After the decisive kiss he lays on her forehead, and the following fierce one on her lips, everything is frantic, and Ealhswith stops worrying about hurting his bruised body when he wraps his own arms around her in a grip that is crushing. Alfred kisses her like he’s trying to bite, all angles and teeth, and it’s all she can do to dig her fingers into his arms and keep them steady.
It would be a lie to say she hadn’t hoped for this when she knocked on the door and vanity to think Alfred hadn’t known it, but he could always have turned her away regardless, claiming fatigue or pain - Lord only could smell, let alone see, that he needed a bath after days in the saddle and in muddy tents - but he hadn’t.
At the knock on the door she nearly bites him, letting him hold her still - although barely parted - to bark an assent.
The priest who enters pauses, under no illusions of what he is interrupting but beginning his request nonetheless, and Ealhswith runs out of patience. These men hold her husband’s attention day after day and even in the wake of two months apart they cannot grant her one night.
“Forgive me, father, but my lord needs rest.” She hisses, interrupting him mid-bleat with the thought that if he does not go she will hurl something at him.
Later, perhaps tomorrow, she will feel sheepish about dismissing the man so abruptly, but penance is always plentiful, so no harm is done.
She feels, rather than sees, Alfred’s smirk as the priest shuffles out. The soft smile lasts just as long as it takes her to grin back at him, before his Alfred’s mouth is back on hers and she is being pushed until her shins hit the bed and she tumbles back onto it, followed immediately by her husband.
Eahlswith reaches back to the buttons on his leggings that she had fumbled when he first kissed her, this time pulling at them until they come undone, whilst he blindly tugs at her skirts one handed - the other stays on her face, holding her in place while his tongue finds hers. Their teeth clack but they pay it no mind. It would be simpler to break apart and rearrange the tangle of fabric, but Ealhswith hasn’t the patience and seemingly neither does Alfred, pushing himself further up the bed to follow her when she raises her knees high and moaning when she uses both her hands between his legs to take hold of his cock and guide him forward.
Her skirts slip from her left knee, leaving her only in her stockings as he thrusts inside her, making her cry out and fling one arm around his neck to pull him closer. Alfred drops to his elbows, one again taking her face in his hands and attacking her mouth, like he’s trying to crawl inside her further or weld their bodies together, before beginning to fuck her, abrupt and hard, more concerned with crushing as much of them together as possibly tha gaining good leverage for thrusting his hips. It hurts Ealhswith’s back but she doesn’t care, hitching her knees up a little further and running the fingers of her free hand into his hair, snagging on dried dirt and god knows what else, and tightening her grip to make him moan. She likes him like this; desperate, helplessly furious, throwing himself at her to get what he wants as if this isn’t something that law, God, and she herself allow him freely.
He makes a pained cry against her mouth when he comes, his eyes tightly shut and his body shaking, releasing one hand from her face, so that he can silence himself by biting hard on his own wrist. Then he drops his head onto her shoulder, still panting. Eahlswith releases her hand from his filthy hair, watching as he talks himself back into the confines of his own mind, halfway already to regret. She pushes her hand between their bodies, touching where they are still joined and making him hiss, attention returned, before turning her fingers to her own pleasure. A moment later his larger, harder fingers join hers, linking their hands together and taking instruction from her movements.
Eahlswith gasps when he take over the movement completely, puppeting her to rub herself as he presses his face into her jaw. He’s still inside her, but as the movements of their hands grow he slips out and she moans, throwing her head back. She doesn’t say his name, but without meaning too her cries grow louder, building with the tightening in her lower belly until one final slide of his knuckles causes her to wail as she reaches her peak - which he darts up to swallow with another desperate, almost brutal kiss.