It was like a thick fog lifting. No. Not lifting. Vanishing in the space of a single breath.
"It was all an enchantment." Ichabod muttered, stunned. "You enchanted me!" He barked with a menacing step toward her. "My adoration! My total devotion! A full two years long! and pining, desperate for the day you'd decide it was time to extricate yourself from the Horsemen!"
"No! No, the same spell was cast upon me, sir. I assure you!" The woman insisted. "Lord only knows to what intended end!"
The suspicion did not completely vanish from his unblinking gaze, but it did soften somewhat. The woman (Katrina) did seem as disturbed and angry as he. And come to think of it he had no reason to doubt her.
But likewise to reason to trust her. A stressful quandary atop a large and growing pile of upsetting facts.
"Before I met you, my sisters of the coven and I were near to completing an intricate spell, years in the making, that would have halted the Apocalypse in its tracks-but its success was reliant upon us specifically so now it's not even recreate the elements . . . "
His inclination to believe her grew stronger by the moment. Though he couldn't fathom how engineering their love affair would benefit either the side of evil or good, her distress struck him as very real.
"Ichabod, our whole courtship is a blur to me! I remember every feeling, each obsessive moment, but I do not recall much in the way actual events! " her eyes filled with tears. "It pains me to know I've lost so many years to a marriage I barely remember, to a man I've no idea whether or not I would have otherwise entertained as a suitor - no offense!" She added hastily.
"None taken!" said Ichabod, officially convinced that they were both victims of this awful spell. "I feel precisely the same. I recall perfectly being entirely swept away the first time I laid eyes on you, but as the feel was the work of an enchantment, as was my impression of your every quality, for all I know we'd have met in passing and nothing more."
"Well," she said with a heavy sigh and extended her hand. "In any case, I am pleased to make your honest acquaintance."
"Likewise." Ichabod shook her hand and made a slight, gentlemanly bow. "I move that we set about hunting down whoever did this to us at once."
"Agreed. With one caveat."
"Yes."
"It's been a long few nights. I can hardly hold my eyes open much less think. If you wouldn't mind seeing me to the nearest decent hotel, and we can meet at your earliest convenience tomorrow?"
Ichabod happily agreed. "I assume we are also agreed," he continued as they ambled toward his car, "that we are not in fact husband and wife?"
"Absolutely agreed," Katrina replied with a smart nod. "The benefit of being so long 'dead,' I suppose is that the legal proceedings of divorce are not an issue."
Ichabod chuckled.
"Though I do remember enough of you to know you are a good, honest man. If you ever wanted to 'grab a coffee,' I would not be averse."
It was on the tip of Ichabod's tongue to accept the invite when a realization struck him with the force of a freight truck.
Abbie.
His all consuming passion for Katrina was cleared away, leaving only camaraderie and friendship born of their mutual plight, and there stood Abbie. With the fog and mud of spell work cleared from his mind, he felt the full truth of the last three years. What had actually gone on in their first months as together.
We fell in love. He sighed. Or what would have been love if not for . . .
Ichabod politely told Katrina that while he also was not averse to 'coffee' their relationship would go no further than friends. He told her why as well, and she was quite happy for him. Unsurprised and happy. The two chatted pleasantly until they reached a suitable hotel, then Ichabod drove back to the cabin.
He spent the rest of the day reclined in the couch in a meditative state, trying to picture the last three years as they might have gone had there not been larger influences at play.
I suppose I had an inkling . . .
The feeling was never strong enough to sway him from his beloved wife, but there were moments when an attraction to his partner pulled at him. Fleeting, but strong in the moment.
When would things have happened?
The beginning of open flirtations? (in retrospect he could see that flirtations had in fact occurred, but always veiled, in an ambiguous manner.). First date? And what kind of date would he have arranged for them? Or would he have left the planning to her?
Probably her. I tend to overthink that sort of thing when the stakes are high . . . so when? . . . Think, Crane! For some reason he needed to visualize the recent past in this new context. Asking her out . . . (The language of contemporary courtship was no longer odd to him.).When, where, how . . .
