Of Lorenz Theory & Love

Jimmy & Darcy: Letter to My Valentine

Charmed CW characters belong to Charmed CW. Denis and Tera, Darcy, Della, and Dora Valensi are my imagination at work. Light research was conducted for context.

13 Jimmy & Darcy: Letter to My Valentine

Noon, Oldham, Greater Manchester, The Mauve Flat, July 29, 1941

It was just over a week-and-a-half later that Jimmy's foot felt completely back to normal. He arose sleepily from the queen-sized bed without looking to his opposite side, and made his way to the kitchen, fully expecting to see Darcy hunched over as usual, working on her most recent composition while he made a brew of fresh Earl Grey tea for himself, and peppermint tea for her.

Instead, after searching each room thoroughly, Jimmy found Darcy tucked inside in her bedroom closet, finishing up a couple of handwritten letters, which she promptly sealed in a plain-looking envelope and placed in her nightstand drawer. He'd noticed that she had been doing this lately—disappearing for a bit, writing letters, discarding them, rewriting them again, staring into space, possibly shedding a couple of tears at one point?—and he had no idea what she was up to. Rather than badger her about such personal things that certainly did not concern him, he merely went up and kissed her on the forehead, which she most certainly reciprocated.

11 pm, Oldham, Greater Manchester, The Mauve Flat, July 29, 1941

Shivering, Jimmy and Darcy entered the front entryway of the Mauve Flat helter-skelter; there had been a sudden torrential downpour in the several minutes it took for them to cross between the threshold of Tessera Nightclub and Darcy's home, and both were soaked to the bone.

"We can clean your clothes in my bathroom sink," said Darcy. Jimmy nodded, and they dashed through her bedroom to her bathroom door, opening it carefully, double (and triple)-checking for any lingering glass. Seeing none, Darcy turned on the shower tap to start a bath, and Jimmy began to remove his pinstriped shirt.

"My costume is utterly ruined though," she complained. She wasn't entirely accurate; her feathered boa scarf had certainly seen better days, and at least a few feathers had fallen out in their rush to her front door. Her dark flapper dress, however, likely only needed a good solid day on the radiator to dry before being ready for another performance; it had art-deco gold geometric designs, scalloped patterning, and glass-beaded trim, but all Jimmy could think about was how tightly it clung to her curvy body as steam gathered from the warm water nearby.

Darcy tugged the top of her outfit, but her back zipper was stuck on a strand of her hair. "Dammit!" she shrieked in frustration. Just then, Jimmy stepped close behind her, loosened her grip from the zipper, and methodically untied the stubborn strand, which resumed its natural coil instantaneously. He drew kisses down the back of her neck as he unzipped her, thrusting his growing erection. Darcy moaned ever so slightly, and spinning around, they began kissing with an unbridled fervor, unable to stop, until she remembered she'd turned the tap on earlier. Shite. They moved their kissing toward the bathtub as Darcy reached over to shut the faucet.

They tumbled into the water, causing large droplets to splash onto the floor. Darcy found herself straddling Jimmy and looking slyly into his now-smoldering eyes (he nodded), she mounted herself atop him, lowering herself to feel every inch of his alabaster skin slide ever-so-pleasurably into her. Like a piece of her that had been missing all of her waking life. Gasping together, they rocked slowly at first, tenuously caressing each other's bodies softly, gently, with Jimmy biting Darcy's neck and Darcy, in turn, tentatively introducing her finger into his wanting mouth to suck and nip. Jimmy licked one nipple and rubbed it gently with the tip of his thumb, then did so with the other of Darcy, this spontaneously mesmerizing, innately glamorous lady who had emerged seemingly out of nowhere and had chosen him, plain old Manchester born-and-bred Jimmy Westwell-with-the-pinstripe-suit, the actor from a vaguely notorious-yet-too-mediocre-to-be-fully-notorious, ne'er-do-well family, to be with during the summertime warpath chaos that enveloped their very lives.

Jimmy sensed that any woman he would ever meet after Darcy, if there ever were any (and there were certainly plenty of women in the whole of England), would sorely pale in comparison to her (pun intended, he thought to himself wryly). He intuited, in the deepest recesses of his heart, that he would never be so lucky to find such an enthrallingly clever, resourceful woman in his life after Darcy. I'm utterly besotted, he realized with an epiphanic shock.

Upon generating a steady rhythm, steadily escalating with each thrust, Jimmy's arms grasped her ass even more tightly than before; he whispered in her ear "soon" and she dug into his arms with her nails, pushing him over the threshold, as he came, pulsating, rivulets, into her warmth.

Bloody hell, I love her.

But is that such a bad thing? Maybe she and I could have a future—once she gets over this soothsayer business—assuming she's still in one piece come August. Maybe, just maybe, I could propose to her.

And maybe, just maybe, she might say yes...