A/N: I've wanted to write this for a while, but the angst just kept getting in the way. So here it is, all nice and fluffy for y'all. Set early season 4, before "Prophets".
I don't own Person of Interest, come on really?
"Fused"
by AmethystB
The quiet defines where they are.
Together, but alone. Root taps loosely on her laptop while Shaw tunes out to Fallon and a beer.
It's not domestic, barely familial. It's just their way and sometimes it's needed.
Shaw's bare bones apartment lacks decoration but warmth emanates from their silent chemistry, an unspoken magnetism that sometimes has Shaw stealing a look.
Tonight Root doesn't notice Shaw looking at her.
Still dressed from work—a slate-grey dress that shows too much cleavage—Shaw stands to stretch, rolling her head slowly from side to side. She drinks the rest of her beer and takes the two steps to stand at the other end of the couch.
Root doesn't see her in front of her; she's lost in her computer, lines of code acting as hypnotism.
Shaw clicks her fingers Root's way. "Hey. Take a break."
A smile, then Root's laptop snaps closed. "Sorry, I was preoccupied."
Shaw lowers herself, crouches to clutch the computer for herself, tosses it onto the empty space on the couch. She's held hostage by hands that link steadily onto her wrists, pulling her down, closer.
They kiss, unexpectedly soft, fervent.
"Preoccupied, huh?"
They lock into each other, magnetism working its way through their crackling base alchemy. Neither was ever prepared for the other.
On the way to the bed Root decides how she wants it to be this time. Sex is fine, but it isn't enough tonight. She knows something is coming, something bad, so she wants to take her time.
Her hand hovers over Shaw's exposed thigh, the other woman's nails protesting the distinct lack of contact.
"It's not like you to not touch…"
Shaw's mouth finds the tender point of Root's throat, and Root bites her tongue to force shut a more primal response.
"Lie down. Please."
Hesitation plays on Shaw's face, her eyes darting between Root's reverent gaze and the door. She doesn't like to relinquish control, though she's given it up a few times during the length of their relationship. She's just always given back is all. This feels different. This feels like perhaps there is no giving back.
What's going on? She doesn't ask. Wants to, but what good would that do? Ruin the mood, destroy the sex in mid-swing.
A hand rides up the length of Shaw's dress, ghosting fingertips through to the lining of her underwear. Fingers drift there while Root plants a kiss on one side of Shaw's collarbone, then the other.
Shaw lies still, obeying the need to stay dormant while Root works her way through.
They haven't been here before, a total trust, a complete abandonment of body. Usually there's a give and take, push and pull, but tonight feels different. Shaw wants to give herself over.
Keeping Shaw still with a knee between her legs, Root kisses lips that don't protest. Shaw's arms stretch above her without a challenge and Root's mouth reaches the sensitive skin at the inner elbow.
A small shift of the hips and Shaw wants the power of her hands back, but Root keeps them secure by the headboard.
"I promise I'll be good," Root whispers into the ear she takes in her mouth.
A phone rings and vibrates in the pocket of Shaw's dress—she'd forgotten it was there.
Root, letting her fingers creep up, tries to distract Shaw. "Ignore it."
As Shaw scrambles and forces herself away from Root, she fumbles for her phone. "Right, like you'd ever ignore a call."
Shaw answers; it's John.
"Any idea when you're getting here tonight? We have something to discuss."
Standing at the end of the bed, Shaw resists the urge to roll her eyes and swear. She swipes away the look Root gives her.
"I wasn't planning on dropping by," she says into the phone.
Root sidles closer, placing each one of her legs either side of Shaw. "I can multitask."
"Whatever we need to discuss," Shaw, defiant, speaks to John, "we can discuss tomorrow."
"Sorry, am I interrupting something, Shaw?"
Root hooks her legs around Shaw's, just above her knees, and draws her in, almost making her fall onto the bed.
"No," Shaw continues, her voice now altered. "I'm just…settled for the night. I'll come in tomorrow morning."
She ends the call, hands grasping as Root holds her tight.
They fall back into their own pattern, a strange symbiosis paved with deceptions and unspoken confessions.
"What did Herman Munster want?"
Shaw's fingers work the hooks on Root's pants, pulling them down and off. "Nothing."
Reese's interruption causes the realignment of friction between them, Shaw no longer a willing participant in Root's experiment. Now, Shaw complies to her own compulsions, her hands working the way she wants them to.
Root, from beneath, fights for Shaw's mouth, a desperate kiss amongst searching hands.
Root's shirt, a thin blouse from her cover identity—what the fuck was she this week?—is unbuttoned slowly while Shaw's other hand drifts across Root's thigh.
Shaw, never one for kissing on the mouth, brushes her lips against the rippled skin on Root's shoulder, an old gun shot wound.
"Do you still think about it?"
"How you shot me?" Root responds with Shaw's lips a zephyr on her throat. "Fair play. I tried to burn you with an iron."
"Fore-play."
"We've moved on to other toys since then…"
Root arches her back as Shaw covers her mouth with her own to stifle the sound. Root shudders around her and Shaw feels a strangled sense of victory.
They crash into each other, undone. Shaw rests a leg between Root's, somewhat daringly, unsure. Never having been purely intimate with anyone, the rules are still unclear to Shaw.
She knows Root has feelings. She just does't know what to do about them.
In the quiet Root finds Shaw's hand, makes her fingers trace along the scar on her shoulder.
"It's your mark, Sameen. I can't get rid of it."
Her voice gravely, Shaw finds Root's eyes and speaks softy. "You wouldn't want to get rid of me. I'm here and you're here. That never changes."
They kiss softly, their polarity an undeniable force.
...
Morning rises over Manhattan. The loft warms and Shaw wakes to the buzz of her phone. John. Shit, she'd forgotten her promise from last night.
Root sleeps soundly, a soft snore would have been endearing to any other lover. Shaw throws a pillow at Root's head.
"Get up. We've got a new number."
Grumbling, Root tucks the stray pillow under her arm and turns over. "It's too early. Come back to bed."
"Fine," Shaw intones coldly while tying up her hair, "I'll leave without you."
"Fine."
Shaw tries not to fixate on the night before, the first night they'd stayed together. Root in her bed overnight means something she'd rather not think about. Having Root there leaves her with the strangest sensation, a kind of permanence. Hadn't all this begun as something to pass the time? When had it become habitual? A thing to be considered permanent?
Fuck.
Root stays still, a silent injunction indicative of their relationship. Neither yielding to the other, yet both working together.
In some fucked-up reality, it might just work.
fin.