This honestly has no purpose, other than I wanted to write it and I'm procrastinating on revising a YA project, which has angst, but alas, no Rochester.
I've always felt like Jane Eyre had a latent feeling of eroticism about it--most Gothic novels do. You have a young girl, an older man, lots of tension and atmosphere...it sort of comes with the territory. So I'm definitely guilty of having plenty of JE fantasies in my day (and Rebecca fantasies but I digress.) But when I first saw the 2011 Jane Eyre with Michael Fassbender, it was like all my fantasies had joined into one giant super-fantasy, not unlike the bigass Power Ranger that the other Power Rangers could morph into, and then that giant super-fantasy was in the throes of Fass-passion (fassion?) the entire film.
But this scene in particular. Oh my god this scene:
I know, I know, I know that the reason that this makes me die, the reason this is so goddamn sexy, the reason that this is one of my favorite scenes in the book is the restraint, the almost-but-not-quite of it. And when I write my "actual" books, I play with that dynamic constantly, because it's my jam.
But. This is my happy place and this is also the internet, so screw restraint and also Charlotte Bronte having seven hundred simultaneous heart attacks if she read this (because let's face it, she would have banged Rochester too, if he'd been real, and she also would have banged that guy in Belgium.)
So here you go!