Authour's note: Some few days ago, I decided to ponder the idea of Jack Crawford and Clarice Starling. Sadly, I saw that there were little to no fics depicting the two together. I thought, why not write a one!shot? I do hope you enjoy. This is one of my many takes of the two as a couple. Please, read and review, darlings!
Warning: This is very short story. Just letting you all know beforehand!
Much love
- L
It is often said that one's professional demeanor is very different from their personal.
This is not true for Jack and Clarice.
It's been three days since Starling has kissed her companion. It's nothing new for the rather unusual pairing, but certainly curious to onlookers.
The two aren't focused as much on physical contact as the majority of couples are; but intimacy is nice for them, when it comes along - to say the least.
Crawford sits awake at his desk until unGodly hours almost every evening, merely shifting through papers. A cup of cold and untouched coffee stays beside the aging man as if its unused caffinne somehow trickles into his taut body. Quite the contrary on this evening.
His nimble, well worked hands scribble down illegible notes onto post-it notes which stick onto files that are arranged rather neatly on his sturdy desk. His dark eyes are forced to blink more so than us usual due to his tired state; but, like his companion, he pulls through his work without a complaint.
The soft sound of slippers padding against hardwood flooring would audibly sound to most people, but ones not enthralled in their current workload. Clarice reaches Jack's office, mere feet from their shared bedroom, and leans her statuesque body against the door frame, one of her old Quantico shirts draped over her ungarmented chest, paired with some cotton pajama bottoms. Her currently discheveled look is inviting to anyone with a knick for the laid back look.
Jack's office is always open to Clarice, merely to let her know that they have nothing unshared; but she always finds herself close to asking permission every time she enters.
Clarice softly clears her throat and offers Jack a tired smile. When he decides to finally look up, the corners of his thin lips quirk up in the slightest, inviting the West Virginian woman in. He leans back into his chair and turns to face her as she props herself onto his desk without question. He chuckles lowly but makes no move to touch his partner when she inquires about his current state of work.
Their idle conversation lasts only a few minutes, but ends with Clarice gently pulling Jack by his wrist into their bedroom. She sits on the edge of their marble tub as he changes into his nightwear, which consists of boxer shorts and a teeshirt, and offers some unecessary consolation about his unhindering workload.
Crawford heads over to his and Clarice's queen size bed to prop himself up against the headboard. A queen bed, rather than king, so that the couple may decide to lay close to one another in the night. It leaves just enough room for needed space, but little enough room for the occasional exchanging of unwithering, unyeilding love.
Starling soon follows Jack to the bed and curls up against the man, one hand resting between his back and the headboard, the other idly lying on his chest. Her slender neck cranes to reach Jack's lips, her own peach colored ones fitting so perfectly with his. Her partner makes a gentle sound of approval before wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her even closer. Both their hearts flutter with content, completely and utterly satisfied with each other.
Clarice reluctantly pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes and decides to rest her head on his chest, his hand soon running through her almond locks of hair as the night's slumber claims her.
Her lambs, silenced with him.