Fuzzy Steele

Disclaimer: Does anyone own Remington Steele anymore? Oh wait. Fox...

Remington woke with a hell of a hangover. At least, that's what it felt like to him, and he couldn't remember drinking anything. Then again, he could never remember the night before very well. If it was any indication, he hadn't been alone. A nice, warm body was curled up to him. And naked, very naked. And soft… and long brown hair… Laura. Thank God. For a minute there he truly couldn't remember and was considering blind panic.

He relaxed back onto the bed. Well, as well as one could relax with a mouth full of cotton and a jackhammer behind his eyes. Laura didn't stir, so he spent a few minutes wishing his headache away. When that didn't work he wrapped himself around her warm body and buried his face in her hair. That didn't work either… just made his face itch and his loins ache.

He finally conceded defeat and gently rose from the bed. A quick piss and a good teeth scrubbing later he was donning his robe and slippers and tiptoeing out the door for a strong cup of tea and something to settle his stomach. Problem was that his cupboards were bare and he had to settle for coffee. There was no one to blame but himself, though, and he made a mental note to get to the grocery store as soon as was practical.

Laura groaned when the bed shook and she buried herself as far under the comforter as she could. No way in hell was she getting out of bed in the near future. So what if her bladder was screaming at her and she had the worst headache imaginable. Five agonizing minutes later Laura found herself crawling out of bed, eyes still closed, and stumbling towards the bathroom. Somehow she made it to the toilet and sat there another five minutes while the room spun around her. She would not get sick. She would not get sick, here, in this bathroom where Remington would undoubtedly walk in on her vomiting and see her at her very worst.

That, of course, was not going to happen. Remington was downing his first cup of coffee in the kitchen while the bread toasted. He was also waiting for Laura to wake up. He was only a tad unsure about her reaction at waking in his bed… especially after the night they'd had. The last time he'd seen her hung over was during their first year together. She was a bear, and if last night was any indication, she had ingested far more than she thought she had. Plus, they hadn't really talked…

They'd finally tumbled into bed around one in the morning. Their flight had gotten in around four, and between going through customs, waiting for luggage, retrieving a lost bag, dropping Mildred off and stopping by the loft, they made it to his place about seven. He remembered helping Fred bring up the luggage and drop the bags in his room. Laura had been uncharacteristically quiet, and he was a little disconcerted to find her unwilling to enter his bedroom when he'd suggested she help him unpack.

For some reason he thought she would be more than willing to get his things in order. He had thought the whole thing through on the plane ride home. He'd get her to help him unpack, order some dinner in and have a nice romantic reunion in front of the fireplace. Then he could properly apologize for his absence and make it up to her in any way she saw fit.

What had actually happened had scared the hell out of him initially. Laura stayed on the couch as he unpacked. When he finished he came out to ask if she wanted to order in. What he found was Laura in tears and trembling. He felt so bad about it, leaving her out there the whole time, and took her into his arms in much the same way he had that night so long ago when her house had been blown apart. This time, instead of a story, he'd offered her a glass of scotch. It seemed it was the only food item in the flat that hadn't perished during his absence. She didn't say anything when he handed her the drink. And then he offered her another, and another, and he kept pace with her.

So, when she turned to him and asked how he could have left her, he told her the truth and then took her into his arms and kissed her senseless. She hadn't argued, fought or pushed him away. In fact, when he'd suggested they slow things down and order some food she had resisted and pulled him above her on the couch. The rest, as they say, was history.

Well, not really history. He was sure they still had a lot of issues to resolve, including the fact that their night of lovemaking came after the ingestion of so much alcohol. He owed her more than that, which is what he was trying to tell her before it all started, but life never seemed to work out the way he thought it should.

"Wait, Laura. Wait," he told her.

"Don't you think we've waited long enough?" she said. "Don't think tonight, Mr. Steele, please…"

And so it went. Kissing her on the couch. Her hands in his hair, on his chest, then unbuttoning his shirt. Her hair coming loose, her soft breasts under her sweater. And she didn't pull away. It was just the opposite… but it wasn't rushed. Even with the help of the alcohol, they didn't rush it. But, by the time he'd shed them of their clothes, he was trembling with anticipation. Not the icy calm demeanor he normally sported. No, he was sure he'd never felt this eager, this hard or this right before. And then she went and surprised the hell out of him again. She let him take the lead. And boy, did he. He'd taken her places he was sure she'd never gone, and then she'd asked for more. And more. And then he'd finally passed out.

Laura passed on the idea of a quick shower and slowly made her way back to the bedroom. She paused in the doorway as her eyes caught the bed. They'd finally done it. Crossed that line. Taken the next step. And her body was paying the price at the moment. She couldn't stop smiling because she felt better than she had in ages, hangover be damned. Flashes of the night before ran through her mind and she blushed in spite of herself. She'd been wanton. And he'd fulfilled damn near every fantasy she had about the man. He made love the way he kissed, with such intense passion and care that melted her down to the core. She still wanted more, once the damn headache went away, and she had some food to settle her stomach. Then she'd take him again and show him how much she was glad he was home.

She found him in the kitchen staring into a cup of coffee. He didn't look up until she was practically in front of him.

"Hi," was all she could think to say.

"Hello yourself. Coffee?" She took the cup and tried not to drain it in a single gulp.

"I wish I had more to offer, but until I can run to the store I'm afraid this is it."

Oh Lord, he was trying so hard to be nice and normal. This morning wasn't normal, though. It was anything but normal. And that was a very good thing…

"You don't have to try so hard, Mr. Steele," she said. "I took some Tylenol, drank some water and the coffee will kick in in about three minutes which should give us just enough time to get through the foreplay," she told him.

"Foreplay?"

"Foreplay. Provided you need three minutes."

"Just, Miss Holt."

He didn't say anything and lifted her up onto the counter. The tile felt cold on her bare legs, but she hardly felt it. All she could touch, smell and taste was HIM. It wasn't even three minutes before he parted her robe and pulled her toward the edge of the counter. She didn't even have time to wrap her legs around him before he pushed into her. She couldn't help but think of what a picture they made, making love in his kitchen. She'd never been more thankful that it didn't have windows or the neighbors would be getting quite a show.

Thankfully, the throbbing in her center quickly surpassed that of her head and she hung onto his shoulders as he drove into her again and again. This wasn't the slow lovemaking they'd shared throughout the evening. This was fast and frenzied, and her legs were sliding down his hips as her perspiration built. She did everything she could just to hang on and not slide across the counter. Just as she was thinking she'd never come like this unless he held out a while longer she felt his thrusts become a bit uneven before he stiffened and came, clutching her to him.

"I can honestly say this wasn't quite the 'welcome home' I had in mind, Laura."

"Disappointed, Mr. Steele?"

"Not at all, Miss Holt. Not at all."