I just decided to put all my fluff in one place for now!
This chapter is set in a sort of AU season 6 (no cardiomyopathy), and based on a prompt from the lovely glittermaid18 on Tumblr: "The Sharon and the Captain sides of her closet/Andy seeing her in the closet for the first time." In this case, she's a Commander ;)
Over the years, Andy had seen Sharon nearly everywhere, feeling nearly everything. Fuming in her office down in FID, dousing himself and Provenza with the chill of her gaze in the murder room, laughing with her daughter draped over her lap in one of the breakroom chairs, biting her thumbnail at Serve, mouth agape and panting in the shower, sobbing over Dwight Darnell on the kitchen floor, radiating happiness all the way down the aisle.
Therefore, when he realized he had never seen his wife in her closet before, Andy had to stop and stare.
Ever the delicious temptation, Sharon's skin caught Andy's attention on his way to his dresser. When he first moved in, Sharon cleared out a drawer for his undershirts, pajamas, and underwear. With her closet space, Sharon had been surprisingly more generous. Her armor of blazers and skirts and silk blouses eclipsed her jeans and sweaters she preferred at home, but all of it was precious to her. He got to see it all. Every morning, she marched out and amazed him—dressed as the Commander, tucking a patterned blouse into her black skirt (or God forbid, pants), or dressed as Sharon, wrapping herself in a tan cardigan or sauntering in a jaw-dropping negligee. He got to see it all. If his job was to wait for her, she made sure he knew he had room when she invited him in.
When Andy peered into the walk-in closet, Sharon stood on the Commander side of her closet, but with her back bare and her hair wet, she hybridized her look. Standing in front of him was a physical manifestation of what he felt when he saw her every day, never through only one lens. Whenever the rare opportunity presented itself, he stole glances at her from the other side of her office window or from across their kitchen table, and he would feel in those instances what he saw now—his boss, his wife, his lover, his rock, his partner, and his superior in every way.
With a gentle pull on her zipper, the base of Sharon's lower back disappeared underneath two joined ends of her black skirt. (There is a God.) His eyes followed her hand—past the jut of her hip and her winding curves, over the shoulder he kissed every morning that he woke first—to where it landed on her neck, massaging firmly to no avail. She bit her lip and put her hand to better use, sifting through each blouse before selecting one of his favorites—a white, silky concoction she refused to let him touch while excited.
"Don't," she'd giggled in the foyer one night, when he'd pulled too hard on a button. "Andy, this is my favorite blouse."
He wove his hand past the silk and into her bra. "I can work with it on."
"I can't."
"Andy?" Holding her blouse over her encased breasts, Sharon smirked at him, eyes flickering down to his boxers. "Good morning to you," she teased. "All this time, and I didn't know this look did it for you." She briefly posed—one knee bent, back arched, and a hand draped over her forehead—before giggling and reverting to her earlier position with a smile too dazzling for so early in the morning.
Andy leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his undershirt. "Everything you do does it for me. Isn't that what a honeymoon is supposed to prove?"
Sharon hummed and slid her arms through the sleeves, flicking her hair out of the collar. "Well, hold that thought. At this rate, we'll already be late."
Before she could touch the buttons, Andy swooped in and slid his arms beneath the silk and onto her hips. After all this time, he could never put his finger on the difference between the material and her skin. "It's a tradition to be late after a vacation," he argued. "Especially a honeymoon."
Sharon snorted, flicking her growing bangs out of her eyes, but she didn't wiggle away. "Just because it's always been your tradition to be late whenever it suits you does not mean I have to agree."
Cocking an eyebrow, Andy said, "So you're invalidating my sense of occasion?
"Yes."
"What, no hesitation? No consideration?"
"No."
"God, that voice. So hot."
"Andy!" Sharon squealed when he lifted her onto a conspicuously empty shoe shelf. "Andy this is not meant to hold people!" she hissed, squirming carefully in his hold.
Though he knew he shouldn't find her concern so amusing, Andy laughed and leaned on the shelf to prove his point. "It does. Trust me."
"This is not the time for wishful thinking," Sharon said, peeling Andy's fingers off the sanded wood.
"Remember your surprise birthday party last year?" Andy asked. He nodded to the shelving above Sharon's dresses. "We hid your party stuff up there, and Rusty and I had to climb on this shelf to reach."
Sharon finally stopped wiggling, but the stare she fixed Andy didn't entirely convince him that he was out of the woods. "You put an unrefrigerated cake in a closet?"
Andy sighed and rested his head on her sternum. "Babe, you're killing me, here."
"You're lucky you didn't kill us all, serving spoiled cake—"
In that moment, kissing Sharon met two of Andy's needs. Relieved when she giggled in his mouth, Andy combed his fingers through her hair and massaged the base of her skull. Her mewl told him that he'd found the elusive spot she'd been searching for. As much as he enjoyed her sleeping on his shoulder for most of the ten hours home, they both regretted their sentimentality when they woke.
Pulling back just enough to tease, he murmured, "Mike brought the cake, Sharon. We hid it in his very freezing refrigerator."
"Oh, that was sweet," Sharon said, eyes hardly open, voice distant. "I don't want to talk about Mike right now."
Andy grinned and sucked on her earlobe. "No? What do you want to do?"
"I want to be traditionally late to work. On three conditions." Sharon latched onto his neck. "Very quiet." Kiss. "Very hard." Suck. "Very fast." Bite.
Andy's hands snaked around her waist and tugged at her zipper. "Yes, Commander."