Title: Wonderland
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Season 9 up to "No Strings Attached."
Archive: Would love it, just let me know where.
Disclaimer: Oh, if only. They'd have more moments like this.
Apparently, my singing does not meet to his satisfaction. Can't imagine why.
Of course, I don't mind him shutting me up if he's going to kiss me like that. No complaints
about that at all.
Afternoon delight indeed. I don't think I've think I've ever left work to go have a nooner with
someone. Though after this encounter, I think we should do this more often. I think I'm willing
to work split shifts a lot more often if I get to do this in between.
And it's also really nice to know that we will never completely leave the I-can't-get-enough-of-
you stage in our relationship. It may look like that to the outside world at times, but as long as
we know the truth, that's all that matters.
I need to get my fill of him, though. He's going to be gone for a week and I'm going to have no
one to even cuddle up with. His pillows only work to a certain extent. They'll start smelling like
me in a couple of days and that won't do me any good at all.
It's only a week. I should get over it. I can survive being away from him for that long. Just
because I don't want to doesn't mean I can't.
But, I think that after he gets back, we should institute a new rule–everyday, we pretend that one
of us if leaving for a week so we can have "I'm not going to see you for a week" sex. Actually,
probably only every other day because I don't think I could take this kind of onslaught on a daily
basis. I want to–believe me, I really want to, but I think my body would give out on me.
Damn, I'm going to miss him. We have our problems, I won't deny that. But what couple
doesn't? I think the important thing is that we work through them. Even when I say I don't want
to, I eventually wind up talking to him about what's bothering me. It's a force of habit by now.
If I talked to him before we got together, why on earth wouldn't I talk to him now? If he didn't
run away screaming before, I can't imagine why he would now. Of course, knowing me and my
luck, I'll stumble upon that one thing that pushes him over the edge. Optimistic, aren't I?
He deserves this little break, though. After everything that happened with McNulty and his
"clinic" a couple of weeks ago, taking a week off to swim among exotic fish seems well-earned.
As much as he tries to deny it, I know part of him is still extremely hurt and angry at what
happened. Not that I can blame him. I'm pissed, too. Carter tried to do something nice, tried to
help out, and he got shafted. Royally. And when someone messes with someone that I care
about...well, let's just say I get really unhappy. When John told me what happened, my first
instinct was to hunt McNulty down and make him wish he'd never been born. But my second
instinct was that Carter needed me more right then, so I stayed with him. Not that I would've
been able to find the guy if I'd ran off looking for him.
I'm shaken out of my thoughts by Carter chuckling against my lips. I pull away and give him a
look. "Hey, I know my singing is bad, but move on with your life."
"It's not that," he answers, putting his forehead against mine.
"Then would you like to share the joke with the rest of the class?"
He grins evilly and says, "I'm thinking of a song."
"Oh, God," I groan. "Not you, too."
"Oh yeah. I've definitely got a song running through my head."
"Call me crazy–"
"You're crazy."
I ignore him and continue. "But aren't you supposed to be thinking of me right now?"
He pulls his head back a couple of inches to look at me better. "Trust me, I'm thinking about
you. That's why this song is stuck in my head."
I give him a little push and roll us over so we're laying side by side, facing each other. I bring
myself closer to his body so there's not even enough room for the Holy Spirit between us, then
slide my leg over top of his, rubbing my foot on his calf playfully. "Tell me."
"Uh uh. You'll laugh at me."
"That's okay. You laughed at me. Only fair that I should laugh at you."
He continues grinning at me, but remains silent. So, he wants to play it like that, does he?
"Splendor In The Grass?" I ask.
He shakes his head and waits.
"Love Is A Many Splendored Thing?"
"What's with the 'splendor' thing, Abby?"
I shrug. "I don't know. They were the first two songs that popped into my head." I flick his
back a couple of times. "Come on. I told you after two guesses. Now it's your turn."
"You're way off. The song is a lot more modern that what you're thinking. You have cheesy 70s
on the brain."
"And you have, what? Cheesy 80s on the brain?"
"Nope. Cheesy 21st century. Well, actually, I don't think it's that bad, but you'll give me grief
about it."
I nod in agreement. "Most likely. So you might as well just tell me the song and get it over
with."
"Or," he says, bringing his lips down to my neck, "we could move on and get down to business."
I have to laugh a little. "Carter, do you really think I'm going to put out right now? You tell me
the song, and I'll give you some lovin'. 'Til then, you're out of luck."
"You're a cruel woman, Abby. Cruel." He lifts his head and smiles at me. "Just remember, you
asked for it."
