A/N; You guys know this thing called writers block? Well, I'm completely blocked for Locker Room Affairs, so I ended up writing this little AU Ficlet. I hope you guys like it!
I also asked svugirl to do a video to accompany this fic, you can find the link on my website, . Please check it out, it's really cute! I love it!
(I have been trying to post a direct link, which doesn't work. But if you want to find the vid on youtube just delete the spaces withing the next URL;- http:/ . com/watch? v=3we_Vu1SSGQ - Thanks!)
Disclaimer; Sad to say, still don't own Rookie Blue...
Turning over to snuggle a little closer against the warm body lying next to me, I let out a sigh. Last night's events running through my head like a movie. Every movement is printed in my memory, every word memorized, every touch still burning on my skin. This is not what I wanted, but I'm enjoying it. A lot. I know it's wrong, but I just can't help myself. This feels good; this is how it's supposed to be. He turns in his sleep, spooning me. The arms around me feel familiar, my memory taking me back in time. Back to yesterday...
I had to run to catch the train, when I miss my connection I almost start to cry. For weeks I have been looking forward to this dinner. This dinner could change my life. For years I have been stuck in a relationship that I don't want. Only the fear of being alone is stopping me from ending it.
The minute I run into him my heart reopens. That one special piece of my heart is revived. I can only think of one thing, him. I want to know how he's doing, if there is still anything left between us, but I'm also scared to leave the safety of the life I have created. The safe life that is making me unhappy. The safety of not being alone.
As soon as I have plucked up the courage, I pick up the phone to make a dinner date. That date is today. I've spent most of the afternoon in front of the mirror, wanting to look my best. When my boyfriend comes home from work, he hardly notices, walking past me with a lack of interest. We say our goodbyes, no kiss, and I leave.
I know I'll only have to walk a short distance once I get off the train. It's long enough to make me nervous. Very nervous. Finding his street is not a problem and when I reach number 43, I knock on the door. I have never been as nervous as I am now. My heart is thumping in my chest and my hands are sweaty. I don't want to ruin my dress, but I'm pretty sure my knees are about to cave in.
It feels like ages for the door to open. The minute I set my eyes on him, I feel myself melting away. Again. He still has that effect on me. The smile, the eyes, everything is just right. Stepping inside I allow him to take my coat. My eyes following his every movement as he hangs it in the wardrobe.
"So, what's for dinner?" I ask him.
"Pasta. You want a glass of wine?"
I nod as I follow him into the kitchen. The kitchen is long and very narrow. Every time he passes me he gets so close, my body reacts. Goosebumps, my heart skipping a beat. I know I should not be feeling like this, but I can't help myself.
There is some heavy flirting while he is cooking. He touches me, lightly, every time he passes me. Every now and then I hug him, looking for contact. Physical contact. His body feels great, firm and safe. He is taller than I am and I feel safe being with him. I keep looking up at him, expectantly. The ball is in his court. It's wrong for me to kiss him, but if he kisses me? I'll be a willing participant. Not saying a word, I leave the next step up to him.
During dinner we talk about his sudden disappearance a couple of years ago. I tell him how it made me feel, him leaving without telling me, or anyone for that matter, a thing. He tells me why he left. Guns 'n gangs needing him to go deep cover. He has been back to 'normal' for a couple of weeks now, still taking some time of to re-adjust to life.
I tell him how the past years have been for me. How it took a while for me to adjust to life without him, how I have always kept an eye out for him. Hoping, in a way, that I would be busting him again. How I would have loved to jump him in an alley and try to kiss him. Again. He smiles as he recognises his own words.
He wants to know if I'm happy with my life and for a minute I am in doubt. Should I answer him in all honesty? That he hasn't been off my mind for one single day. How somehow I always kept up the hope of him returning to us. To me. I just tell him that I am fine. He understands. It's code he recognises from when we still worked together.
He tells me that he has missed working with me. How there were days he thought the case would never be made and considered quitting, wanting to wear the uniform again. Wanting to work the streets. With me by his side.
"I love working with you."
Nobody had expected the assignment to take as long as it did. Least of all the white shirts. But he was good, so good he penetrated so deep into the organisation that the whole operation turned in to a way bigger thing than ever was intended.
The openness of our conversation is, in a way, shocking me. Things are said that we would never have said before. Maybe we have matured? Maybe the time apart has made us capable of saying things we never thought we would ever say to one and other.
As I am washing up the dishes I feel his body against mine. His arms around me. His mouth against my neck. I turn around and wrap my arms around him. My phone ringing interrupts the moment. I decide to pick up anyway. It's my boyfriend calling to ask if I'm enjoying myself and what time I think I'll be home.
His timing annoys me. He has no idea of the fire I'm playing with. He thinks I'm just having dinner with a friend. He knows nothing about my hidden agenda. He doesn't even know I am unhappy in our relationship. It's my best kept secret.
I end the conversation, feeling a little guilty. The tension that'd just built up between us is gone. We continue where we stopped. I'm washing up and he dries. We stick to flirting, innocent flirting. Does he realise what I want? Why I came?
Once we are done washing up we take the bottle of wine and our glasses to the sofa. He sits down and I cuddle up against him. We talk and talk. Without us noticing we finish off the bottle of wine.
The conversation is good. Serious. Relieving. Finally I can vent my frustrations and he actually understands me. I understand him too. We finish off the next bottle of wine, the quality of the conversation decreasing due to the amount of alcohol consumed. Less serious, more flirtatious.
I take a look at my watch. 2.30 AM.
"Well, I have missed the last train," I say as I refill our glasses.
He tells me he'll be taking me home when he has finished his glass. I move in closer to him and give him a hug. Crawling into his lap, I run my fingers through his hair and I feel his goosebumps. He runs his hand over my back, rubbing circles.
"I don't want to go home," my eyes are begging him to keep me here. To not take me home.
"I don't want you to go," he sighs.
I look up at him, staring him straight in the eyes. That's when it happens. He touches his lips to mine and I feel the butterflies in my stomach.
"Stay? Please?" he asks with a certainty. His voice is hoarse. His eyes showing what he isn't saying.
For a minute I doubt myself. I can't do this. It's wrong. Cheating is not a word in my vocabulary. Then I look up at him and nod.
"I'm staying."
He gets up from the sofa and leads me to the bedroom. When we reach his bed our lips lock together. Passionately. We undress each other like it's never been any other way. It feels good. Very good. Better than I could have ever imagined. All of a sudden I remember what making love should feel like. Finally. After all these years. I'm enjoying every minute of it.
Finally, after all these years.
"Good morning," a voice mumbles in my ear. I look at him, his eyes still half closed.
"Good morning," I whisper back softly as we find each other again. Lying against this, his, body is what I want, but I still feel a flinch of guilt.
"Don't over think," his familiar and comforting voice tells me. "Everything will be fine. We'll talk later. After, breakfast first."
He's carrying a five star breakfast when he returns from the kitchen. The tray is filled with a warm croissant, my favourite flavoured yoghurt, coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice. All my favourite things.
Is it a coincidence? Does he remember? Was he counting on me staying? Had he hoped I'd stay? I notice my phone flickering and grab it, a text. "Where are you? I'm worried. X" I press answer and reply; "We have to talk."
I turn back to face him, looking at the most gorgeous smile I have ever seen. He hands me a glass of orange juice.
"Stay. Be mine."
After all these years there is only one thing to say. With the best feeling in the world, my grin reaching from one ear to another, I answer his question.
"Yes! There is nothing I want more," and for a moment I don't think about the consequences, everything that needs to be taken care of. I'm enjoying my breakfast, the company and the feeling of being with him.