Chapter Text
The Ache of Waiting
Delia’s chest tightened as their lips finally parted, the warmth of Patsy’s mouth still lingering against her own. The absence struck sharp and immediate as Patsy pulled back. Delia’s breath came quick and shallow, each inhale still unsteady after the intensity of the kiss. Her hands hovered where they had rested only moments before, aching to close the space between them again. In the quiet that followed, her pulse thudded loudly in her ears.
For weeks and weeks they had lived for moments like this, stolen in secrecy and lit with a quiet, consuming fire. Each time they came together felt like a small rebellion against the careful lives they showed the world, a fragile pocket of time where the rest of it seemed to fade away. A door would close and restraint would loosen. Fingers would slip into hair, drawing the other closer. Lips would wander along familiar paths, the curve of a jaw, the warm skin beneath an ear, the delicate hollow at the base of a throat. Every touch sent a shiver through them both. The closeness was intoxicating, heavy with the emotion they were forced to hide from the world outside, as though each stolen moment had to hold enough warmth to sustain them once time inevitably pulled them apart.
Yet the pattern between them never changed.
Delia’s desire sharpened with every encounter. What had begun as a spark now burned steadily, growing stronger each time their lips met and their hands wandered where they should not. The closeness only made the distance that followed harder to bear. Patsy always seemed to sense the moment when things were about to slip beyond control. Just as the heat between them deepened, she would draw back, breath unsteady but her resolve unmistakable, refusing to let the moment carry them any further.
Sometimes she would murmur a quiet apology, the words barely more than a breath in the charged air between them. Other times she said nothing at all, stepping away with a tight inhale as though gathering herself. Even then her fingers would hesitate before letting go, lingering against Delia’s sleeve or wrist for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if part of her still struggled with the decision.
Their kisses always promised more.
Yet they never quite reached it.
It became the rhythm between them, a constant tension of approach and retreat. Delia had begun to recognize the signs. The way Patsy’s breathing would grow uneven. The faint tension creeping into her shoulders. The quiet pause before she forced herself to step away.
The restraint gnawed at Delia more with every passing week. Each meeting left her more restless than the last, her thoughts circling the same question long after they parted. How long could they keep circling the same forbidden line without one of them finally stepping across it?
The waiting had begun to ache in ways she could no longer ignore but tonight, something felt different.
For the first time, the careful rhythm between them faltered. Patsy’s usual restraint wavered, and Delia felt the line between them blur, a shiver of anticipation twisting through her. Patsy did not pull back. She leaned closer, subtle but deliberate, and the warmth of her body pressed into Delia, drawing her in as though gravity itself had shifted.
Delia’s hand moved of its own accord to the curve of Patsy’s breast, fingers spreading to cup the soft swell, and her breath caught sharply at the contact. Patsy hissed, sharp and low, but she did not retreat. Instead her hand slid down Delia’s side, grazing her skin through the fabric, until her fingertips rested at the hollow of her hip, her thumb pressed just where hip met the soft crease of her thigh.
In that instant, everything but Patsy’s touch against that tender space seemed to vanish. Heat flared hotter with every passing second, each nerve alive with sensation. Time slowed. Her racing heart thumped in sync with the mounting pulse between her thighs and anticipation thickened the air around them, almost electric in its intensity.
Then Patsy’s thumb began to move.
It was slow and deliberate, tracing the delicate crease with a gentleness that barely hinted at its intent. A shiver ran through Delia, curling tight in her chest before sinking deep into her belly, setting her pulse racing. Every nerve blazed, every inch of her alive with sensation. She was burning, aching, wanton and wet, caught between craving and surrender as she shifted her legs slightly apart in desperate invitation. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged bursts, and she felt herself teetering on the edge as Patsy's hand glided over the offered space, her thumb pressing harder, moving with deliberate, insistent purpose.
A ragged moan tore from Delia at the contact, long and far too loud, her cry reverberating dangerously through the stillness.
The spell shattered instantly.
Patsy drew back with a sharp, startled breath, the sound raw and desperate, as if the contact had scorched her. Her chest rose and fell in quick, uneven gasps.
