It only took one week. (It only took one day for Jenny to figure out what was different.) One week of small, affectionate gestures, stolen kisses, and increasingly-longer goodbyes until one night, she just decided to stay.
"Abbie, what..." Ichabod says, confused as he sees her opening her car door instead of leaning over to kiss him goodbye.
She steps out of the car and waits for him to catch up. "I thought I might stay," she quietly says. "If... if that's all right with you."
He blinks. "Of course it is," he answers, taking her hand in his and leading her to the cabin, wondering what, exactly, she means by "stay".
They are both tired. The week has been filled with activity, but they finally put things to rest very early this morning, crashed for a few hours, then returned to the police station, where Abbie filled out reports at her desk (she had to laud herself at how good she is getting at finding "logical" explanations for all the weird crap with which they have to deal) and Ichabod logged the real events on the laptop down in the Archives, gradually learning to type with more than two fingers.
Abbie flops on the couch with a sigh. It's not terribly late, but it feels that way.
"Tea?" Ichabod offers. "We could order some dinner, if you are hungry."
"Not really hungry, but I'll take some tea, if you have decaf. Caffeine is the last thing I want right now," she says, shrugging out of her jacket.
He disappears for a moment, then returns with two boxes in his hands. "Citrus green tea or black cherry berry?" he asks.
"Citrus. That black cherry stuff tastes like hot Kool-aid," she answers. She leans forward and begins removing her boots.
"Only because you put so much blasted sugar in it," he replies with a smile.
Abbie sighs. She realizes she doesn't want tea. "Crane?"
"Yes, Treasure?" he turns to face her.
"I don't really want any tea," she says. "Sorry, I just realized."
"No need to apologize," he answers with a smile. "Surely you will not begrudge me—"
"Knock yourself out," she says, waving a hand. "I'm just going to chill a minute. Take off my boots maybe."
He nods. "Please do make yourself comfortable." Then he returns to his task, putting away one mug.
Abbie is anxiously gnawing at her lower lip when he joins her on the couch. She knows what she wants to say, but she's afraid. You've faced any number of demons, Abbie. You survived a day in 1781. You survived your own damn childhood, so why are you scared now?
You know why.
"Abbie?" Ichabod asks, drawing her from her thoughts. He's taken to addressing her by her first name, but generally only when they are alone. He sets his mug – Caroline's old mug, kept for sentimental reasons – on the table and takes her hand in between his. "Something is on your mind. I can see it."
She exhales, releasing her lower lip. His eyes flicker there for a moment, pupils unconsciously dilating, but he quickly focuses his attention back to her eyes. "Can't hide anything from you, can I?" she smiles weakly. "It's nothing bad," she quickly adds, seeing the fear slowly edging into his expression.
He lifts her hand and kisses it. "Please, Abbie, you know you can always share what is on your mind."
She's been going over what she wants to say all day, in various ways, from long speeches à la Crane to wordlessly jumping him and tearing his clothes off. In the end, she just blurts it out.
"I love you."
He smiles. "I love you, too, Abbie," he answers. That's all. He doesn't say, "That's all it was?" or "You were all worked up over that?" He knows how much it took for her to say the words, to acknowledge and allow herself to open her heart to him. To him. The importance of this is not lost on Ichabod Crane at all.
She blinks a few times, looking down. She slowly raises her eyes to his face again and asks, "Which would you prefer: the ladder or the wrecking ball?"
He ponders his answer carefully, even taking a moment to sip his tea. "I do not think the choice is mine to make, my love. They are your walls, and I will not circle you like Joshua, sounding the trumpets until they crumble."
She smiles and looks down once more. "I know. You've been wonderful. Probably more patient than I would have been able to be if the situation was reversed, to be honest."
"It has only been a week since I made my declaration," Ichabod says as he scoots closer to her. "You forget, I come from a time where courtship involved little more than patiently waiting." He brushes his lips across her knuckles. "You have not yet made your choice, Abbie," he softly reminds her, kissing her hand again. This time, he turns it and kisses her palm, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.
"Choice?" Abbie asks, growing warm and distracted. He is only kissing your hand and you're losing your composure. Good Lord. "Oh, um…" He kisses the inside of her wrist, over her pulse point, then moves up to the inside of her elbow. "Looks like the ladder it is," she whispers, watching with fascination as he slowly moves towards her lips, stopping at her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and her jaw before pausing once more.
"Oh, good. That way will be much more enjoyable," he rumbles, then captures her lips with his, kissing her with a slow decadence that makes Abbie grateful she's sitting down.
She winds her arms up around his neck, pulling him closer. His hair is unbound, so she has unfettered access and threads one hand into his soft waves.
