The first time Ichabod held Abbie's hand was seven months after his wife's death. They were enjoying a lazy stroll through the park together, and when she stopped to watch a row of ducklings waddle neatly behind their mother toward the pond, something about the moment struck him as perfect. He watched her face carefully as he reached over and slowly laced his fingers with hers, fully prepared to let go and offer apologies on the chance she wasn't interested in disrupting their current relationship.
Instead, he was met with a soft chuckle and completely caution-less smile. "Okay." (The single word made him feel as though he could take flight and cartwheel through the atmosphere). "If you think you're ready to-"
"I am," the slender gentleman declared with confidence, wrapping his arms around her small waist. "Point of fact, you may as well know, I am entirely confident that you and I would have found our way together regardless."
"Regardless?" Abbie questioned, her eyebrow hitched up. "You mean even if your wife never-"
"Katrina was no fool." Ichabod cut her off. "Had she remained sane, and by my side, I would of course have endeavored to be a fit husband, but a man can only conceal so much of himself, especially from his spouse."
"Not sure I follow, Crane." Said Abbie, eyebrow still firmly hitched. "What do you mean?"
"I mean sooner or later she'd have noticed I was falling in love with someone else."
"Oh." Abbie's dark eyes went wide with surprise, her pulse fluttering as she leaned into the open warmth of her partner's embrace.
"That's what I mean," Ichabod whispered as he cradled her face in his hands. "One way or another. And I see no point in wasting more time."
Fighting the End of Days didn't leave much time for high romance - demons could be awfully rude that way - so their version of dating proved a bit chaotic as the weeks went by. Dinner at an upscale restaurant? Just as likely to end with them chasing a monster down an alley as a sweet goodnight kiss.
"Dammit!" Abbie hissed as she hobbled through the door and took off her one remaining high heel. "That's it. I am not buying another pair of heels until aaaaaaaaalllllllllll this crap is over!"
"Having seen what you pay for them, I think that's wise." Ichabod mused as he closed the door behind them.
The couple wandered to the living room.
"Well," Abbie sighed. "I don't suppose you still wanna go to that gallery opening?"
"Much as I love to support the arts?" Ichabod shook his head no. "Openings are always packed events, and I am no longer in the mood for a crowd."
"Me either."
A heavy silence settled into the room.
"So . . . . " Abbie cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly, feeling silly in her nicest dress now that they weren't going anywhere special. "Tea and Pictionary?"
"Brilliant." Her date replied with a broad grin.
Abbie giggled. "Okay. You put the kettle on, I'm going to go change into boy shorts and a tee shirt."
Ichabod had the tea tray all set up by the time Abbie returned, true to her word wearing green and black plaid boxers that fell to mid thigh, and a plain white v neck tee, beneath which he could see the outline of a simple blue bra. If asked one minute previous, he'd have sworn that an expensive, elegant evening gown could never be upstaged by basic pajama wear, but . . .
Something about the way the cotton hugged her figure, and shallow v neck perfectly showcased the healthy swell of cleavage, made her previous outfit seem like a pointless too much.
"Outstanding," he mused quietly.
"Huh?"
"Um," Ichabod shook his head. "Nothing. I've got a selection of teas and board games set out. Shall we?"
"No way," Abbie laughed, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "You went to a whole other place just now, Crane, and I wanna know where."
"It's . . . " Ichabod cleared his throat. "We've only just begun to date," he explained. "My thoughts may be too . . ." he searched for the right word. "Presumptive."
Abbie's grin turned from curious to mischievous. "So it's a dirty thought? Let's hear it, baby!"
Something about her playfulness completely shut down his sense of caution.
"I would dearly love to undress you." Nothing fancy. Simple statement.
Abbie opened her mouth to respond, but Ichabod spoke first.
"See? Poor timing."
"You're allowed to want your girlfriend." Abbie shrugged. "Where do you start?"
"Pardon?" Ichabod froze, not sure he'd heard correctly.
"Undressing me. Where do you start?" Her grin melted away as she slid her body directly in front of him. So close he could feel the heat radiating from her skin.
Is this too soon? He wondered even as his fingers curled beneath the hem of her shirt. "I think here." He said quietly as he lifted the garment over her head and let it fall to the ground. No, he decided as Abbie unbuttoned his shirt. Long overdue, in fact!
She tossed the shirt aside, and he sank to his knees, kissing and nuzzling her warm flesh as he went.
Abbie sighed, running her fingers through Ichabod's hair. "Ah!" She cried out when his tongue found a sensitive spot near the swell of her hip.
"Mmmmm," He paid extra attention to the area, determined to multitask as he worked her boxers down. "Abigail . . . "
"I - I," she clung to him, shivering with surprise and impatience. "-thought you'd be m - more-"
"Shy?" He murmured playfully, winding one arm around her body to hold her steady while his thumb traced delicate circles over her clit and long, elegant fingers pressed inside her.
"Yeah," she panted, clutching his right shoulder.
"My dearest," he whispered, dusting light kisses over her hips and abdomen. "I am a well traveled, well read man, and a mere cursory look at erotic welsh poetry should be enough to destroy the myth of English prudery-if anything-" he nudged her leg to the side and began kissing and lapping his way to her readied sex, "if anything, American Puritanism did more to sabotage the female orgasm than stuffy British propriety ever could." With that he devoured her core and stroked inside her with targeted skill, swelling with pride and arousal at her aggressive reaction.
The more her breathing shallowed, the more pressure he applied with his tongue, building to a series of rapid flicks as the flesh inside her began to spasm wildly.
"Mm! Mm! AH!" Abbie's pitchy, uneven cries filled the room. "Ah! Crane! CRANE!"
More, his entire body yelled at him, we need more of her!
"Here," he whispered, hurriedly undoing his pants and leaning back, guiding her to his lap as he stroked himself until she took over. Now it was his turn to struggle for focus. The thick heat of her center so close to his pulsing firmness was enough to make his throat run dry. Ichabod buried his face in the crook of her neck as he made quick work of her bra, greedily exploring the pliant flesh beneath.
Ichabod leaned back and propped himself up on one hand, the other threaded in Abbie's hair as he rocked his hips, slowly encouraging her forward in his lap. He grit his teeth and grappled for control as he met her entrance and her warmth slowly took him in, bit by unhurried bit.
"Abbie," he mewled as her hands swept down his chest. "My Abbie . . . "
You are lost, he thought as he fell back, eyes closed, helpless to do anything but let his partner take control.
"You feel so good," she whined, taking him deep as the motion of her hips began to shift from a gentle roll to demanding buck. "So, so-ah!"
Her slick flesh tensed and shuddered, driving him closer and closer to finish.
Ichabod clutched at her hips as though they could provide him anchor, and cried out senselessly as he came.
After a few minutes silent cuddling, Abbie helped him shimmy the rest of the way out of his pants, and the pair wobbled off to bed.
They never got around to Pictionary.