A/N- I am still working frantically on my other multi-chapter fic but it's taking FOREVER to get to the sexy parts! *snort* and so i distracted myself with this. It's quick and it's pointless, but hopefully now I can get back to the UST and banter and crime solving instead of picturing all the ways I could possibly get them nekid.
Thanks to The Temper Trap for the inspiration (as if i needed anything other than Stana Katic for that).
If you see any glaring spelling mistakes please let me know.
Reckless Abandon.
The live band is good, and she's pleased he convinced her to come tonight.
The music throbs through her chest; heavy bass. She loves the way it makes her heart pulse.
The bar is packed, and he is oh-so-close. The crowd around them bumps and jostles. He curls his hand around her waist and steps a little closer.
The group in front laughs and there is a sudden movement on the edge of the small, impromptu dance area; she comes close to spilling her drink. She takes a tiny step back and she is pressed against him; her back to his front, her shoulder blades to his chest, the soft curve of her arse to the firm angle of his hip. And something more.
He tries to move away, just a little.
Her hand moves quickly, wraps around his leg, holds him there. She doesn't let go.
He breathes out; breath hot against her ear.
Her head falls back to rest on his shoulder. Her body limp. Supple. But she is far from relaxed.
The beat swells, crescendos, and there is a moment's silence. Electric guitar tickles the edge of her hearing. It builds, and she knows the song. She smiles.
His hand flexes, just a little, at her waist. A heartbeat. And then ever so slowly it glides down. His palm curls tight around the bone. His fingers find the hollow inside her hip. He loves this part of a woman's body. But this woman? He's never touched her like this before.
This is new ground. Virgin territory.
The music swirls around them. People dance. They hardly move.
She considers asking him to dance. She wants to move with him. Feel him move against her. But in this moment (a love, a dream, aloud) they are closer than they've ever been.
She imagines, vividly, all the ways they could be closer.
She could turn around, her stance wide, his leg between hers. She would press against him. And he would know just how to angle his thigh.
She could take his hands and guide them around her. Enveloped in his arms she would arch her back. Roll her hips. She would feel him then, grinding against her. So much more than the hint of heat she is currently feeling.
She could angle her head. Her cheek against his jaw. Find the hollow below his ear with her tongue. His hand would drop to her arse, holding her against him.
She could release the hold she has on his leg and, instead, raise her arm to curl around the back of his head. He would bury his face in the curve of her neck. His hand would lift to cup her breast.
She could turn into him. Lift her mouth to his. It would be so much more than last time. She would meld her body with his. Open herself to him. It would be wetness and warmth. Sucking and biting.
She wants it. She wants him. She knows he wants her.
And he does. Oh so badly.
The press of her against him, the hand griping tightly at his thigh, the tickle of her hair against his cheek and neck; it pushes him to the brink. He holds himself there by sheer force of will.
He won't move against her. He fights every instinct to not rock his hips. But while every firing neuron forcing his hips to immobility his fingers betray him; they trace circles at the edge of her stomach. And they find skin.
He could, so easily, slip his hand inside the front of her pants. Would he find her slick with satin warmth; wet and ready for him?
He doesn't know.
But, sweet Jesus, he wants to find out.
It feels like the crowd is cheering him on. (Won't stop 'til it's over. Won't stop to surrender.)
He wants to grab this moment. Dream aloud. Lower his lips to her neck.
And he is going to. He has to. It's such a tiny movement, and he doesn't know why he isn't making it already; but there is something about the way she is leaning against him.
If he moves and she moves away he will never forgive himself.
And then the moment is gone. She is moving away. His chest is exposed without the heat of her body against it.
But the hand at his leg slides upwards. It finds his elbow where his arm lays angled into her. It runs along his forearm. Finally it finds his own.
Although she takes one step away from him she interlocks their fingers and pulls him with her.
He follows.
They push through the crowd. She leads them. At the door to his office she stops. She meets his gaze for the first time in a lifetime of moments.
With her back against the door she pulls him to her. And he does not stop. He presses her up against the wooden door. Eyes close. Mouths open. Tongues battle. Hands clasp. Hips rock. Legs entwine. (A kiss. A cry.)
He tears one hand away. Opens the door. And then, because he has no choice, he opens his eyes and tears his mouth away. The stairs are narrow. He glances down once. Then he draws her inside and locks the door.
She moulds her body back to his. He takes one step. Down. And she holds him there with her kisses; deep and questing. Her arms snake over his shoulders. She wraps one leg, and then the other, around his hips. His hands glide the long length of her thighs; lifting. He cups her arse and settles her against his waist.
He carries her down the stairs; their mouths joined. Her hands in his hair.
When they reach the couch he lowers her. She doesn't let go. Instead she tightens her hold and he remains within the grip of her thighs. They collapse together onto the cushions.
A shuddering breath draws them apart. He rises up just enough to look at her.
She smiles. She rocks her hips into him once more. And then she laughs; joyous. Her eyes, dark with arousal, seem to sparkle with a clarity he has never before seen.
Then her lips are at his ear. Somehow, over the breathless moans and the keening sighs, he hears her, "Reckless abandon."
And he knows neither one of them will stop.