Pure simplicity for the how, obviously. 'I am interested in you, we should go out.' Something to that effect.
Which begged the question of when their bond, the nature of their feelings, truly began to change? How far would he (or they) have let it go before addressing the matter?
She'd have said something first. He was sure of it. Yes, he'd often acted with reckless spontaneity and verve in pursuit and/or defense of Katrina, but now he knew that it was the result of supernatural influence. Not that he wouldn't pursue a woman he desired, but in general he was quite unlike the man who'd cast aside all other concerns to win his wife's heart. In general he was the sort of man who, at least with important matters, considered decisions and actions very carefully. When he first began to realize he disagreed the goals and tactics of the crown as much as the self - declared 'Americans,' he was fighting, he went to the law books of Britain and various unofficial documents on the philosophies of America for guidance and clarity. Considered the matter from a number of angles. Including whether or not the inevitable break from his peers and family would be too hard to bear.
No, Abbie would be the fort to address the matter aloud. I'd have avoided the issue. Silently twisted myself into knots over all the ways a romance could complicate things.
He closed his eyes and tried to find a specific time and place in his memory. The right one. It couldn't be an experience based on finding Katrina, because he had no way of knowing whether or not he'd have courted, much less married the woman.
Well that scratches a fair number of scenes from the list of possibilities . . . He went deeper into his mind, examining details with the sensibility of a detective. It would have been either when we were just spending social time together, or when - no! No, we were all silly banter and *light* flirting in those events. Another possibly off the list. He kept digging. In the midst of danger? No, more likely in the resolution or escape of a danger. Not something so exhausting we were left brainless and in need of sleep . . . nor too injured for a flicker of romantic thought . . . THERE IS IS!
The scene that felt right. The scene his mind could rewrite without effort into what could have (should have) been.
The day we buried the body . . .
WHAT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED (and for the most part did, minus the verbalized romantic sentiments.) :
It happened a little over a year after they met.
"Is this a first?" Asked Abbie as they stood over the body of the razor toothed creature. Unpronounceable name, but it fed on the brains of children. Not on the sense of eating them, but driving them to a dementia - like, delusional state until the poor things were either committed, or committed suicide. Which in two cases then drove a parent to suicide.
So it would be more accurate to say it fed on the sanity of children.
Anyhow, when they killed the thing it didn't fall into a portal, or melt, or vanish in a puff of smoke. It just fell over dead like any other corpse.
"What do you mean?" Asked Ichabod.
"We have a body to deal with. I didn't bring a shovel, did you?"
Leaving the thing to rot where it fell was a bad idea, God only knows what kind of panic could spread if a civilian discovered it. Abbie stuck around while Ichabod went to fetch shovels. It was dark by the time they'd accomplished the task, and between digging the hole and pushing the phenomenally heavy body in, they were both covered in grime and sweat by the time they returned to the car.
They fell into their respective seats, Ichabod behind the wheel, and he flipped the light control so it would stay on.
"Wow!" Abbie laughed. "You look gross!"
"Oh, really?" Said Ichabod with a smirk. "Because you're a vision!"
"Hey, you can take us straight to that fancy new french restaurant, I'll fit right in!"
Ichabod grinned as he turned onto the main road. "I've no doubt you would put every other lady in the room to shame." He cast a sidelong glance her way and was surprised to find that despite her messy state, he could almost imagine such a thing being true.
(In the actual event, this realization was followed only by the thought 'yes, Miss Mills is rather a great beauty,' along with as a slight tickle of attraction, then they'd exchanged a 'look,' and fond smile. But now the past event was being rewritten as he lay on the couch. He'd gone so deep into the alternate world it felt very close to real.)
. . . could almost imagine such a thing being true.
The dirt and such does not diminish her eyes. And how could one not be affected by those eyes? Sharp, yet soft. Full of . . .
He knew she was looking at him, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull over and kiss her.
So of course he kept his eyes riveted on the road.
If I look at her, I'll do it.
"Crane?"
"Hm?" (God I hope that sounded casual!)
"Look at me."
He kept enough attention on the road to ensure their safety, but did as she asked.
