He supposes it's in the way she types. Or maybe the way her wrist moves when she goes to file a paper. How her hips sashay slightly when she walks, as if she isn't a Page, but instead one of the celebrities they spend their days babysitting. He loves it when she bends over. Not to see her booty, although it is nice. Instead, he can admire the cascade of auburn curls that falls in front of her face, a kind of waterfall made of flames. In the back of his mind, he can hear his mother saying something about how red is the color of the Devil.
He pushes the thought aside.
She laughs at Tracy's incoherent rambling, listens to Toofer's nonstop prattle about Harvard this and Harvard that, and lets Frank make frank sexual jokes.
What he admires most about her though, is the fact that when she is punched out, she is punched out. He wishes he could stop caring about this job for five seconds the same way she seems to at 11 o'clock every night. He wishes he could have the courage to talk to her about more than rules and regulations. He wishes he could find the nerve to ask her out the same way Toofer and Frank and Josh do. Mama always said if he prayed, God would grant his wishes. Well, God is doing a pretty shit job at the moment, if you ask Kenneth.
Sometimes, late at night, when he doesn't have any control over his dreams, he finds himself with his hands tangled in her hair, her creamy skin pressed flush against his body. He hates to wake up on those sometimes…
It's 2 o'clock in the morning and Kenneth is stuck at the office, filing paper work for Frank. He wishes he could have been able to say no. He would rather be in bed dreaming about her.
"Hey. What are you still doing here?"
Her.
"Uh…Sadie! What are you doing here so late?" She is here. They are alone. A fact that has not gone unnoticed by Kenneth.
"I got locked out of my stupid apartment, and the stupid landlord is sleeping and rather than pay someone to come out and open my door for me, I just decided to come back here and crash for the night."
"Well, that sounds most unfortunate." Most unfortunate?! Why does he have to sound like such a wound-up, hillbilly Christian in front of her? Why?!
But he finds a smirk playing across her lips. He smiles back, hoping he looks normal, maybe even, but don't tell Mama, devilishly handsome.
"You work too hard, Kenneth." No shit. He opens his mouth, hoping a witty response comes out when she slides onto his desk, her legs crossed in front of him, and whatever was about to come out gets caught in his throat. He swallows, opens his mouth again, only to experience her bare legs gliding across his Page's trousers, which, in his current state, seem much too thin.
He's never seen her this close before. Her skin seems just as smooth as it does in his dreams, her hair is a flaming mess of curls, her lips are moist and her breathing is shallow. Yes, he decides. His trousers are much too thin.
When he became so bold, he'll never know, because at that moment he does what he's wanted to do for months. He kisses her. And not just a peck. He's never felt so intense, so alive, so strong or so masculine in his entire life. It's hard to tell what's happening.
His tie goes, then his jacket and his shirt. She's managed to get out of her tee shirt and shorts, and before long he's making love to her on his desk. Somebody could walk in, but he couldn't care less. To be honest, Kenneth doesn't give a flying fuck about NBC right now.
Sprawled out on his desk, an angel before him, he can't think of a time when he's ever seen anything or anybody more beautiful. She smiles at him, and he's so caught off guard he almost forgets to breathe. He's watched her for months, and she's never smiled that way to anybody.
She's pressing herself against him, cooing to him, telling him what to do, and what it feels like, and he's never fully appreciated those two syllables until now, as she's uttering his name. Her whole body is quivering, her lips are brazen, and her skin is hot. She's cooing again, saying things that ought to have made Kenneth blush, but instead he feels powerful, full inside, and as the waves wash over him, he lowers himself down, tracing kisses everywhere.
Things begin to click into place. Kenneth is no dimwit.
"You weren't locked out of your apartment."
"And you could have said no to Frank." They dress, make the forty block trek to her studio apartment, and for the first time in his life, Kenneth calls in sick the next day.
Thank you so much for reading, and please leave a review! As always, I don't own 30 Rock or its characters.