He's woken by Carrie curling into his side, freshly showered and dressed for work, less than half an hour later
"Sleepy head" she teases, brushing her lips against his jawline, "Take the day off."
He considers it for a moment; likes the idea.
"Take the day off yourself" he suggests, and rolls over, pinning her underneath him, so he can't be misinterpreted.
"Yeah?"
She's tempted; he can see her resolve wavering and pushes his advantage
"I promise I'll make it worth your while."
She grins at that, delighted, and tilts her head
"Oh really?"
Beside the bed, her phone rings and her face twists.
"Oh really?!"
She looks at him, conflicted, and he jerks his head. With a grumble she squirms under his arm and answers her phone.
"Yeah...no, I overslept..."
Quinn takes the opportunity while she's distracted to wrap his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck where her shirt leaves the skin exposed. Her breath stutters when he sucks on the top vertebrae and he grins as she aims a slap at him.
"I'm gonna be a bit late, Saul...maybe an hour? No...I haven't heard from Quinn..."
He wonders briefly how he feels about that, and then wonders at what point he grew a fucking vagina and lost all his brain cells. Of course they're not going to tell people about their thing, if it even is a thing.
He wonders what he will do if (when) she pushes him away. He wonders if he will be able to take it, whether he will care. He wonders if he will break her before she has the chance to run. He wonders if they will rebuild each other when they break. He wonders if this is their last chance.
Carrie is off the phone now and frowning at him.
"You've gone distant" she accuses, "Regrets?"
God love Carrie and her bluntness. Quinn doesn't know how he'd have dealt with a subtle conversation; this he can handle.
"None" he breathes, pulling her down against his chest, "Apart from you going to work."
She murmurs her agreement against his neck, and then pulls away with a sigh.
"I really do have to go."
He releases her reluctantly, gratified that she doesn't move away from him for a moment.
"I really want to stay"
"Go" he says, catching her face between his hands and kissing her. He intends it to be brief but she leans into the contact, slanting her mouth against his and nipping gently on his lower lip.
"Carrie..."
"I'm going" she breathes against his lips, hands braced on his shoulders.
"I'm not going to let you go anywhere if you don't move in five seconds" he says, and he means it; arousal is spiking through him and work be fucked, he wants her.
More than that, almost, he doesn't want her to leave. If she leaves then he will have to and he has no idea when he'll see her. He doesn't want to leave this comfortable bubble and go back to what they had before.
"Ok" she sighs, getting up, "I'm gone."
He rolls, catches her hand, wonders about saying something. Her expression is soft and he wonders if she is in the same position. He seems to be doing an awful lot of wondering recently.
"Are you gonna come in today?"
He considers it, thinks about all the reports he has to write, and pulls a face to her visible amusement.
"I'll see you there then?"
"This afternoon sometime. You got a key I can use to lock up?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'll take the spare; mine's on the kitchen table."
"Ok then"
"Ok"
The silence stretches for a moment before she huffs a laugh.
"Are you gonna make me do it?"
Tension broken, he grins
"I think I am"
She laughs again, and grabs her jacket.
"Or I could just let you squirm. Bye!"
He rocks up at work around lunchtime, aware he looks visibly more relaxed and also aware he left his car at Langley overnight so anyone with two braincells to rub together would be able to figure out he didn't go home.
The day is interminable. Carrie is in meetings with Saul and as soon as she's out he gets called down for a training session. It's busy, and he should be focussed, but all he can think about is the morning, images and noises freeze-framing through his mind.
"Quinn!"
He jerks upright, grateful he's had an ear on the conversation, and manages to input something vaguely intelligent. Irritation grates at him; he needs to be better than this. He focusses hard on the rest of the meeting and is doing so well at being productive until Carrie appears at his desk with a cup of coffee and a question about the impact of new legislation and what he thought, and he's right back to square one wanting to pull her onto his lap.
Maybe she sees that in his expression, or maybe she's in the same repeat reel as he is, because high points of colour appear in her cheeks and her hand twitches fractionally when she hands over the coffee.
He feels suddenly more powerful for the knowledge that she is rattled, and stretches out in his chair. She watches every shift of his muscles under his shirt, seeing exactly what he's doing, and smiles.
"Better get back to it" she says, gesturing to the pile of files on his desk, and saunters away, a little more swing in her hips than normal.
Fuck, he thinks with a grin. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he's genuinely in over his head. And he couldn't be happier about it.
