Wishing the happiest of birthdays to Joodiff! Thank you for continuing to inspire me, make me laugh and for your endless patience with encouraging me, supporting me and betaing for me. Have a lovely day, my friend - I hope you enjoy this little story. Sending many, many hugs! :) xxx
Now
…
Tired, aching in a way that suggests she's spent far too much of her day cooped up in an uncomfortable chair, and thoroughly fed-up with the glacially slow progress in the investigation she never wanted to be involved with at the serious crime unit she didn't want to be loaned out to, Grace pushes open the heavy front door of Peter Boyd's Greenwich home and walks out of the cold, dark, damp night and into the warm, quiet, peaceful hallway, the gloom of which is cut by the soft light of the small lamp resting on the table where he keeps his keys when in residence.
The hallway is quiet, and the illumination of the single lamp coupled with the Audi parked on the drive outside indicates that he's retired upstairs for the night. Given the hour that's a little strange, but not excessively so. It is late, after all, and though he frequently works late into the night, Boyd is also not above the occasional early bedtime if he's feeling particularly in need of a little extra sleep.
Quietly and carefully Grace divests herself of bag and keys, placing hers on the table beside his, and then hangs up her coat and tugs off her boots, slipping her feet into the slippers she left abandoned underneath the radiator that morning. They are blissful warm around her cold toes.
Now she wants a long, hot bath but she has neither the patience to run it, nor the energy to climb in or out of it. It's a shame, though, she decides, as she heads for the kitchen to get herself a much needed glass of water, because a long soak in the darkened bathroom with just a couple of candles burning would go a long way towards helping her recover her lost serenity.
She's too tired for dinner, and it's so far past her usual mealtime that she's moved beyond hunger now anyway. Leaning against the counter she twists slightly, trying to ease the dull, niggling pain in her lower back that has been vexing her more and more as the long, trying day has worn on. And on and on and on.
Glaring at the empty glass in her hand she sighs and refills it. I'm getting old, she thinks, irritably, turning and heading towards the stairs. She wants to return to the CCU. Wants to see her colleagues, wants to delve back into the case they were all working on before she had to leave to help out with the string of grisly dog abductions and killings that has gripped the national press for weeks now, and which has just been linked to a large and well organised drugs network. The investigation she's been seconded to is being overseen by the most uninspired, dull and difficult of men she thinks she's ever come across; it's hard work fitting in with a team that didn't want her there in the first place, and a long, arduous slog turning up every morning to be continuously ignored or pushed aside and then expected to stay until long past the end of the working day because little is being achieved in the way of progress.
She wants to share a few home truths with her temporary team and its leader. She wants to tell the Home Office where to take their assignment. She wants to sit opposite Boyd and smile at him as he conducts a staff meeting, knowing full well he can read all the things she's silently telling him with her eyes, be they work related, amused comments on the antics of their colleagues, or perhaps something else entirely, something a lot less suited for the work place but considerably more fun.
She likes watching the way he keeps calm, maintains his professional persona. Thoroughly enjoys observing when there are moments where he comes close to forgetting himself. Loves when he finds all sorts of subtle ways to respond to her while the team remain blissfully oblivious to the secondary conversation happening in the room. It's exciting, it's thrilling and it's a lot of fun. It's an art they have perfected over many years, an art that in the last few months has taken on an entirely new and exciting dimension.
She wants, she thinks, to go upstairs, have a brief, cleansing shower to rid herself of the day's toxic remnants, and then curl up beside him in the peaceful security of his embrace. She wants to sleep long and deep and dreamless and wake up feeling relaxed and refreshed in the morning.
It won't happen, but it's a nice thought. Too many nightmares lately. Some are remnants of the horrors of recent months, but most, she's sure, are related to her current circumstances. Something about this investigation is causing a significant amount of stress and anxiety for her, though she's thus far been unable to ascertain exactly what that cause is.
Maybe it's DI Tompson and his underhand tactics when dealing with the staff. Maybe it's DCI Fellows and his inability to listen, to accept what her knowledge and training and experience can tell him about their case. Maybe it's the long hours with little rest, or the constant bickering, sniping and backstabbing of a team that has clearly never gelled into a cohesive unit. Maybe it's –
Enough! There are too many possibilities, and now is not the time to contemplate them. Switching off the light and pulling the door to behind her, Grace navigates her way up the stairs in the dark, relying on her knowledge of the layout of the house rather than her eyes.
There are no lamps lit upstairs, only the dull gleam of pale yellow light distorted by the frosted glass of the bathroom window casting a vague, indistinct sort of light into the shadows. Heading straight for the sink Grace goes through the automatic motions of brushing teeth and removing makeup without thinking about what she's doing, her mind still preoccupied with the laborious, frustrating day she's just survived, and the thoroughly unappealing prospect of repeating it again in just a few short hours. Switching on the shower to heat the water she starts to strip, tossing her clothes into the laundry basket, and closing her eyes, trying to push away the tension.
The water is hot and very soothing, the steam swirling around her inside the large cubicle a welcome cloud that helps obscure the world around her and provides the illusion that she can let everything go. Lathering her sponge with the softly scented shower gel she reserves for special occasions, Grace starts to wash her body, keeping her eyes closed as she does and imagining that she is washing away all that was testing and tough and trying about the day. It works well, especially as the shower's powerful stream of water cascades down on her, pummelling the sore, aching muscles in her neck and shoulders.