She rose quickly, moving to the edge of the bed, her body taut with restrained energy. She looked as though she might bolt at any moment, yet some invisible tether held her in place. One hand twisted through her hair while the other gripped her knee so tightly her knuckles paled. After a long, tense moment, she reached for a cigarette, fumbling with the lighter until the small flame finally caught, flickering in the quiet room.
Delia’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, the heat in her veins still pulsing with want. She exhaled heavily as sudden fear coiled in her chest. Had she gone too far, did she push too hard? The intensity of the moment left her exhilarated yet raw, painfully aware of how easily it could all unravel.
She bit her lip, unease curling low in her stomach, but the longer she watched Patsy, the more impossible it became to ignore the truth. The tension in Patsy’s shoulders remained, rigid and undeniable, yet it did not appear to be anger or hurt. Her lashes lowered, her breaths slow and deliberate. Every inch of her seemed taut with something viseral and contained. Her dark eyes burned with something raw, wild, and irresistible. Her fingers trembled, as though she were desperate to reach out, to touch.
Slowly, understanding settled over Delia.
It was desire.
Desire poured from Patsy with undeniable force, filling the space between them with heat so sharp Delia’s breath caught and her pulse spiked. Every nerve burned, every inch of her body trembling. She hovered on the edge of surrender, suspended between want and the fragile restraint still holding them apart.
After a moment of tense silence, Delia felt the name fall from her lips “Pats?”
Patsy’s head snapped up. Recognition flared across her face, quickly giving way to something more vulnerable.
Delia held her gaze and asked the question that had lingered for weeks.
“Why do you always… stop?” Her words settled into the charged silence.
For a moment Patsy said nothing. Delia noticed the small shift of her breath, the faint swallow as she gathered herself. Even in stillness there was a tightness about her that spoke of effort. When she finally answered, her voice was soft and measured, though a strain threaded beneath it.
“I did not want to presume. Or take liberties,” she admitted, her fingers tightening briefly against her thighs before relaxing again. She leaned forward to stub out her cigarette, then looked back at Delia with a steady but cautious gaze.
“It is not that I want to stop,” she said softly. “I would very much like to continue.”
A faint flush touched her cheeks.
“But I have reservations,” she continued, measured and deliberate. “For you, for how this might affect you.”
Her eyes lifted again, dark and thoughtful.
“You and I come from very different worlds,” Patsy said quietly. “I learned early that I could depend only on myself. No one guided me. No one protected me. I learned to carry the consequences of my life alone.”
She let the words rest between them.
“It is not my feelings for you that frighten me. I have known my preference for a long time and accept myself. However, I also accept that I must be cautious because of it.”
Delia listened without interrupting, her pulse quickening. Patience Mount was not a woman who spoke freely about herself, and hearing her do so now held Delia’s full attention.
“I am afraid, of course, of what could happen if we were discovered,” Patsy said softly, her voice steady but carrying a quiet gravity. “Doors could close. Careers could end. Respect could vanish. There is much at stake, but the risks I face are mostly practical. If the worst were to come, I could endure it. I could leave, and attempt to start over somewhere else. In the grand scheme of my life, there is much I could lose, yet there is no one left whose absence would wound me the way yours would.”
The quiet certainty in her voice caught Delia off guard. The words settled deep in her chest, carrying a sadness she had not expected to hear from Patsy. Yet beneath that sadness was something steady and unguarded, a tenderness that made her breath catch.
For a moment Delia simply watched her, taking in the seriousness of her expression and the careful restraint that seemed to hold every word in place.
“But you, Delia… you have so much more at stake. A family who care for you, who depend on you.” A brief flicker of worry crossed Patsy’s expression. “You were raised with love, with faith, with expectations that shape your life. I could never forgive myself if I put that at risk.”
The words lingered in the quiet between them. Delia studied Patsy’s face, noticing the seriousness behind her caution. This was not doubt or reserve. It was the careful concern of someone who had clearly spent a long time weighing the consequences.
The realization surprised her. She had not known Patsy carried such worry for her sake. The thought touched her, even as she felt certain Patsy had misunderstood something important.
She drew a slow breath.
“Patsy, do you really believe you’re the one putting me at risk?”
