Author's Note: I have no clue how I didn't notice this was unreadable before until a reviewer pointed it out to me. I am so, so sorry.
It's strange, to be taking her head in your hands this way, brushing her hair back behind her ear
You always liked it best when she obviously hadn't pulled out the straightening iron, when there was a slight wave to it. You hated it, too, though, because it got you thinking about what she'd look like, just getting up out of bed with her hair not combed at all, and that was so bloody distracting.
Sure, you've kissed before, for a case. For multiple cases, in fact. But you'd never quite allowed yourself to fully enjoy it. It hadn't been for you.
This… this is different.
Her fingers are combing through your hair, running over your neck, and it's bloody glorious and taking up most of your attention.
She watches you, her gaze flicking down to your lips, and back up again, and she quirks an eyebrow. Are you going to get on with it?
You're afraid-it's you taking, after all, something you can't quite believe she's willing to give.
Or no, rather, the other way around-she's always given, but you never thought she actually wanted anything from you.
And you'd finally gotten the guts up to say it, to say you wanted her-tell her, properly, ask her if she might want a dinner that wasn't business, or even for friends-and she'd simply smiled, a broad one you weren't sure you'd ever seen on her before. Her "I'd love that, Cal," was a murmur you don't ever want to forget.
You were all jangling nerves then, and you still are. You just barely register that you're tapping your heel on the ground as you hesitantly angle your head, trying to remember to breathe.
She lets out a small noise of exasperation, and leans forward to press her lips to yours.