"Let's try it. Not going in filthy, obviously, but it's not that late."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," she chuckled. "We go home clean up, maybe dress up a little, and I'll meet you there."
He made a hesitant noise.
"C'mon!" She elbowed him. "We spend like all of our time fighting for out lives, we deserve a treat!"
Abigail Mills in dressy attire . . . His flesh heated at the thought as he tried to imagine what sort of dress she might choose. Snug or not? Elegant or daring? The neckline perhaps a - STOP IT!
"Isn't that . . . I mean would it seem awfully close to dating?"
She heaved a deep sigh. "Pull over, Ichabod."
"I -" he sputtered. "I didn't mean to offend y -"
"Just pull over." She unbuckled her seat belt as he pulled off the road, and he followed her lead.
Before he could ask what the hell was going on, she lunged forward and kissed him. It wasn't a 'let's see what this is like' kiss either. More like a 'first night of a first romantic getaway' kiss.
Oh! He thought, responding with enthusiasm.
She was warm, and determined, and her tongue felt like silk in motion.
(Even the real Ichabod laying there on the couch could feel the moment. So vividly that his hand began to wander to the source of a growing distraction.)
True, she tasted vaguely like the nacho chips she ate with lunch (a snack Ichabod found appalling), but that was hours ago. Mostly she tasted like something he could want every day.
"We are dating, dumbass," she said.
In his actual vision of this altered reality, he saw them meeting at the restaurant, and nothing terribly graphic happened. A kiss goodnight, and the relationship progressed from there . . .
WHAT DOES HAPPEN:
. . . But male fantasy had overtaken the desire to see things accurately. It became s fantasy within a fantasy.
"She wears . . . something pale . . . " he whispered. He was too aroused at that point to see any particular color clearly, but he knew it was something that perfectly highlighted her dark skin. Contrast. "Short sleeved. Falls to mid. . . mid thigh. And it's - oh God, this is unacceptable!" He cried out as he stroked himself with furious need, imagining himself taking off her hypothetical dress as he came.
"Nope," he declared to the empty room and pushed himself into sitting position. "This will not do."
He quickly cleaned himself off and strode out the door. Didn't even bother to grab his coat. He felt not the slightest twinge of uncertainty as he drove to Abbie's house. The exact opposite, in fact.
We're fixing this, and we're fixing it NOW. No half measures, no 'what if's, no 'should we's, no 'it's a bad idea'! He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tapped his foot while he waited at the longest light in the history of traffic lights.This utter FARCE of a 'friendship' has worn out its welcome!"
"I love you." It was the first thing he said when she opened the door.
She didn't answer, but she did back up cautiously to let him in. "Aaaaaaare you okay?" She asked as he crossed the threshold in one wide step.
"I'm fine. We are both fine. We're simply rather in love, I've just today realized, and the thought of ignoring the fact is . . . well frankly, stupid."
Then Abbie asked the obvious question. "What about Katrina?"
He brought her up to speed as quickly as possible, and when he finished, the two were left half grinning at one another with an awkward sort of affection.
Abbie shifted on her feet.
"So."
"So indeed . . ." Ichabod echoed. "I suppose the only question now is. . . . how to begin a relationship when one is already so in love and familiar?"
"Well there's the usual." Said Abbie in her usual no nonsense tone. "We start at square one and just date. Dinners, movies, other fun things. Normal people stuff." She shrugged. "See where it goes."
Ichabod nodded. Even with love and familiarity, being truly together was still new ground. "That would be the prudent choice."
"Yup."
A long moment of staring meandered by.
Ichabod broke the silence. "Or we could say to hell with it and skip ahead. Make up for lost time." He waited patiently for a response.
"It's been what, three years since you got here?"
"Give or take a few months, I believe." Ichabod confirmed.
"Let's assume we would have been together for pretty much most of that time, yeah?"
"I've no doubt whatsoever." He agreed.
"Three years is one hell of a wait, Crane." She said as she stepped toe to toe with him, and raised her arms up high, eyes locked on his.
