fingertips and his burning flesh.
He deepened their kiss, leaving nothing to the imagination of how precious her attentions were to him. Only after thanking her for her movements did he break for a breath of air, his nose nuzzled against Clara's cheek, lingering in the sweet decadence that is her tantalizing scent. A low hum rumbled deep in his lungs, feeling the softness of her hands reach under his shirt. The anticipation of her cool hands against his burning skin was nearly too much to bear, finally causing a shiver of delight as her nails grazed his chest, playfully running over the light dusting of sandy hair found there. Doc pressed eager lips to her throat, tickling her to produce a bated giggle.
She tries to continue, wanting to pull apart what Doc is wearing, but he doesn't stand for it. Catching her lips, he steps in closer, knowing Clara will match his movements. Soon she is backed to the side of the bed. Her chest is aching as John Henry presses his lips to the tender flesh of her neck, near her shoulder, letting his tongue describe in matching detail with each caress what her body craves so fervently. Though it was enough to send the poor girl into a state of carnal-related bliss, Doc was far from over.
Drawing closer, he caught Clara as she fell onto the bed. With a quick peck on her lips, Doc undoes her shoes, letting them crash to the floor in a dull thud. He loomed over her frame, a primal urge rising inside his body when Clara's palm brushed against the soft skin of his belly, her playful grasps halting as she ventured lower, reaching the tightness within his slackened trousers. She pulled away, frightened.
Neither of them moved. Whispers saying he would stop–they could stop if it was too much or they had gone too far. Green eyes gazed upon Clara with every tenderness until she was far away from her demons. Safe with him, she collapsed on her back.
He smiled, seeing the angel sprawled out on that bed. Kicking out of his boots, one of Doc's knees rested next to her thigh while a hand latched itself to the crook of her knee, sensually squeezing. A small flustered moan passed from behind her begging lips. Delightfully he found her rocking her body up into his, and Doc's free hand found itself tracing her jaw before hooking a thumb to her bottom lip. For all her being new to love-making, he found himself nearly unhinged when Clara's mouth parted, kissing his circling digit.
"You may very well be the Antichrist," He moaned, navigating the length of her slender thigh to her undergarments.
Doc was careful with Clara, studying her reactions to his tasks. Her breathing was hard, though he discerned no fear, and slowly he removed the layers that separated him from her. At this point, Clara was clawing for him, having no idea what she desired, yet knowing Doc could show her what it was. Delicately, he traced her bare hips before resting a steady palm against the soft hair between her legs. As he lowered his fingers to her wet, swollen skin, Clara whimpered. A low, raspy, and primal groan leaves his body as his fingers enter hers.
Clara's world was spinning. She found her body on fire from all the shivering, grabbing a fistful of fabric from the arm of Doc's shirt. Uncontrollable sighs and moans began so soft, bubbling to the point of delicious, wondrous sighs of sexual passion. It was natural how he touched her– playing her as expertly as the ivory keys of a piano. Without shame, she began to ride against his hand, gliding effortlessly into his embrace, kissing with such a pang of ravenous hunger that it called attention to all of heaven and hell. Before she is aware of what is about to happen to her, Clara's hands are in his hair, her limbs peppered with a thousand chilled bumps, looking into stoic eyes that beg for her, worship her. She forgets how to breathe, caught in a matrix of cloud dancing, and from her core blossoms a revelation so great her crown sees stars, and she erupts like a volcano, crying out with euphoric joy.
When Clara can see again, she notices Doc smiling at her. The fondness on his pallor features says things words cannot, and he moves to hover over the top of her.
"Are you going to... " She asked.
"I would very much like to, though I will stop if that is your longing." His hair was disheveled; his body was twitching with anticipation.
Clara closed her eyes and fought her inner demons. Was she ready? Would she ever, truly, be ready? Oh, how she wanted to be.
"Clara?"
"Yes, I would like you to... I would like to know you as a husband. I would like you to know me as—."
"My wife?"
She nodded.
As Doc reaches to unbutton his trousers, Clara is reminded of Ringo doing the same, and she stops him. Instead, she does this for him, And in return, he undresses Clara completely.
For all of the sickness that consumed his body, there was a strength in Doc when he settled so naturally between her legs. Clara was terrified of what pain she might experience, but as he slipped into her, the tears that prickled in her eyes abated. The tenderness of his thrusts, the cool, wet panting of his breaths in her ear, was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. A lean, muscled arm snaked underneath her, pulling her closer so their chests melded together. Deeper he went, slipping into the depths of her silken warmth, each thrust tightening the spring which threatened to lose at any moment.
"Doc... " She panted, her hands wrapped around his back.
Where was she? Was it arriving in Tombstone, being made to apologize to this Southern stranger for her quick, harsh tongue? Had she still been seated, penning him a letter to say she would be on his arm for the Fourth of July? Had she still been wrapped up with his appearance at her Mama's home, books in his hand to deliver to her? Maybe she was being kissed near the stage at the Birdcage? No, none of these. Clara was in the throes of passion with him. His wife-to-be. He, her husband.
Panting breaths were becoming uneven. A final thrust with the buckling of his hips, the room echoed their calls of cloud dancing, reverberating against the thin windows of that small space, fogging them with their sexual passions. (*)
Both Doc and Clara were drenched in sweat. He rested his head against her fast-beating heart.
"Perhaps, in retrospect, Shakespeare wasn't all wrong after all." Doc coughed violently, pulling a crocheted blanket over their bare bodies. He pulled Clara up to rest with him on the pillows, then began stroking her hair.
Her mind was still reeling. "Oh?"
Doc reached over the nightstand, found a cigarette, and lit it. After a long drag, amidst more coughing, he sighed and smiled over at Clara, whose face was damp but glowing. "'I would not wish any companion in the world but you.'"
Clara smiled, scratching her sweaty scalp. It was settled at that moment: She loved John Henry Holliday. Completely. Wholly. Madly.
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A/N: Okay, so I know I said please don't hate me for the next installment, but as I'm progressing with this tale, a lot of editing and remapping has taken place. So, yay for more romance and fluff and a final scene of Doc in the throes of passion with Clara.
This is such a complex story plot outside of canon, though it becomes a much bigger part after the O.K. shootout. I try to drop little hints of what's coming or how things could go awry without spoiling too much, so you guys are just going to have to trust me. Big ask, I know. It will be worth it.
I can absolutely promise next and final installment of this chapter will take us into canon. *whew* This one was fun to write. ;)
Until next time darlings, I hope you enjoyed it. Stay Blessed. Xx