Shit. It was hard enough hearing him want to protect her from the price on her head without wanting him to fuck her brains out.

In fact, it was downright irrational. But his hands still made her skin burn and he felt so good against her and she still had a price on her head. So nothing had really changed from the last time she'd seen him, sleeping in the woods where she'd left him.

He seemed not to be holding it against her either. Which was fair, she'd said bygones when he'd winged her.

But Amy was right. She hadn't jumped him before the concussion and bought herself time for a reason. Clare had fallen for him in the woods and she knew it. Part of her never wanted to see Tim again because she knew if she did he'd have a chance to break her heart.

As it was, she was in his arms, in the dark and she was exhilarated to hear her dad's bike was all right. And she didn't want him to let go. This was plenty enough to make her stupid.

Sex and tattoos should have the same rule to avoid trouble. No names.

She knew when she said his it was the wrong move. She should have kept her mouth shut and held on. His body stilled, then he lowered her to the ground, "Look-"

"I'm not accepting protection without a few terms of my own," she said quickly, "so this isn't protective custody. This was you giving me good news and I got emotional. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable," she finished formally, before turning and walking stiffly to the house, not in the mood for rejection.

"Y'know what," Tim caught her wrist again, "No. We're gonna talk about it now. In the woods, three years ago, there was something. You felt it too. I saw your face. You felt it—"

"Now? On the day I find out I may get my life back? Now you want to have some big, quasi-relationship talk?" She turned on him.

"Yeah, now. I've got a small window here, Clare. You were a fugitive and I couldn't sleep with you. Soon you'll be a under Marshal protection I won't be able to touch you then. So, yes, I want to talk about it now," he cuffed the wrist she held and put the other bracelet on himself in a parody of their fight years before. "So, what are we doing?"

Dumbfounded with shock and lust, (she always sort of knew she'd be a handcuff girl) she deadpanned, "Shouldn't the cuffs come out when we get bored?"

"Duly noted," he was looking at the cuffs with as much shock as she was, "You still got the key in your pocket?"

She shook her head, "Tim, what are you trying to accomplish?"

He jerked her close and took her mouth. Tongue invading, owning her as she pulled him back into the dark, down to the gazebo. She tasted the whiskey and beer on his breath, and nibbled the sweat on his lips as she returned the kiss, her tongue darting playfully in response to his dominance.

By the time she'd pulled him to the gazebo they were both breathless and he was pulling her tank over her head, before being distracted by her scar. "Jesus, Clare," he touched it gingerly, following without any of the hesitancy that had previously plagued him. "Jeez, baby," he whispered before kissing it softly, dragging his lips and the tip of his tongue along it as she tried to wrestle his Polo off.

"Darlin', next time the cuffs come out when we're already naked," she muttered frustratedly.

He laughed. The first time she ever heard him laugh. She broke off her wrestling to touch his face. "Do that again."

"What? This?" He nibbled at her neck again and she tugged him off by his hair.

"Laugh. I never heard you laugh. I've seen you curse and gape and deadpan. But I never saw you laugh, do it again," she ran her fingers over his face, looking at him intently.

Too intently. Tim chuckled nervously, "Later," his hands moved to her waistband, eyes on the prize, and hers followed suit, letting him lead. It wasn't exactly what he'd pictured when she'd asked him to run away with her before, but it was close enough for his hands to shake. Tim Gutterson's hands did not shake.

"Protection?"

His hand slid in his pocket, coming out with his wallet, "Don't steal it this time." He pulled the foil wrapped package out and tossed his wallet by the chair he's occupied earlier. She kicked off her shoes and he tugged her to the floor and pulled her cutoffs off, tossed over to join his wallet. He toed off his shoes and helped her with his khakis in is rush to join her on floor of the gazebo.

He pulled her bikini off one handed, the ties not being enough to keep him from tasting her breast as she nibbled his shoulder and tried roll him onto his back. He didn't let her, opting to run one hand over her other breast as the other went between her legs. "We've had years of foreplay, will you fuck me, please?" she moaned, bucking her clit out of, and her wet core into his greedy fingers. Her own hands reaching for his erection. Letting her take him in her hand, his laughter at her frustration morphed into a moan as she stroked him.

"I wanted this to take longer," he said against her mouth.

"Next time," she said, rolling the condom onto him, then positioning herself beneath him, guiding him as his hands supported his weight. Slamming into her she, keened loudly and he took her mouth again. This time to quiet her. She rose to meet him with each thrust, her handcuffed hand pulling at his forearm as the other kept a firm hold on his ass. Feeling her muscles tighten around him, Tim nearly lost his control. He thought about baseball. He thought about his old CO shouting at him. He even spared a brief moment to Art yelling at him, before he came.

He tried to roll his weight off of her when he got his mind back, but her legs wrapped around him. "Stay," she ordered breathlessly.

He pushed himself up to look at her face.

Clare was still riding the aftershocks of her orgasm when Tim's weight collapsed on her. He was sweaty and heavy and familiar and she didn't want to let him go. She wrapped her legs and one arm around him, her fingers in his hair to keep him, if only for now. She hadn't meant him to move when he pulled back to look at her, but his questioning face made her already liquid heart steam. "I want you inside me," she explained softly and he kissed her. Shifting his weight to his forearms, positioned on either side of her head, he continued kissing her, slow and methodically, until she moaned again.

Tim pulled back again, "You never mentioned how loud you are, I may have to get soundproofing."

Clare smacked his shoulder, laughing, "You ass." She kept her finger in his hair as her cuffed hand managed to make it to his face. She smiled up at him, content and relaxed, running her fingers over his lips, "How long can we do this before you get in trouble?"

Tim crashed down to earth. "At least until Lexington and you accept protection. Reminds me," he rolled and pulled off the condom, tossing it in the sand of the fire-pit. He returned to her and started working his way down the unscarred side of her throat, taking his time this time.

She tugged at the cuffs, "Didn't I say you'd cuff me as foreplay?"

"Never disputed it." His mouth continued its foray to her collarbone while his hands ensured her breast did not go neglected.

"Tim."

"What?!" he finally picked his head up, looking as irritated as a satisfied man with a naked woman in front of him can.

"Uncuff me. My hand's bored."

It took him about three quarters of a second of imagine what her hand could occupy itself doing. But playing with her head apparently had its advantages…

"Tim!"

He snorted, "Fine." He spent a few precious moments getting the key and uncuffing her, only for the light fingered doctor to flip her cuff onto his other wrist. "Clare-"

She smiled, leaning him onto his back, "I promise." She kissed his lips for one brief moment before letting her mouth explore in a game of turnabout Tim was going enjoy…eventually. Her hands ghosted over his chest, making his abs tense in anticipation. By the time her mouth was on his chest, pressing her tongue to his nipple, he'd decided even cuffed hands could be used.

A/N Thank you to SassyJ for her input!