I remain silent, fully aware that I'm using one of my girl cards in this situation, and wait for him to
spill it.
He gives me another evil grin, then actually begins to sing. "We've got the afternoon, you've got
this room for two. One thing I've left to do is discover me discovering you."
I turn my face into the pillow, hoping to hide my groan. "You're not serious."
"Unfortunately, I am," he answers, the continues singing. You know, his singing skills are right
up there with my own. "One mile to every inch of your skin like porcelain. One pair of candy lips
and your bubble gum tongue."
"I was not aware that my tongue could be chewed and blown into bubbles," I tell him, chuckling a
little.
He ignores me and continues with the sap. "'Cause if you want love, we'll make it, swim in a
deep sea of blankets, take all your big plans and break 'em, this is bound to be a while..."
Well, if nothing else, that part is true. My man isn't fond of quickies. Not that I'm complaining
at all.
"Your body is a wonderland. Your body is a wonder I'll use my hands. Your body is a
wonderland."
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the laughter–I think his voice just cracked on that last
"wonderland."
And then he continued. The fact that my body is shaking slightly with laughter and I can't look at
him hasn't clued him in. I figured he'd stop after one verse, but apparently, that isn't enough for
him. It's not the song that's making me laugh–truth be told, I love the song. It's just that he's
got his head thrown back and his eyes closed, and that worries me a little. And it's also really
damn funny.
"Something about the way your hair falls in your face. I love the shape you take when crawling
towards the pillow case–"
"Hey, now, I don't think I've ever crawled," I protest.
He continues to ignore me. "You tell me where to go and though I might leave to find it, I'll
never let your head hit the bed without my hand behind it."
"You can stop any time now," I inform him. "I swear, I'll put out if you stop."
Instead, he sees fit to torture me some more and skips ahead a little. "Damn, baby. You frustrate
me. I know you're mine, all mine, all mine. But you look so good it hurts sometimes."
I finally resort to shutting him up the same way he shut me up–I grab his face and kiss him. We're
both laughing again, so that makes it a little difficult to kiss each other, but we manage. He
breaks away a little and says, "I was trying to serenade you!"
"Well, I was trying to serenade you, too, but you didn't seem to like it all that much."
"It was 'Afternoon Delight,' Abby," he answers by way of explanation.
"As my boyfriend, you're obligated to smile and nod at my whims."
"Is that how it works?"
"You didn't get the memo?"
"I somehow managed to miss that one. But you realize that, as my girlfriend, you're also
obligated to indulge my whims."
"That's where you're wrong. As your girlfriend, it's my job to tell you overly goofy or a pain in
the ass, or whatever."
He looks at me thoughtfully. "Riiiiight. I think I missed that memo, too."
I shrug. "Standard memo you get from any woman you date. You should know the rules by
now."
"Oh, you know me; always the rebel."
"Yeah, you're definitely a rule-breaker, Carter. You're halo's in need of polishing, by the way."
Instead of answering me, he kisses me again. "You're going to put out now, right?" he asks
against my lips.
"Well, if I must, I must," I answer with a put-upon a sigh. "After all, I promised."
He continues to attack my lips (in the most pleasant way possible) before it finally occurs to me to
ask, "What made you think of that song?"
John shrugs and answers, "Because I always think of you when I hear that song."
I roll my eyes, even though it's sweet of him to say. "That doesn't answer my question."
He's silent for several moments, thinking about his response. "I guess it's because after we made
love for the first time, and I was watching you sleep, that song popped into my head. It's the way
I was feeling at the moment. Your body was a wonderland–some place I'd never been before and
couldn't wait to discover. Your body still is a wonderland, and I don't think I'll ever discover
everything about it, or you. And you do frustrate me, but you're mine, and I wouldn't have you
any other way."
I have no witty comeback for that one. None. Though I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have
pressed him for an answer. He's so sentimental about things. Of course, that's one of the things I
love about him, but still...he would have to go and think of a song like that, one that has some
kind of meaning for him. Which makes me feel like a schmuck for being dirty and having
"Afternoon Delight" on my brain. I know he doesn't see me like that, and he was being goofy,
too...but why does he have to be so perfect? I mean, yeah, no one's perfect, but he's perfect to
me. How did I get so lucky?
He can see that we've become a little too serious for the moment and starts to sing again. "I've
got a lovely bunch of coconuts, fiddle-dee-dee, there they are a-standing in a row, bum bum bum.
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head...that's all I got. That's all the bird sang in 'The
Lion King.'"