“Yes,” Patsy said simply.
“Cariad, that is not your burden to carry. You did not lead me anywhere I wasn't already going to go.”
Patsy’s jaw tightened slightly. She remained quiet, her hands resting on her knees as if the small effort of stillness helped steady her thoughts.
Delia watched her for a moment. Then a faint smile touched her lips.
“I have always known I was different. Long before you… before us.”
She paused, considering how best to explain something her heart had always known but never had the language to name.
“Even as a child, I could see that the life people imagined for me would never quite fit. Marriage, a husband, children, the tidy arrangement everyone spoke of as if it were inevitable. It never felt right. It was as if they were describing a life meant for someone else entirely.”
Patsy listened closely. The tension in her shoulders eased little by little as Delia spoke, the guarded set of her expression softening.
“I did not fully understand it then,” Delia continued, her voice gentler now, “but I knew enough to see that whatever my life became, it would not follow that path. That is why I left Wales for London, why I chose to make my own life away from home.”
Her gaze never left Patsy’s.
“Being with you is the first time I have ever felt right, exactly as I am,” she said quietly. “I know what I want, and I am choosing it.”
The silence that followed felt different now, calm rather than heavy.
Patsy let the words settle before speaking, her voice softer than before.
“And what is that?”
Delia did not hesitate.
“You.”
The certainty of it spread through Patsy like sunlight after a long winter, filling her chest and racing down to her pulse. Heat followed swiftly, scattering her thoughts even as it left her breath catching.
“You say that as though it were the easiest choice in the world,” she whispered, almost breathless.
Delia’s gaze softened. “For me, it is.”
The simplicity of the answer struck Patsy with sudden force. Relief and wonder rose together inside her. She drew a slow, steadying breath, and as she exhaled, the knot of worry she had carried for weeks loosened.
Delia’s eyes softened further, a quiet invitation shining in their depths. She leaned closer, slow and deliberate, giving Patsy every heartbeat to catch up. The warmth between them deepened, drawing Patsy in as if gravity itself had shifted. When their lips met, it was gentle at first, a tender brush that carried the weight of a truth shared. Then, almost without warning, it deepened, a shared rhythm that sent a shiver through Patsy from the crown of her head to the tips of her fingers.
They pulled apart slowly, just enough to rest their foreheads together, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Patsy’s chest rose and fell in quick, uneven pants, her skin still flushed from the heat of the kiss. Delia’s eyes searched hers, soft and steady, and Patsy felt her pulse thunder in reply.
“You have no idea how much I want to,” Patsy murmured, her voice breathless and charged, each word heavy with the longing that had been building inside her for weeks.
Her gaze drifted around the small room before settling back on Delia’s face. Despite the warmth still coursing through her, the practical corner of her mind nudged its way forward.
“But where,” she asked, a flicker of frustration creeping into her tone, “could we possibly find that kind of privacy?”
Delia’s eyes flickered to Patsy’s glance and swept over the modest nurses’ room. The narrow iron bed was pressed tight against the wall, a small wardrobe groaning under the weight of their uniforms standing beside it. Below the window, a thin wash of evening light spilled through the curtains, painting soft patterns across the desk. The chair was wedged under the door handle, a handy trick that ensured their, albeit limited intimacy.
Her neighbor, by some stroke of luck, was rarely home at this hour.
A sly smile tugged at Delia’s lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Here feels private enough to me, Pats,” she said with teasing certainty.
Patsy’s reaction was instant and unmistakable. She let out a sharp indignant gasp, sitting up so suddenly the mattress protested with a creak. Her eyes darted to the door, wide and alert, as if expecting someone to burst in at any second.
“Delia! We are not doing that here. Anyone could knock.”
Delia’s quiet laugh escaped easily, her eyes bright and amused as she watched the flush bloom across Patsy’s cheeks and trail up her neck.
“We have been kissing in this room for weeks,” she pointed out, reaching out to catch Patsy’s hand before she could retreat too far. Her thumb brushed lightly across Patsy’s knuckles. “And no one has interrupted yet.”
“That may be,” Patsy replied, attempting to gather the remnants of her composure, though the deepening flush made the effort somewhat futile, “but that does not make it a sensible idea.”
