@ILoveMushyStuff hinted pretty strongly on Tumblr that she’s like to see a fic inspired by this blouse Shelagh wore in s8e3, and considering how much I owe Mushy for all her kindnesses and posts, I jumped at the chance.

It’s a pretty blouse, as you can see, but it’s the buttons down the back that provoked this little bit of fluff. (I can’t get a decent screen shot of that angle, but here’s a pic you’ll like of pretty Shelagh!)

Shelagh huffed and blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.  “Ridiculous blouse,” she muttered. She dropped her arms and glared over her shoulder at the reflection in the dressing mirror.

“That’s a face that’ll scare the children,” Patrick warned as he came to stand behind her, his hands deftly knotting his tie.

“You’re not helping!”  She raised her arms over her head, nearly knocking his chin as she tried to reach her back.  “Oh, bother!”

“Why don’t you simply put on another blouse?”

She dropped her arms again in defeat.  “They all need ironing, and there’s no time.”
“You could ask me, you know,” Patrick tried to hide his grin.  

Shelagh rolled her eyes.  “I’d be better off asking Angela.”  

He clutched at his heart dramatically.  “I’m wounded.”

“Wounded, my granny.  I need to put this blouse on me, not on the floor beside the bed.”

He laughed.  “Alright, turn around.  I’ll try to restrain myself.”

He moved close and smoothed her hair over the nape of her neck, his breath caressing the smooth skin there.  “Not so many buttons,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along the opening and coming to a stop at the bottom button.  “One.”

He stroked his thumb against the silky slip she wore underneath and moved to the second.  “Two.”

Shelagh sighed.

The third button hovered over the clasp of her bra.  Somehow, a finger slipped beneath the strap and stroked the skin there.  “Three.”

This time, it was Patrick that exhaled deeply.

His hands were not quite as sure as he reached the fourth button. He lingered there for a long moment and stared at the small triangle of pale skin above it.  Swallowing thickly, he fumbled but threaded the enameled green disk. “That’s five.”

Shelagh stood stock still, wondering which she wanted more:  for him to finish, or for him not to finish.  When his hands came to rest on her shoulders, she leant back ever so slightly against him.  Long fingers slid under the neckline and caressed her collarbone as his thumbs stroked the back of her neck.  Any thought of resisting him flew from her head and she relaxed against him.

“And that’s me finished”  In an instant, he had the sixth and final button fastened.  With a avuncular squeeze of her shoulders, he turned to leave the bedroom.  At the door he stopped and looked back, a mischievous grin on his face. “No blouse on the floor, then?”

Shelagh turned to face him squarely.  “Well, not now, anyway. But I rather think you’ll be home early tonight.”

Reader, he was.