I nearly collapse in laughter. I'm laughing so hard my sides ache and I have tears of mirth rolling
down my cheeks. He finds himself rather amusing, too, because he's having a hard time drawing
in a breath at the moment. Or maybe my laughter is just contagious.
Once we manage to calm down, he waggles his eyebrows at me playfully and says, "Now, I
believe someone here owes me some lovin'."
So, I give him the lovin' he more than deserves. And afterward, neither of feel much like moving.
I feel him turn his head a little to look at the clock, then he groans. "I don't think I can stand
right now, never mind make it to the airport."
I smile and burrow myself into him a little further. "So stay here with me."
"That was your plan all along, wasn't it? To wear me out so much that I miss my plane?"
"You figured me out," I mumble, trying to stay awake.
He strokes my arm for a few moments before saying, "You know I'll stay if you really want me
to, right?"
"I know," I answer. "But I want you to go. It'll be fun."
We're silent for a bit longer, each trying to emerge from post-coital bliss. "I need to shower
before I go," he says.
"Mmm-hmm."
"I should really get up."
"I'm not stopping you."
"Maybe just a few more minutes."
I grin, knowing he'd be willing to sacrifice part of his twenty-minute shower to lounge around in
bed with me for a little while longer.
For whatever reason, yet another song pops into my head, and this one is completely random. It
has nothing to do with anything, but I can't seem to stop myself. I begin to hum "Strangers In
The Night." Carter grabs a pillow from behind his head once more, but this time puts it over my
face. I grab it off and whack him with it.
"Hey, I wasn't singing this time."
"Preemptive strike," he tells me, grinning and jumping out of bed to go shower.
"That's right. Run, you little punk. I know where you live!"
He pokes his head out of the bathroom door and crooks a finger at me, inviting me to shower
with him. What's a girl to do? I think I can bring myself to overlook the smothering incident for
a chance to shower with him.
I follow him into the bathroom, where he wraps his arms around me and whispers into my ear,
"I'm going to show you just how much of an 'angel' I am."
This had better be a fast week.
Author's Notes: Don't really know where this came from. I have no idea if it makes any sense,
but what the heck....blame it on the fact that it's now 4:30am. I've discovered that I'm pretty
much incapable of writing anything but fluff. And I'm okay with that. Everyone needs a little
fluff in their life. Just consider me the Fluff Fairy.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Season 9 up to "No Strings Attached."
Archive: Would love it, just let me know where.
Disclaimer: Oh, if only. They'd have more moments like this.
Apparently, my singing does not meet to his satisfaction. Can't imagine why.
Of course, I don't mind him shutting me up if he's going to kiss me like that. No complaints
about that at all.
Afternoon delight indeed. I don't think I've think I've ever left work to go have a nooner with
someone. Though after this encounter, I think we should do this more often. I think I'm willing
to work split shifts a lot more often if I get to do this in between.
And it's also really nice to know that we will never completely leave the I-can't-get-enough-of-
you stage in our relationship. It may look like that to the outside world at times, but as long as
we know the truth, that's all that matters.
I need to get my fill of him, though. He's going to be gone for a week and I'm going to have no
one to even cuddle up with. His pillows only work to a certain extent. They'll start smelling like
me in a couple of days and that won't do me any good at all.
It's only a week. I should get over it. I can survive being away from him for that long. Just
because I don't want to doesn't mean I can't.
But, I think that after he gets back, we should institute a new rule–everyday, we pretend that one
of us if leaving for a week so we can have "I'm not going to see you for a week" sex. Actually,
probably only every other day because I don't think I could take this kind of onslaught on a daily
basis. I want to–believe me, I really want to, but I think my body would give out on me.
Damn, I'm going to miss him. We have our problems, I won't deny that. But what couple
doesn't? I think the important thing is that we work through them. Even when I say I don't want
to, I eventually wind up talking to him about what's bothering me. It's a force of habit by now.
If I talked to him before we got together, why on earth wouldn't I talk to him now? If he didn't
run away screaming before, I can't imagine why he would now. Of course, knowing me and my
luck, I'll stumble upon that one thing that pushes him over the edge. Optimistic, aren't I?
He deserves this little break, though. After everything that happened with McNulty and his
"clinic" a couple of weeks ago, taking a week off to swim among exotic fish seems well-earned.
As much as he tries to deny it, I know part of him is still extremely hurt and angry at what
happened. Not that I can blame him. I'm pissed, too. Carter tried to do something nice, tried to
help out, and he got shafted. Royally. And when someone messes with someone that I care
about...well, let's just say I get really unhappy. When John told me what happened, my first
instinct was to hunt McNulty down and make him wish he'd never been born. But my second
instinct was that Carter needed me more right then, so I stayed with him. Not that I would've
been able to find the guy if I'd ran off looking for him.
