A/N: each section corresponds to a verse of the song "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" by Louis Armstrong. I originally had the lyrics printed before each section, but someone decided to bust me for copyright infringement. So, if you're a writer who has songfic with lyrics on here, be on your guard. I've included a link to the song on YouTube at the bottom.
xXx
He pretended he was still asleep. The sound of her rising from the chair and pulling on her coat roused him from slumber, but before he could open his eyes, he felt her lean in close.
"Goodnight, Ichabod. I'll be back first thing in the morning," Lieutenant Mills had whispered. Then, he felt her lips on his forehead. A moment later, as though she had hesitated, debating with herself, these same lips touched his. Feather-light and fleeting, her small hand fluttering against his cheek.
Then, she was gone. She had been there for the previous two days, at his side the entire time, sleeping curled in a chair. She didn't want him to be alone, especially now with Katrina gone, she was all he had again. He had awoken that day for a few moments and pleaded with her to sleep in her own bed that night, as he had regained consciousness and it was certain he would live to see another day.
Bone-weary, he dozed through the day, but was ever aware of her presence.
Gobsmacked that she would kiss him without his consent or even his knowledge, he was shocked into paralysis, hoping the tubes and wires attached to him would not betray the speeding of his heartbeat.
She left, but the gentle softness of her kiss remained burned in his memory.
Replayed in his dreams while he slept.
xXx
It haunted him and it shouldn't have. It was a simple kiss, chastely given, her lips barely pressing his for less than a second, intended to convey support. Companionship.
"You aren't alone, Ichabod," she had said, smiling warmly at him in the doorway of his cabin. "Never think that you are alone." Then, she placed her hand on his shoulder, leaned up, and gave him the smallest of kisses.
When she had kissed him in the hospital, he tells himself his reaction was simply due to the fact that he had not felt the touch of a woman's lips upon his own in months.
He tells himself it is simply because he is lonely. It has been over a year since Katrina bid him farewell for the final time.
But, she is lovely, his partner. His fellow Witness.
His dearest, closest friend.
As beautiful inside as outside.
One should not entertain such wayward thoughts about a woman one holds in such high esteem.
And, yet.
In the darkness of his bedroom, the covers nearly over his head, he presses his lips together remembering the lushness of her lips against his. The scent of her so close. The raspberry flavor of the colorless lip cosmetic she favors.
He wonders what those lips would feel like pressed to his in a full kiss; a full, meaningful, lingering kiss. He wonders if she would allow the introduction of his tongue, stroking lovingly against hers in a deep, soulful kiss. He wonders –
He dares not wonder any further than that.
xXx
She is clad in a beautiful gown, a gown from his former time, corseted and long, the soft mounds of her breasts rising over the top of her bodice, enticing him. Her hair is piled high on her head, but a few tendrils have escaped to brush against the silken skin of her neck.
"Crane... Ichabod..." she whispers, her lips a hair's breadth from his, hovering. He cannot feel the trembling of her body over the tremors within his own, and just when he thinks he is about to burst, he gives in to his desire and captures her lips with his.
They are succulent and yielding, molding to his. He fears he may suffocate in the soft fullness of them. He knows he would willingly surrender to such a fate.
She is a tiny, trembling bird in his arms, but he knows she is as strong as iron. It is her mind, her courage, her will that attracts him as much as her beautiful face graced with those sublime lips.
He can feel the laces of her corset beneath his fingers.
He can feel the curves of her body molded against his.
He can feel her body responding to his and his, to hers.
He tugs at the laces and they are both instantly divested of their garments.
She is beneath him in a soft bed, a modern bed with a mattress that isn't filled with straw and insects. A large, sumptuous bed with sheets of 1500 thread count Egyptian cotton and a plush comforter.
What good is a dream if one cannot have the best of everything?
"Ichabod," she breathes his name, a name for which he never much cared, but coming from her lips, it sounds like music.
