AN: You lovely, wonderful people! You have completely overwhelmed me with your response to this little story, thank you so much! (Please don't stop. ;)) Seriously though, it is the greatest gift, knowing you're all out there, reading and enjoying; you make this worthwhile.


In the elevator they stood apart, pressed against opposing walls as if afraid to prematurely unleash that torrent of passion that seemed to always lie dormant between them; that had been awakened tonight, kindled and stoked between them mere moments ago. He could still feel it, linger in the air like a charge, just on the cusp of igniting, of burning hot and fast and all-consuming.

He'd been so close, unable to stop himself from leaning in even closer, inexorably drawn to her while they lingered at her front door. It'd been magical, the way her eyelids had fluttered closed, her body canted toward his with a mind of its own and her lips falling open on a soundless sigh; the way her scent had mingled with the damp January air, had completely wrapped him under her spell. How heat had bloomed in his midsection, spread through his blood and he could almost taste her on his lips before they'd even touched, the fantom of her flavor still lingering from a too-long ago, unforgettable kiss. And then the fateful words had tumbled from her mouth; he'd frozen and her eyes had widened, the color a jade-gold swirl of desire and apprehension.

"Coffee!" She'd stammered, her cheeks flushed. "I mean, for some coffee." She'd backpedaled but he'd let her because coffee meant something, coffee was warm affection and soft smiles and the flavor of unspoken promises.

His heart had been leaping in his throat and he'd cradled her cheek with his palm, felt the warmth of her skin, soft like silk. She'd tilted her head into his touch, her lashes lowering for a drawn-out moment.

"Coffee would be great."

He watched her nervously gnaw her bottom lip, her eyes skidding to his before her eyelids lowered with a shy smile. Bashful Kate Beckett was somewhat of a novelty to him, still a bit of a surprise from the woman who had perfected teasing into an art form, who could turn him upside down and inside out with just the quirk of her eyebrow and that sly, sexy smile. He'd seen more of her shyness ever since that fateful conversation on the swings, that vague promise about tearing down walls and future relationships that he clung to like a lifeline, infusing him with hope that maybe, just maybe, she wanted the same things. Too vividly he still remembered her broken, weighed down and torn and insecure, and the contrast was staggering, unnerving.

This woman was all contradictions, mysterious and complicated and enticing and he was certain, he knew he'd never tire of digging for her secrets, of unraveling her; he ached to make her happy, to draw out more of those staggeringly joyful smiles that weakened his legs, infused his blood with exquisite need.

He warned himself to be careful with her, to go slow. He'd promised to wait and he hadn't made this promise lightly. And so he hadn't even asked her to be his date, too worried about upsetting their status-quo, about pushing too far, too fast. Yet here they were; fate, destiny, magic, all those wondrous properties he clung to seemed to have conspired to gift him this night. With her.

It made him question whether he was doing it right. Or if instead, they were just... standing still. Because everything, every moment of this evening urged him to seek, take, to just move.

Tonight had been like a dream come true. Lithe, gorgeous Kate Beckett in a sleek dress that accentuated her every subtle curve, with her eyes sparkling with pure joy and her wide smile that took his breath away, and she'd stayed by his side, all night. There'd been touching; just so much touching and not only had she let him, she'd sought him out, her hip bumping his, her fingertips whispering over the sleeves of his suit. He'd gotten to hold her in his arms as they danced, and he'd marveled how well she fit against him, her body so slight, belying the core of strength within. He'd tripped his fingers along her spine, up and down, reveling in the involuntary arch of her back that she hadn't thought he'd noticed.

He wanted to feel that again. Wanted to feel all of her; he ached to undo her with his hands and mouth and his undying love, worship at the altar of her naked body, yearned to send her spiraling, set her free; had the foolish notion that he could be all that she needed to heal. He loved her, he wanted to get to love her.

She tugged on his sleeve, drew him out of his reverie with a quirk of her eyebrow and he stumbled after her out of the elevator, his eyes caught by the toned length of her legs and the swell of her hip that seemed to have an extra sway to it when she moved tonight.

Kate fumbled with the key at her door and if he didn't know her as well as he did, he would've missed the slight tremble of her fingers when she tried to insert the key into the lock, the rapid intake of breath when she felt him near. He hovered close behind, barely an inch separating his body from hers, careful not to touch her again, not yet. When the door finally gave way she strode inside, left it open for him to follow while she headed straight for her kitchen.

He slipped off his shoes in her entry, draped his jacket over the plush red chair in the corner before he trailed behind her.

"Coffee?" She called over her shoulder, already bustling around in the confined space between the small kitchen counter and her island-table-stove thing, filling the kettle with water and placing it on the burner and that alone, the superfluous question and the flurry of activity told him just how nervous she was. It matched the flutter in his chest, the leap of his heart every time he looked at her and wow, he really had her, didn't he? It just hit him, made him freeze in his steps, with his heart hammering against his ribcage, hard. He already had her; had never seen it more clearly than now, how they were both teetering along that precipice - together. Breathlessly waiting for that one step, that gigantic, inevitable leap of faith.

She grabbed the coffee grounds from the fridge, then bent down to pull out the coffee filter and filter paper and a coffee pot from the cabinet, and his eyes lingered on the thin stretch of dark green fabric over the curve of her hip, the slope of her taut ass. She stood, set up the coffee pot with the filter, making it old-school, her eyebrows knit in more concentration than should be necessary even in the art of coffee making.

He was yearning for her, a strong ache in his chest, like a fist squeezing his heart, urging him with every palpitation to move, move, move- and so he moved, he leapt.

Stepping up behind her, he draped the length of his body over hers, chest to her back and hip to hip, smoothing his hands along her waist, his fingers curled over the peaks of her hipbones. She shuddered in surprise; the spoon she held tumbled from her fingers, clattered onto the counter with a loud clink that reverberated through the silence between them. She froze in his arms, didn't move away, didn't seem to want to maim him either; she barely seemed to breathe.

He nudged his nose behind her ear, breathing in the enticing scent of her hair, warm desire unfurling in his midsection, and he brushed his mouth to the rim of her ear in a barely-there caress. Her fingers tightened around her kitchen counter, clamped so tight that her knuckles turned white. He could feel the suppressed energy thrumming through her taut body. Slowly, he ran his fingers just a bit further, pressed low on her abdomen; her hips moved against his, a soft, wanton, unmistakable undulation.

He nuzzled her neck. "I've been thinking..." he murmured and her head tilted, allowing him access.

His phone vibrated in his front pocket; he startled and she whirled out of his grasp, pressed with her back to her sink, looking breathless and shocked and aroused.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

"Alexis," he said by way of apology, lifted the phone to his ear to take his daughter's call.

He listened to the happy chatter of his child on the other side of the line, only half paying attention to her excited recount of the rich boy's grandfather's birthday party or whatever it had been, while Kate Beckett was staring at him with wide, dark eyes, her chest lifting rapidly beneath the sleek fabric of her dress. He answered something, wasn't quite sure what it was because she kept staring at his lips while he talked and he couldn't concentrate with his legs like jello and his skin burning and his mouth dry.

He brought the call to an end. Holding Kate's eyes with his he spoke his parting words; challenge and plea and churning, wild hope.

"Yeah. I think it'll be late tonight."