I'm shaken out of my thoughts by Carter chuckling against my lips. I pull away and give him a
look. "Hey, I know my singing is bad, but move on with your life."
"It's not that," he answers, putting his forehead against mine.
"Then would you like to share the joke with the rest of the class?"
He grins evilly and says, "I'm thinking of a song."
"Oh, God," I groan. "Not you, too."
"Oh yeah. I've definitely got a song running through my head."
"Call me crazy–"
"You're crazy."
I ignore him and continue. "But aren't you supposed to be thinking of me right now?"
He pulls his head back a couple of inches to look at me better. "Trust me, I'm thinking about
you. That's why this song is stuck in my head."
I give him a little push and roll us over so we're laying side by side, facing each other. I bring
myself closer to his body so there's not even enough room for the Holy Spirit between us, then
slide my leg over top of his, rubbing my foot on his calf playfully. "Tell me."
"Uh uh. You'll laugh at me."
"That's okay. You laughed at me. Only fair that I should laugh at you."
He continues grinning at me, but remains silent. So, he wants to play it like that, does he?
"Splendor In The Grass?" I ask.
He shakes his head and waits.
"Love Is A Many Splendored Thing?"
"What's with the 'splendor' thing, Abby?"
I shrug. "I don't know. They were the first two songs that popped into my head." I flick his
back a couple of times. "Come on. I told you after two guesses. Now it's your turn."
"You're way off. The song is a lot more modern that what you're thinking. You have cheesy 70s
on the brain."
"And you have, what? Cheesy 80s on the brain?"
"Nope. Cheesy 21st century. Well, actually, I don't think it's that bad, but you'll give me grief
about it."
I nod in agreement. "Most likely. So you might as well just tell me the song and get it over
with."
"Or," he says, bringing his lips down to my neck, "we could move on and get down to business."
I have to laugh a little. "Carter, do you really think I'm going to put out right now? You tell me
the song, and I'll give you some lovin'. 'Til then, you're out of luck."
"You're a cruel woman, Abby. Cruel." He lifts his head and smiles at me. "Just remember, you
asked for it."
I remain silent, fully aware that I'm using one of my girl cards in this situation, and wait for him to
spill it.
He gives me another evil grin, then actually begins to sing. "We've got the afternoon, you've got
this room for two. One thing I've left to do is discover me discovering you."
I turn my face into the pillow, hoping to hide my groan. "You're not serious."
"Unfortunately, I am," he answers, the continues singing. You know, his singing skills are right
up there with my own. "One mile to every inch of your skin like porcelain. One pair of candy lips
and your bubble gum tongue."
"I was not aware that my tongue could be chewed and blown into bubbles," I tell him, chuckling a
little.
He ignores me and continues with the sap. "'Cause if you want love, we'll make it, swim in a
deep sea of blankets, take all your big plans and break 'em, this is bound to be a while..."
Well, if nothing else, that part is true. My man isn't fond of quickies. Not that I'm complaining
at all.
"Your body is a wonderland. Your body is a wonder I'll use my hands. Your body is a
wonderland."
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the laughter–I think his voice just cracked on that last
"wonderland."
And then he continued. The fact that my body is shaking slightly with laughter and I can't look at
him hasn't clued him in. I figured he'd stop after one verse, but apparently, that isn't enough for
him. It's not the song that's making me laugh–truth be told, I love the song. It's just that he's
got his head thrown back and his eyes closed, and that worries me a little. And it's also really
damn funny.
"Something about the way your hair falls in your face. I love the shape you take when crawling
towards the pillow case–"
"Hey, now, I don't think I've ever crawled," I protest.
He continues to ignore me. "You tell me where to go and though I might leave to find it, I'll
never let your head hit the bed without my hand behind it."
"You can stop any time now," I inform him. "I swear, I'll put out if you stop."
Instead, he sees fit to torture me some more and skips ahead a little. "Damn, baby. You frustrate
me. I know you're mine, all mine, all mine. But you look so good it hurts sometimes."
I finally resort to shutting him up the same way he shut me up–I grab his face and kiss him. We're
both laughing again, so that makes it a little difficult to kiss each other, but we manage. He
breaks away a little and says, "I was trying to serenade you!"
"Well, I was trying to serenade you, too, but you didn't seem to like it all that much."
"It was 'Afternoon Delight,' Abby," he answers by way of explanation.