The kiss turns hungrier, more urgent, and he pulls her onto his lap, his broad hands splaying across her back. He groans low in his throat, and she feels it more than hears it. She responds by pressing herself closer still, her need for this man growing with each passing moment.
She slips a hand into the open vee in the front of his shirt, her fingertips ghosting over the large scar there. One of his hands slides down and his fingers feel the softness of her skin beneath the hem of her shirt, which has ridden up a bit. He craves more, sliding his hand under the back of her shirt as he begins to kiss her neck.
"Oh..." she breathes, her head falling back.
Just as she is about to move to straddle him, he pulls away. "Abbie," he gasps, "is this leading where I suspect it may be?" His hand is still on her back; hers is still on his chest.
"Do you want it to?" she asks, biting her lower lip.
The action draws his eyes to her lips, and he kisses her again, unable to resist. "Very much," he honestly answers. He knows better than to lay it all on her. To return with a weak, "Only if you want to," or "Do you want it to?" would not be met favorably. My Abbie appreciates directness.
"Good," she answers, leaning forward to kiss him again.
"Not here," he manages between kisses. "Not like this." He cups her face with his hands. "Abbie, my love," he says, "I have not yet fully descended the ladder."
She laughs in spite of herself and says, "Oh, you have. Trust me, you have." She moves to continue kissing him.
Ichabod evades her lips and, with very little effort, stands with her cradled in his arms. "This must be done properly," he gently chides, striding to the bedroom.
Abbie sighs, knowing there is no point in arguing, but secretly loving this romantic side of him. Loving that he thinks she is worthy of the effort. She smiles and leans her head against his shoulder. Then, she moves her head, reaching forward with it to press her lips against his neck. He smells of his Dove for Men bodywash (which she picked out), his wool coat (which has a scent all its own), and his own natural scent (which is quite nice by itself). She nuzzles his neck, then kisses it again.
"Mmm," he rumbles, kicking the door closed before gently setting her on the bed. He pulls his feet from his boots, sets them neatly side by side against the wall, yanks his socks off, then stretches out beside her on the bed, his hand hovering over her stomach for just a moment before settling down on it, his large hand spanning her small body.
His thumb idly caresses her stomach for a moment. "Abbie," he says, his face serious. "Before we go any further, I believe we must first discuss... protection against—"
She gently lays her fingers on his lips. "I'm covered. I mean I won't get pregnant." She pauses a minute. "Wait, you don't have any weird 18th century diseases or anything, do you? I know about camp followers and stuff, so..."
He catches her fingers in his hand before she drops them and kisses their tips. "I am, as they say, 'clean.' Katrina was not my first, I will admit, but I never indulged in casual female companionship, and was faithful to her during our marriage," he answers.
Abbie can tell he is loath to talk about his late wife right now, but understands the importance of this information. She redirects a bit, raising a saucy eyebrow. "Not your first? Well, well, that is a story I simply must hear," she says, winding the ties of his shirt around her finger. "Later." She tugs the strings and he obligingly leans down to accept her kiss.
Ichabod leans over her, pressing her back into the mattress and pillows, and in moments, they are lost in one another again.
He begins kissing down her neck, and she purrs, tilting her head back for him. "Right there," she whispers when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. She doesn't notice that his hand has worked its way beneath her shirt until it closes over her breast. "Mmm..." Her back arches, pushing against his hand.
He moves off of her, helps her up, and pulls her shirt up. Together, they pull the gray t-shirt over her head and he tosses it to the floor. His eyes quickly scan her mostly-bared torso, then he dives back in, hands boldly exploring.
It quickly grows heated, and soon she starts tugging at his shirt. He whips it over his head and it joins hers on the floor. "I had planned to slowly undress you, kissing each inch of skin as it is revealed, but... unless you object, I think it will have to w— dear God..."
She derails his train of thought by removing her bra and dropping it to the floor. She lies back on the bed, trails her fingers down her torso, then pops the button on her jeans.
"Temptress," he growls. His eyebrow twitches upward, then he quickly opens and drops his own trousers before moving closer to pull her snug-fitting jeans down off of her shapely legs. Her scant panties give him a moment's pause. "Do you always wear such garments beneath your clothes?" he asks, eyes wide. He reaches out with a single finger and traces the lace edge at her hip.
She smiles, bites her lower lip, and nods. "My little secret," she says. "I like a little something feminine underneath the cop exterior. And..." She lifts her leg in the air, reaches up and pulls her sock off, then repeats it with the other leg. She places her foot in the center of his chest. "Pink painted toenails as well."