"Hmmmm," Ichabod mused as his hands trailed over her midsection, slowly hitching up the light fabric of her shirt until his fingers curled beneath the hem. "A terrible wait . . . " he pulled the shirt up over her arms and let it drop to the floor. "Oh my," he whispered, admiring the sight of generous breasts clad in a bra clearly intended to provoke lust above all other purposes.
"D'you like it?" Abbie asked with a sultry grin as she brought her hands down.
"I find it curious," Ichabod chuckled. "I have seen you in this precise state of undress on two previous occasions, and both times it was a plain cotton sports bra, black the first time, dark red the second . . ."
"I'm flattered you paid so much attention."
Ichabod smiled, but sidestepped the compliment. ". . . and yet now it's pale blue lace in a style that does . . . very nice things as far as I'm concerned. Do you wear such things often or is this a recent change in style?"
She pressed against him, pleased to feel how much he appreciated the sight of her, and spoke against the fabric of his chest as she nuzzled. "So I planned ahead for skipping the bullshit," she purred, tilting her head almost straight back to give him a sly look. "Sue me."
He gently nudged her upper body back far enough to comfortably trail a slender index finger down her right bra strap. "Certainly not." His other four fingers joined the index to travel across the border of the scant garment. "It was a fine plan."
She gave him a sly look. "I like to be prepared."
"Well done," he sighed as he circled his arms around her to address the clasp. "I have to say, I much prefer these to threaded corsets. He paused for a moment to enjoy the fact that she was untucking his shirt at the back. "At least when it comes to removal. . . " the bra fell open, and he ran his hands over her bare flesh. "Setting aside convenience, corsets do have their merit."
Abbie pushed his shirt up as far as she could given their height difference, and he took over while she let her bra drop to her hands. She casually tossed it in the general direction of where her shirt had fallen. "I'll make a note of that," she said before going to work on the drawstrings of his pants.
Meanwhile, Ichabod traced and caressed her unbound breasts with one hand, threaded the other through her hair, and gently prompted her to told her head to one side.
Again their height difference posed a problem. In order for him to comfortably reach her neck, he had to move back, separating the two of them by an unacceptable margin.
They tried to manage it for a minute or so, but when Ichabod chuckled against her skin, the the attempt was officially abandoned. "No." He said matter of factly." No, this is will not do."
"We may have some logistics to work out here."
"Luckily, solution is simple." He took her hand and all but dragged her along as he strode toward the hallway that led to the bedroom.
"Ah!" Abbie cried as she trotted along behind. "Someone's in a rush."
"Three years wait, dearest," he explained, stopping suddenly and hoisting her onto his back just as she was about to run into him. "I don't care to waste another moment . . . though I assure you," he continued as he entered the room, deposited her on the bed, and made quick work of her lower garments as well as his owns. "That rush ends . . . " he began to lean slowly onto the bed, guiding her body back. "Exactly now."
He didn't get far before she placed her hands on his chest. "Wait." She ordered. "Stand up."
What? He thought, but did as he was told without asking aloud. Anyhow, all he had I do was look down to get the answer.
She moved to the edge of the bed in front of him, her legs dangling over the side. The design of the bed was such that this position had her head level with his straining arousal.
"How's this?" She whispered before taking him on her mouth.
He signed as the muscles in his head went completely slack while the rest of his body lit up with a pleasure even beyond what he'd felt a moment ago. "Oh, that is brilliant."
"Mmmmmm."
"Just brilliant . . . " he let out a series of quiet, meaningless noises, as she continued at a perfect pace. "Oh God Abbie, I could handle you like this all night!"
She chuckled against his highly sensitized flesh, and even the tiny vibration made his spine rattle. He couldn't stop himself from cradling her head in his hands and rocking into her, forcing himself to remember good manners and not drive forward too deep.
Nothing ruins a woman's pleasure like gagging.
He had absolutely no sense of how long it lasted before she withdrew.
"We good?" She panted, gazing up at him, her lips obscenely swollen and shiny.
"That cannot possibly be a serious question," he breathed as he used his own body to guide her back up the mattress. She followed the lead and they came to rest with her left leg over his hip at a slight angle.