He kisses those lips again and again and again, unable to quench his desire for them. For her. "I love you, Abbie." The words fall from his lips, the truth of them rendering them easy to say. "I love you..."
"I love you, Ichabod," she answers, her small hands as bold and exploratory as her tongue, and his body tingles all over. "I love you," she repeats.
Ichabod Crane wakes up with a start, quickly looking across the archive room at his partner, frantically hoping he hadn't uttered anything aloud.
"Hey," she greets him. "Feeling better? You were really out there."
He clears his throat. "Yes, thank you, Lieutenant," he hoarsely says. "Forgive me for nodding off." He adjusts his position to better mask the disposition of his trouser's contents, grateful he is across the large room.
"Don't worry about it. You didn't sleep last night, so I'd be surprised if you hadn't nodded off," she says, smiling. "When you're ready, I found something in this book."
"You have?" he asks, clearing his throat, hoping the simple act will also clear his head. "Excellent."
xXx
"Crane, what—" Abbie's surprised query is cut off as Crane's lips return to hers again, kissing her with an urgency that surprises her.
"Abbie," he rasps, pulling his lips from hers only long enough to speak her name. "Abbie..." His arms are tight around her small body. She is covered in dirt and dried blood, but he doesn't care. She's alive. She's alive. His knees ache, the cold forest floor seeping through his trousers as he kneels on the ground, cradling her in his arms, but he pays no heed.
She is alive.
He doesn't notice that she's not pulling away from him until she starts kissing him back. Desperately, fervently, ardently kissing him back.
"Abbie?" he breaks away in his confusion. "Abbie, I—"
"Just... shut up," she says, half laughing, half sighing, leaning her forehead against his. "For once, just... don't say anything." She wriggles her arms free and cups his face in her small hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, her eyes closed.
Ever mindful of her words, he says nothing, closing his eyes as well as he reaches up to stroke her tangled, dirty hair. He startles slightly when he feels her lips press his again, softly this time, her beautiful lips slightly parted.
He quietly groans, gradually taking possession of the kiss, angling his head as his tongue moves forward to lightly sweep against the space between her lips. A question. A question she answers by further parting her lips under his and meeting his tongue with hers. Her hand slides, moving into his hair.
Five years. It has been five years of fighting demons together. Five years of intense partnership with a person who, under any other circumstance, they would never know. Five years of spending nearly every waking moment together. Five years of figuring out ways to banish and defeat various monsters. Five thankless years of keeping their town safe without the town knowing. And, five years of slowly getting to know one another as people. Five years of finding common ground, common interests, and learning they're not as different as they had first thought.
And, about a year and a half of this deep, intense friendship changing and transforming into something deeper and more meaningful.
"What are we doing?" Abbie breathes, pulling back only enough to speak.
"Something we should have done months ago," he answers, nuzzling her nose with his.
"So, I had to disappear and almost die to get you to make the first move?" she asks, her beautiful, dark eyes smiling at him.
"Seemed fair," he answers, kissing her again. "You kissed me when I was ill."
Her eyes widen. That was years ago. I thought he was asleep. "You... you felt that?"
He nods. "It was an innocent kiss," he reassures her, caressing her cheek. It is dirty, but still incredibly soft. "This," he pauses, kissing her yet again, deeply, "is not," he breathlessly finishes.
"Definitely not," she agrees. She leans against him, and he remembers her predicament.
"Let's get you home and into a hot bath," Crane softly intones, holding her to his chest. "And then, I shall tuck you into bed and keep watch over you while you sleep."
"Only if you hold me while you keep watch," Abbie says, her face pressed against his neck. "Lie in bed with me and hold me, and let me pretend life is normal and we're normal. Let me have that illusion for one night. Tomorrow, we can talk about what this is."
"Anything you wish, Lieutenant," he agrees.
Song: www_youtube_com/watch?v=fHjZQb-kGek (change the underscores to periods)