He looks down at her delicate foot on his chest. He takes it between his hands. It is small and slender, but strong, and he presses his thumbs against her sole, massaging it. "And here I thought I knew everything there is to know about you," he says.
"Almost," she replies, enticingly licking her lips. "Now, what was that you were saying about changing your plans for me tonight?"
He lifts her foot, kisses, then releases it. "Mmm, yes," he says, his voice low. He stands, removes his boxer briefs, and returns to the bed, a smug look on his face brought on by Abbie's openly appreciative stare.
"Damn, Crane," she says, "now I know where all that food you eat goes."
She expects him to make some scandalized exclamation, but instead, he replies with a knowing chuckle as he lowers himself over her, one hand skimming her skin from her neck to her waist as it makes its way to remove the piece of black lace still shielding the last part of her from his view.
He kisses her deeply, pouring everything he has into it, his tongue massaging hers as he slips his hand into her panties.
Abbie moans and angles her hips into his hand, encouraging him. "Oh..." She moves her hand and pulls the undergarment down. Ichabod finishes removing them, sliding them off and dropping them to the floor with the rest.
"Exquisite," he murmurs, brushing his lips against her skin. "Divine." He kisses her breasts, working his way to one of her nipples, already stiff and waiting for his attention. "Abbie, you are a goddess..." He closes his mouth over one, swirling his tongue around the hardened nub.
Her hands roam where they can reach, sliding through his hair, over his shoulders, his back, his chest. She reaches down as far as she can, but cannot quite reach his erect manhood. Her fingers brush the tip of it, and he shudders.
"Oh..." he grunts, shifting his hips to allow her to reach. "God's wounds..." he exhales as her strong fingers wrap around his shaft. His head drops against her chest momentarily, then he resumes, moving his attention to her other breast.
"Mmm," she hums pleasurably, stroking him as he returns his hand between her legs, where he slides a single finger into her folds, then inside her. "Oh..." He adds a second finger and circles his thumb around the small bundle of nerves at the front. "Oh..."
She is slickly wet and pushing her hips against his hand, moving her own on him in time with his motions. "Abbie... oh, God, please..." he rasps, moving out of her reach again. "I want to be able to last for you," he says.
"Now, Ichabod," she says, her hands on his sides, attempting to pull him over her.
He doesn't need to be told twice, immediately settling between her parted thighs. He takes another moment just to gaze down at her. "I love you," he whispers, lowering himself to kiss her. "All of me now belongs to you. I am yours, wholly."
"I'm yours too, Ichabod. Completely," she answers, running her hands up his chest to his cheeks as he continues to kiss her. "I love you with everything that I have and everything that I am…" Her voice is a whisper caressing his skin.
He lifts up again, just a little. "Open your eyes, Abbie," he murmurs.
She opens her eyes and looks up at him, her large, dark brown ones fixed on his mottled blue ones as she reaches down to guide him into place.
Ichabod thrusts his hips forward, his eyes locked onto hers as he enters her, watching her eyes, her face as they begin moving together.
Abbie's eyes want to flutter and close, but she holds his gaze until he breaks, squeezing his eyes shut and dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Oh… Abbie…" he groans, and suddenly he is all fluid motion, intense and worshipful at the same time. His hips snap into her again and again, his hands caress her skin until it tingles, and his lips drop sweet, hot, wet kisses everywhere he can reach.
"Oh, my God..." she breathes, her hands gripping his shoulders, his back, roaming down to his backside. She squeezes a surprisingly decent handful and hitches her knees higher to allow him to go deeper. He groans again.
"Abbie, I... oh..." he grunts, afraid he's going to finish before she reaches completion, but his fractured apology is interrupted by her cries of pleasure.
"Mmm... oh... yes... rightthere... oh..." Each thrust brings forth a sound from her throat, sounds that are like music to Ichabod's ears. Finally, her fingers dig into his shoulders and she tosses her head back, crying out, "Ah! Ichab... mmm..."
He lets go, thrusting twice more before tumbling after her with a low growl, his face buried in her neck. "Oh, heavens..." he finally sighs, his body relaxing over her. "Oh." He remembers where he is and slides off of her, then pulls her against his side.
Abbie curls around Ichabod with a contented hum, her leg thrown over his, her arm across his chest. "At the risk of sounding cliché, that was amazing," she says.
"Indeed," he agrees. "You are amazing, Abbie."
"You're pretty amazing, too," she replies. "I... I had no idea..."
"No idea I would live up to modern standards in lovemaking?" he asks, looking down at her in that sideways manner he likes to employ, just using his eyes but not moving his head.
"Something like that," she admits.
"In my day – my former day – lovemaking was considered an art."
"Is that so?" she asks, smirking playfully up at him.
"It is," he answers with a decisive nod.