Filling her lungs with hot, steamy air she holds her breath for a count of ten, and then releases it very slowly, consciously relaxing as it leaves her body. Repeating the process again and again and again eventually leaves her feeling much more composed and lethargic, much closer to her natural serenity and even a little shaky on her feet. Opening her eyes she sways a little, reaching out in front of her to place a steadying hand on the glass. It's cool beneath her touch, grounding her further, catching her concentration. The soft glow of the street light filters around her skin, highlighting the outline, the print she leaves there as her hand falls away again.
For a moment she stares at the palm print, at the four fingers and the thumb standing alone in the sea of steamy glass and water droplets, and then her attention is caught by the pair of eyes beyond it. By the bubbles floating on the surface of the filled bath, by the stillness of the man settled in it. By the intensity with which he is gazing at her, raptly fascinated by her, by her movements. By everything she can read in the hint of silent mystery surrounding him, by the thoughts and feelings and emotions she can see in him, almost feel in him.
For just a moment Grace can't breathe, but then the shock of being caught off guard by his presence wanes as she becomes lost in the way their eyes are connected, the way a thousand and one things pass silently between them, the glass dividing them no barrier at all to the sudden heady delight rising inside her.
Boyd shifts slightly, stretching his long legs, and as the bubbles drift and glide together she can see exactly the way he's reacting to watching her. It does nothing to damp down the edge of desire already gripping her, instead only ignites the smouldering embers into flickering, dancing flames that look hungrily for more fuel to burn. Deliberately provocative, she moves under the shower's spray, arches her back just the tiniest little bit. He sees. He sees immediately, and it's so, so evident in the tightening of muscle, in the shift of weight beneath the water, the grip of his hands on the sides of the bath.
This impasse can last only moments longer, Grace knows. It's fun while it remains though, each of them making a game of employing the tiniest of movements to provoke the other, to see who will break first, move first, who will yield to the inevitable before the other.
In the end they move together. He stands in a cascade of water and bubbles, all long limbs and defined muscle caught in the soft, flattering light from outside. She switches off the shower blindly, attention entirely snared by Boyd and the way he moves as she slips from the cubicle, droplets running across her skin in rivers. They meet in the middle, falling into a kiss that begins as warm and soft but morphs almost instantly into heated fire and tangled tongues, limbs twining around one another as skin slides together, the touch and feel of one another attractive, addictive, magnetic.
Damp and cooling rapidly though, Grace feels herself begin to shiver. She moans softly in protest when Boyd pulls away, but then he is cocooning her in a thick towel straight from the radiator, its heat warding off the chill as the water clinging to her begins to soak away. She watches him move, wrap himself in his own towel, lost in the flex of his biceps, the movement of his shoulders. The shadows, the faint light, the look in his eyes… it's all so intoxicating, so exciting.
Somehow they're in the bedroom and he's naked again, the cloth falling away from his body leaving smooth, dry skin in its wake. Beside the bed he reaches for her, peels away the layers he wrapped her in, using dry corners to wipe away remnants of water, the motion so tender yet simultaneously so erotic that it is astonishing, breath-taking.
Boyd leans down to kiss her as Grace stands on tiptoes to meet him, and they are lost, floating along in their own ocean of desire as he eases her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress. She welcomes it though, greedily solicits more and more of his touch, gasping when he hits all the right spots, eliciting the kind of sensation that makes her arch beneath him, writhing in pleasure. Her own hands are far from idle, wandering, teasing, stroking and squeezing, provoking a hiss of her name and a heady groan as she heads for her target, fingers closing around him with glee. The hand on her breast becomes just a touch rougher, the lips on her throat press harder, his teeth nipping the skin there and she knows, pulls him closer.
It's still a shock, even now, just how damn good it feels as he pushes into her, as their bodies slide together. There's no denying just how good they are together, she thinks, mind briefly catching hold of the lucid thought. Part of it must be the strength of the bond they share, the deep, honest love that exists between them. Her thoughts are shattered though as he starts to move and there's space for nothing but sensation in her mind, nothing but the slick, hot pleasure that's building and the endlessly fascinating strength that is beautifully displayed as he moves above her.
Reaching up she catches her hands in his hair, burying them in the thick strands and tugging him down for a kiss that is deep and thorough and filled with an urgent need to make him understand just how much he means to her, how desperately she's in love with him, how incredibly good he makes her feel.
"Grace…"
Her name tumbles down around her again, his tone every bit as filled with emotion as her thoughts and she stares up at him, sees it in his gaze. Sees everything she's trying to say reflected back at her. He knows, she knows, and it's the final push they both need, throwing them both into a chaotic tangle of intense sensation that roars and blazes, shattering everything else for those few precious seconds before leaving them sated and tangled together in the middle of the bed, thoroughly wound around one another and blissfully oblivious to anything but their moment.
"I love you," she finally tells him, recovering enough for words. He kisses her then, answers her not with the traditional response, but with an infinitely tender caress of his lips that is beautiful in its purity, its perfection and Grace feels her heart swell, tears threaten.
They settle beneath the covers, sinking into the deep comfort of the wide, thick mattress, still entangled, still entwined together, and it is wonderfully comforting to both.
Boyd nuzzles her ear, murmurs a quiet question. She sighs softly, happily, and answers, thoroughly lazy now. Conversation rises and falls between them, a languid dance of shared words, not because they have to, but because they want to. Because sharing a few more intimate moments together before they succumb to slumber is what they want, what they enjoy.
Today has been hard, for him as well as for her. Tomorrow may be too, and perhaps even harder. Tonight, though, this moment…
Now…
Now is just about perfect. Now is what she's held on to the promise of all day. Now is what she's thought of in the trying moments, the difficult moments, the hellish moments. Now, him and her, curled together, sharing together, loving together…
Now is everything to her. And to him, too.