Thanks to Liz for the prompt (Walk of Shame) and for continuously kicking my butt back into this lovely fandom. Love you all! Enjoy this little ficlet.
Brenda didn't have too much trouble finding her underwear and bra - each deposited only a foot or two from the spacious, four-poster bed - but the rest of her clothes were a different story. And rooting around the Captain's room in the dark was proving less successful than she would've hoped.
She'd begun by simply walking: sweeping one foot out over the carpet, then the other, trying to feel her way across the space in the dark and tease out the folds of her skirt or the buttons of her blouse with the tips of her toes.
No such luck.
Next she lowered herself to all-fours, using her hands in a similar method of detection, sweeping one palm out, then the other. She found her purse that way and gave a little sigh of relief. Which she immediately ceased, remembering that the entire reason for her supposed stealth was not to wake the woman still breathing softly in the bed.
Brenda resumed her search, her eyes finally adjusting to the dark. Or so she thought until her head crashed topside into the side of the dresser.
She hissed in pain, still keeping fairly quiet. It didn't matter. The preceding sound of her blonde noggin bouncing off of Sharon's mahogany was enough to wake a whole household.
One of the bedside lamps filled the room with warm light, blinding an already-stupefied Brenda in the process.
She squinted in the direction of the bed, rubbing the top of her head with one hand. She glanced down briefly at herself then back at Sharon, who was finally coming into focus. Brenda realized how absolutely ridiculous she must have looked in that moment - sprawled on the bedroom floor, half-naked, and clutching her head like some cartoon cavewoman. For the first time in a little while (not too little, if she was being honest), she felt truly and utterly embarrassed in front of the Captain.
The all-knowing, godawful smirk on the other woman's face didn't help.
"I was tryin' not to wake you," Brenda mumbled.
"And how many years were you with the CIA?" Sharon's voice was still groggy but it seemed to Brenda that the woman's tongue never slept. It always had a goddamn comeback for every little slip-up or misbehaviour or whatever-else. It had been the most maddening detail about the woman, ever since they'd met. And for Brenda, it had also been the most enticing. Every fresh jab elicited a current of arousal from the tips of her fingers to the more… private parts of her anatomy.
As soon as Brenda had learned to take the teasing more patiently, she'd grown very fond of it, returning it right back to the brunette with more pleasure than she would outwardly admit. Her team saw the banter as more of the same, old bitterness between the two women. Only she and Sharon were aware that it was tantamount to shameless flirting. And they could get away with it in the office.
"Well at least I got you to stop snorin' loud as a tractor, Cap'n." Brenda drawled, smiling precociously.
Sharon rolled her eyes but wore an amused smile as she slipped out of bed. Brenda eyed the woman's short, lavender nightgown. It allowed for a perfect display of the strong, shapely legs that had been wrapped around Brenda in every mold and manner over the last few months.
Sharon began easily discovering and amassing the various articles of both hers and Brenda's clothes, carelessly strewn about the room hours before.
Brenda had forgotten about the bump on her head and leaned back on her hands to watch the brunette collect every last item, right down to Brenda's kitten heels.
When Sharon was done, she deposited it all in a pile on the bench at the foot of her bed and crossed the floor to where Brenda was sitting. Sharon offered a hand and hoisted Brenda firmly into her arms, looking over the Chief's face with a predatory glint and grin. Brenda swallowed hard. Her eyes traced the lines of Sharon's mouth. This was precisely why she'd been trying to leave without alerting the woman: because as soon as Sharon was awake, her presence was like some sci-fi tractor beam and Brenda was helpless to resist its pull.
Sharon tightened her hold around Brenda's waist and leaned her lips in close to her ear.
"You know I hate it when you leave without saying goodbye." She punctuated the purr with the curl of her tongue around Brenda's ear. Brenda's nails tightened into Sharon's shoulders, leaving little red semi-circles across her freckled skin. Sharon continued. "When is Fritz due home?"
Brenda worried her lower lip. She could lie. She could say he'd be home early in the morning, thus justifying her middle-of-the-night departure. Or she could grasp at some further excuse: say her parents were coming to visit or her niece, or that she was worried about the cat being alone for too long, or that she had case work to finish up first-thing.
"Bren-daa…" Sharon's sultry sing-song in her ear caused Brenda's skin to ripple in goosebumps, a little shiver of anticipation running through her at the decadent pronunciation.
"Day after tomorrow," Brenda replied quickly, her mouth working faster than her brain. No one was really coming to visit. Her neighbour could check on the cat.
"Hmmm, then how about we postpone your little disappearing act until you absolutely have to leave. I happen to be off the clock tomorrow, and I'm fairly certain you are long overdue for a sick day." The warm breath behind Sharon's words wound itself against Brenda's neck like a collar.
"I am?" Brenda said absently, barely paying attention to what was being said anymore. She was lost in that breath, in the flutter of Sharon's nightgown against her stomach, in the tickling of long brown hair against her skin, in the firm hold of the woman's arms.
Brenda knew she was sunk even before Sharon pulled back to look in her eyes.
"You are." Sharon confirmed.
Brenda wound her hand into the messy waves of brown hair, tangling her fingers through it and pulling gently. "Then I guess you better take good care of me. I think I'm feelin' a little under the weather."