"I suppose you kind of had to be good at it, given the rules of the time. I know there was a lot of stuff that was illegal back then. Stuff that's considered pretty commonplace today."
"Yes, and I am very much looking forward to exploring some of those things with you." After a moment, he adds, "And just because some 'stuff' was technically illegal does not mean some people did not indulge. As an officer of the law, it may be a concept with which you are familiar."
She laughs, turning her head and kissing his chest. "Ooo, sounds like you were one of those 'some people'," she muses. "Can't wait." She looks up at him again. "What was it you said forever ago? 'Imagine the delinquency we could perpetrate if we put our minds to it.' Something like that?"
"Mmm, indeed," he confirms, his long fingers skimming up and down her side. "It seems my mind may have been subconsciously thinking of indulging in baser things even then."
"We call that 'having your mind in the gutter'," she explains, lightly tracing the ridge of his scar. "It may be a concept with which I am familiar," she adds, echoing his previous statement.
He laughs, squeezing her. "Oh, I do love this," he declares. "Being with you this way. This intimacy with you is as effortless as putting one foot in front of the other. No. It is as easy as drawing breath."
She happily sighs, trying to move closer to him, though she is already flush against his side. "It is, isn't it?" He merely hums a response. "I think I like having you on this side of my walls."
"I think I like being here," he replies.
She shivers a little, and he reaches down for the tangled blanket at their feet, lifting it over them. "Better?" he asks, and she nods.
They are quiet for a few minutes, and Abbie grows so still Ichabod wonders if she's drifted.
Then, she speaks. "You know... last week, in the Archives?" she asks, looking up at him.
"Of course I do," he answers.
"If you hadn't stopped, I would have been down," she admits.
"By 'down' you mean 'amenable to'..." he replies, making certain he understood her slang.
She nods. "Right there, against the bookshelves."
He makes a low groan, but quickly regains his composure. "I do not believe you would have, Miss Mills," he says.
"Oh, you think you know me better than I do?" she challenges, grinning.
"I think we both know the answer to that question," he counters, kissing her forehead. "I am simply saying I am well aware you were... physically willing. I was, too. But, had I pressed on, you still would have stopped us before things went too far."
She pauses for a long moment before answering. "Probably. Yeah."
"You need the feeling behind the act to be true," he continues. "As do I. And while the true feeling was already there, you had yet to allow yourself to see it. Therefore..."
"Therefore... I wouldn't been able to go through with it," she concedes. "I didn't used to be that way," she admits.
"I am not concerned with the checkered nature of your past, Miss Mills," he answers. "I am only interested in it in regards to how it has shaped the woman you are today."
"Thank you," she says. "That means a lot. And for what it's worth, I am clean, too. I didn't say before, but during my… misspent youth, I was at least smart enough to use protec—"
"I know you would have said, if there had been anything to tell," he confirms, kissing her forehead. "I was not concerned."
Abbie lifts up and leans over him, kissing him properly. "I'm hungry," she murmurs against his lips.
"Mmm, I believe I may be ready for another—"
"No, I mean for food," she answers, collapsing across his chest, laughing. "We can follow your train of thought after we get some pizza or something." She sighs. "I should probably let Jenny know I won't be home, too…" She slips away from him and out of the bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor.
"I will order our food; you contact Miss Jenny," he says, reaching down to the floor for his discarded trousers and his smartphone stored in a pocket. "I hope the Domino restaurant is to your liking. It is the only establishment that will deliver pizza out here."
"That's fine," she says as her head emerges from the top of his shirt. "I look like I'm wearing a circus tent," she adds, looking down at herself.
"You look quite ravishing, I assure you," he says, staring. As he looks down at his phone, Ichabod says, "I believe I may request you leave that garment on when I take you against that wall," he nods towards one of the walls, "after dinner."
His words stop Abbie in her tracks, momentarily speechless. "Uhhhokay," she finally, breathlessly manages. Still in slight shock, she goes out to the living room to get her phone out of her jacket. "I don't hear any ordering," she calls into the bedroom as she texts Jenny. Staying at the cabin tonight. She doesn't even want to think of with what kind of saucy remark her sister will reply.
"I have their app," he answers, looking quite pleased with himself as she walks back into the bedroom.
"Look at you, Mister 'I Have Their App'," she smiles. "Be right back." She heads to the bathroom, closing the door part way. "I want some of those bread things, too," she calls.
"Of course," he answers, adding it to their order. As he completes the transaction, he hears singing.
"There ain't no doubt about it, baby, I love you…" Her voice floats out from the bathroom, and he smiles when he recognizes the tune. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, baby, I love you."
This time I know she is singing it for me.