"As my boyfriend, you're obligated to smile and nod at my whims."
"Is that how it works?"
"You didn't get the memo?"
"I somehow managed to miss that one. But you realize that, as my girlfriend, you're also
obligated to indulge my whims."
"That's where you're wrong. As your girlfriend, it's my job to tell you overly goofy or a pain in
the ass, or whatever."
He looks at me thoughtfully. "Riiiiight. I think I missed that memo, too."
I shrug. "Standard memo you get from any woman you date. You should know the rules by
now."
"Oh, you know me; always the rebel."
"Yeah, you're definitely a rule-breaker, Carter. You're halo's in need of polishing, by the way."
Instead of answering me, he kisses me again. "You're going to put out now, right?" he asks
against my lips.
"Well, if I must, I must," I answer with a put-upon a sigh. "After all, I promised."
He continues to attack my lips (in the most pleasant way possible) before it finally occurs to me to
ask, "What made you think of that song?"
John shrugs and answers, "Because I always think of you when I hear that song."
I roll my eyes, even though it's sweet of him to say. "That doesn't answer my question."
He's silent for several moments, thinking about his response. "I guess it's because after we made
love for the first time, and I was watching you sleep, that song popped into my head. It's the way
I was feeling at the moment. Your body was a wonderland–some place I'd never been before and
couldn't wait to discover. Your body still is a wonderland, and I don't think I'll ever discover
everything about it, or you. And you do frustrate me, but you're mine, and I wouldn't have you
any other way."
I have no witty comeback for that one. None. Though I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have
pressed him for an answer. He's so sentimental about things. Of course, that's one of the things I
love about him, but still...he would have to go and think of a song like that, one that has some
kind of meaning for him. Which makes me feel like a schmuck for being dirty and having
"Afternoon Delight" on my brain. I know he doesn't see me like that, and he was being goofy,
too...but why does he have to be so perfect? I mean, yeah, no one's perfect, but he's perfect to
me. How did I get so lucky?
He can see that we've become a little too serious for the moment and starts to sing again. "I've
got a lovely bunch of coconuts, fiddle-dee-dee, there they are a-standing in a row, bum bum bum.
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head...that's all I got. That's all the bird sang in 'The
Lion King.'"
I nearly collapse in laughter. I'm laughing so hard my sides ache and I have tears of mirth rolling
down my cheeks. He finds himself rather amusing, too, because he's having a hard time drawing
in a breath at the moment. Or maybe my laughter is just contagious.
Once we manage to calm down, he waggles his eyebrows at me playfully and says, "Now, I
believe someone here owes me some lovin'."
So, I give him the lovin' he more than deserves. And afterward, neither of feel much like moving.
I feel him turn his head a little to look at the clock, then he groans. "I don't think I can stand
right now, never mind make it to the airport."
I smile and burrow myself into him a little further. "So stay here with me."
"That was your plan all along, wasn't it? To wear me out so much that I miss my plane?"
"You figured me out," I mumble, trying to stay awake.
He strokes my arm for a few moments before saying, "You know I'll stay if you really want me
to, right?"
"I know," I answer. "But I want you to go. It'll be fun."
We're silent for a bit longer, each trying to emerge from post-coital bliss. "I need to shower
before I go," he says.
"Mmm-hmm."
"I should really get up."
"I'm not stopping you."
"Maybe just a few more minutes."
I grin, knowing he'd be willing to sacrifice part of his twenty-minute shower to lounge around in
bed with me for a little while longer.
For whatever reason, yet another song pops into my head, and this one is completely random. It
has nothing to do with anything, but I can't seem to stop myself. I begin to hum "Strangers In
The Night." Carter grabs a pillow from behind his head once more, but this time puts it over my
face. I grab it off and whack him with it.
"Hey, I wasn't singing this time."
"Preemptive strike," he tells me, grinning and jumping out of bed to go shower.
"That's right. Run, you little punk. I know where you live!"
He pokes his head out of the bathroom door and crooks a finger at me, inviting me to shower
with him. What's a girl to do? I think I can bring myself to overlook the smothering incident for
a chance to shower with him.
I follow him into the bathroom, where he wraps his arms around me and whispers into my ear,
"I'm going to show you just how much of an 'angel' I am."
This had better be a fast week.
Author's Notes: Don't really know where this came from. I have no idea if it makes any sense,
but what the heck....blame it on the fact that it's now 4:30am. I've discovered that I'm pretty
much incapable of writing anything but fluff. And I'm okay with that. Everyone needs a little
fluff in their life. Just consider me the Fluff Fairy.