Delia leaned back slightly, studying her with an expression that held equal parts fondness and quiet amusement.
Patsy hesitated beneath that look, her fingers tightening slightly around Delia’s as though drawing steadiness from the contact. Her thumb traced an absent path across Delia’s hand before she spoke again, her voice thoughtful and deliberate.
“If we take that step,” she said slowly, “I want it to be something we do properly.”
Her gaze lifted to meet Delia’s once more, steady despite the warmth lingering in her cheeks.
“I want us to have real privacy. I do not want us listening for footsteps in the corridor or worrying that someone might walk in at any moment.”
As she spoke, Delia’s teasing smile gradually softened, the playful glint fading into something more tender.
“And time,” Patsy continued, her voice gentler now, though the conviction beneath it only strengthened.
“Time enough that we are not thinking about anything except each other. I do not want us rushing or settling for half measures simply because circumstance pushes us into it.”
Her gaze dipped briefly toward their joined hands before returning to Delia’s face, honesty leaving her little room for retreat.
“I want the chance to learn you properly,” she said. “To take things slowly enough that neither of us ever looks back and wishes we had done it differently.”
The sincerity of the words lingered in the small room, warming the quiet space between them like a promise spoken aloud.
“That is why it cannot be here,” she finished, her voice low but steady. “Not the first time.”
Delia watched her in thoughtful silence, the certainty in Patsy’s voice settling gradually into place as the meaning of it unfolded. What had begun as teasing flirtation now felt like something altogether different, something intimate and unexpectedly moving.
“You have imagined this rather thoroughly,” she said at last, though there was no trace of teasing in her voice now, only gentle curiosity and affection.
Patsy released a soft breath that was almost a laugh, though the deepening flush along her face betrayed her embarrassment.
“Perhaps once or twice,” she confessed.
The answer drew a quiet smile from Delia, one filled with warmth far deeper than the playful expression she had worn moments before. The shy sincerity in Patsy’s words stirred something fierce in her chest.
She leaned forward, guided more by instinct than thought, and kissed Patsy again. The kiss lingered, warm and unhurried, carrying a gentle relief.
When she finally drew back enough to breathe, their foreheads rested together once more, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.
“Patience Mount,” Delia murmured, her eyes sparkling with affectionate mischief. “Who would have guessed you were such a romantic?”
Patsy let out a short, breathless laugh, her cheeks pinking again.
Delia stole another quick kiss before she could protest.
"You're right," Delia whispered close to Patsy’s mouth. "Now that I have that image in my head, I would not want it any other way."
Relief rolled through Patsy, loosening the tension she had carried for weeks. Warmth pooled in her chest, steady and insistent. For a long moment, they simply stayed close, letting the quiet wrap around them like a held breath.
Delia leaned back slightly, but the spark in her eyes had not dimmed.
"Well then," she said, bracing her hands behind her on the mattress, "if not here, then where, Pats?"
Patsy exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, as though the motion alone could conjure an answer.
"That," she admitted, "is the difficulty."
Delia’s gaze sharpened, desire flickering openly as her lips curved into a teasing half-smile. Her hand twitched closer to Patsy’s, almost touching, almost daring.
"Because that is something I want," she said, her voice dropping lower. "Soon."
The word landed on Patsy like a spark pressed to bare skin, sharp and teasing. Heat flared through her, vivid and impossible to ignore. Her pulse jumped, a delicious ache rolling through her, and for a fleeting second, the memory of the bliss on Delia’s face when she had finally touched her earlier flashed in perfect, unfinished clarity, hot, demanding and impossible to look away from. Patsy drew a slow, steadying breath, but the warmth lingered, lingering like a challenge she was eager to meet.
When her gaze returned to Delia, something had shifted. Determination had settled alongside the lingering flush in her cheeks, grounding the fire that still hummed between them.
“Well, Delia,” she said, a small, certain smile tugging at her the edge of her lips, “I do not know yet.”
Her fingers tightened lightly around Delia’s, a subtle claim and a promise all at once. Her gaze darkened, and her voice was low with intent...
“But I have every intention of finding a way.”