Finally, he though with relief, as the position did give him easy access to wherever he cared to wander. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and placed delicate kisses from that warm skin down to her clavicle, responding to her every touch and sound for guidance.
More pressure.
Less pressure.
Stay there.
Move.
Lips vs. teeth vs. to tongue.
He patterned his every move to her best responses.
Wait until I learn this body better Abbie, he thought with a trace of smug satisfaction when he found a spot on her throat (just beneath the earlobe) that made her buck and whine. Things will only get better from here, I promise. With that he lapped and nipped his way to her center, diverting occasionally to explore.
She cried out, back arched, when he pressed his tongue firm against her clit and began to oscillate - not quick a stroke, more of a massage. He went on like that, glancing upward occasionally to see the details he couldn't feel.
Her expression.
The subtler motions of her body.
More often than not he couldn't get a proper look at her face because her head was lurching and lolling about, or else thrown back. When he did manage to catch her gaze is when he flicked her clit and slid two fingers inside her in one simultaneous motion, curling and stroking as he went.
OH FUCK! (Was that it my head or out loud ?!) Every major muscle in her body went wild, shoulders arching off the bed, hands clutching the covers as if they could anchor her to reality. To life beyond what was happening between her legs.
He watched her ride the intense wave, and a new surge of arousal practically drowned his fingers as she bucked aggressively against his mouth. The full sensory experience made his shaft ache for release. Part of him wanted to clamor up the bed that second and bury himself inside what he knew would be a spectacular heat, but the greater part wanted to keep her suspended in orgasm, and perhaps get her somewhere in the vicinity again before taking her fully.
Can I ignore this for that long? He thought in an uncharacteristic display of self doubt as he propped his weight on one arm and used the free hand to gently stroke himself.
WantwantwantWANT! . . . I'll hold out as long as I can, he promised himself as he licked furiously and moaned against her sex. He only pleasured himself intermittently. Just enough to take the edge off his own need while Abbie hurtled through climax, the sound of and feel of her nothing short of stunning.
Predictably, Ichabod couldn't hold onto the focus necessary to get her close a second time before his body outright demanded relief. He knew if he tried to tend to her properly and ignore his own body another moment, he'd fail at both. So he lunged up the length of her body, pausing just long enough to wipe his mouth on the blankets, and took.
"Ah! Ah!" Abbie cried out again and again, grasping his waist as he thrust. "Crane! AH!"
"Abbie," he whined in reply, his voice shallow and ragged.
So close . . . so close . . . so close . . . he thought as release drew nearer, a heat cooking in his gut preparing to attack every cell in his body.
"You're brilliant, Abbie," he whispered. S - s - s - so, oh! So perfect." More praise poured out of him, every word spoken in a stilted, rasping voice as he came with blind intensity. She angled herself just so and coaxed him deeper, setting and guiding his path with the motion of her hips and strong thighs.
She sighed as she felt him cum, reveling in the pulse and push of him inside her. It was as though she'd been an empty shell before. Just waiting to be filled with the heat of his ardent devotion.
He collapsed at her side and snuggled close, one leg cozied between hers, hand caressing her soft belly.
"Apologies," he said quietly, kissing her cheeks and jawline. "You came only once." The hand at her belly traveled south to trace slow, delicate circles over her clit. "Allow me a moment to recover myself, and I shall see to it this night provides you a great deal more satisfaction."
"Mmmmmmmm," she mused lazily. "It's all good, Ichabod. I'm . . . oooooooh so good." She chuckled. "Really good."
"Indeed you are," he purred with a mischievous grin. "But the fact is you are worth far more than just one release, and it is my declared mission as your lover to give your body all the pleasure it deserves."
"Is that right?" She smiled, drifting in an eager but patient haze.
"Mmhm." Ichabod nodded as he rose up just high enough to deliver a long, exploring kiss. "I shall see to it that you fall asleep tonight - quite a long while from now, mind you - utterly spoiled."
He succeeded in spades, and she returned the favor. As usual, they proved to be evenly matched.