Teaser
She gets to her feet so they're the same height and brings her hand up to the back of his neck, quickly pulling him into a hot kiss in which she is not ashamed to explore his mouth deeply. His hands tighten on her and she pulls him in closer with hands gripping the front of his shirt. She clings on desperately so she doesn't fall flat on her face with the dizzy headiness of his kisses. He matches her intensity, hands finding natural homes under her shirt in the small of her back and thick fingers twining through her hair. He gives a little groan, trying to press her closer, encouraged that she hasn't shoved him away. Her hands suddenly shift around the back of his shoulders, so they're pressed chest to chest, thigh to thigh, mouth to mouth.
Deep breaths suck in through noses as their mouths refuse to break apart, tongues defy disentanglement. Her hands, restless, find their way to caressing the back of his neck and as if in response, his move to caress her ear and the side of her face and down her neck, following a pattern only they know, while his hand in the small of her back smoothes back and forth as if he's assuring himself that she really is here in his arms; she's tangible and real and here in his arms.
He breaks, mutters her name (her nickname, there isn't time for more than one syllable), and then their mouths are worshipping each other's again in the sweetest heart-swelling way. She runs her fingernails along his scalp and he shivers so violently that it ricochets through her too. She gives a high pitched kind of, groan of delight, or moan of pleasure, or vocalisation of the excitement that is building within her chest. Her fingers slip under his collar and strokes down his spine, feeling along the stability of him. In response, his hand shifts to her ass, smoothing over her denim clad flesh to feel her veracity. And then after her enthusiastic response, his hands move all over her, taking in her hips, her waist, the back of her shoulders (he can't get near her chest, its pressed too tightly against him). He feels his way blindly, memorising her muscles and bones, the things that will feel differently once she is not encased in clothing.
She breaks away, manages a sigh of 'oh', before their lips are drawn back together like a magnet with a life of its own. Another searing kiss, but this one is slower, longer, drawn out into a satisfying ache. He's breathing too heavily to respond. But the kiss winds up into a slow caress and he almost sinks into her with longing.
"Emily," Cal manages between agonising kisses; his breath quaking.
Gillian pulls away from him. "You're right. Sorry." She huffs and breathes deeply and tries to catch her breath while studying his flushed face.
"No, I was going to say she's staying over at a friend's." He's cautiously optimistic, eyebrows raised in hopeful question, and Gillian looks him in the eye for a long time before slowly moving in close to him again. She watches his lips part in anticipation and his fingers tighten where they've finally come to a standstill against her neck and shoulder. It's almost like the movement happens in slow motion as she draws his head towards hers with firm fingers at the base of his skull. She keeps her eyes open to the very last second and sinks into him again as their mouths connect, acting as though they missed each other in those brief minutes they were apart.
And then a phone starts ringing.
Gillian pulls back startled and Cal looks bewildered. His hand reaches for his pocket. "I'll turn it off," he suggests.
"It could be important," Gillian rationalises.
"Humph," Cal half agrees. He checks the number on the screen, his left hand still petting the skin he can find around the collar of her shirt. "I don't recognise it." He presses the button to answer anyway. "Lightman?" He listens for a while and then his gaze fixes heavily on Gillian and his hand goes still. He goes still. And then rigid. He looks scared. "What do you mean? How is that even possible?"
Gillian's face falls into concern. She places her hands on his waist. Cal's left hand drops from her neck and he steps away. He starts to pace as he listens and Gillian wonders what the hell is going on, why he's so agitated.
Cal gestures as he talks, as he asks when and where, what the plan of attack was and what they wanted him to do. She impatiently fidgets with a towel on the bench, wanting to cut in but not finding the right opening, despite trying on several occasions. Cal hangs up and rubs his hand over his face, looking worn.
"Who?" Gillian starts.
"Brenda Ward. She's escaped custody," Cal tells her roughly.
Opening Credits