Prompt: Officer Lunchbox + Lightbulb
Gail had been grumpy ever since you told her you'd be going out of town for a few days next week. There was a conference in Chicago that you hadn't planned on attending, but when a med school friend called and asked you to step in so he could go to his mother-in-law's funeral, you couldn't say no.
But Gail had groaned about it, asking if there wasn't anyone else who could give Eddie's presentation instead. You'd explained to her that you were the most qualified, especially since you'd helped him with some data and the editing of his results into a publishable article. It was kind of your baby too, and no one else had enough background knowledge on the whole thing to be able to respond with any sort of authority during the Q&A session afterward. Honestly, you can't remember why you said no to the presentation originally.
Gail had dropped the topic for the most part after that. Oh, she'd huffed and she'd puffed, but for the past two days she'd been pretty quiet. Grumpy, but quiet.
You can see her now out of the corner of your eye, leaning up against the passenger side of the car, face tilted up toward the cloudy sky, arms folded against her chest. She's a crank. An adorable crank. Your crank. But a crank nonetheless.
You've got to get going, get your boarding pass and get to your gate, but you can't leave without one last taste of her. Her eyes are closed as you press your body against hers, pushing her fully against the door of the car. You start with little teasing nips along the side of her jaw before you settle your mouth over hers and let your tongue trace the outline of her lips, dip into the hot, wet hollow of her mouth. You feel the stubborn hard line of her lips curve into a smile as she meets the hard thrust of your tongue with her own.
The two of you lose yourselves in each other for a few minutes before someone's annoyed honking further up the drop-off lane pulls you back into the moment and you reluctantly pull apart.
"Damn," you whisper into her neck, "I am going to miss that over the next couple of days."
Gail's smiling now, and you hope that whatever funk she got herself into over the past few days has passed now. You'll be home soon enough, after all.
Actually, you realize, she's smirking.
"Oh, I know you will, Lunchbox," she says, her eyes twinkling. "And while you're in sad, stupid old Chicago, hanging out with all your nerd friends, I'll be here, awesome as ever. Just little old me, a bottle of champagne, some new underwear that was way too expensive for how little fabric is actually there to cover up all my best bits…"
Gail trails off, clearly waiting for you to catch up at whatever game she's playing. You wrack your brain trying to think if you two had something planned for this week, something to celebrate. Because what she's describing sounds like your new favorite way to celebrate.
It doesn't take long before your eyes go wide.
"Ahhhh," Gail says, drawing out the word, "I see the light-bulb has finally gone on. Yes, Holly. While you're in Chicago doing whatever it is a google of nerds does when they've been let loose unsupervised in a big city, I'll be here, in your bed, celebrating your birthday. Alone."
"Oh, fuck me," you say.
She gives you a wicked smile, the kind that makes your skin tingle and your panties wet.
"Baby," she leans in and whispers against your neck, "that was kind of the plan."