A long chapter, and smutsmutsmutsmutty - smut. And some plot stuff. I mentioned the smut, right?
The way the outline looks in my head right now, there are two more chapters in this series. Chapter titles "The Storm," and (tentatively) "Everyone Gives."
BUT! I do have another Ichabbie story taking shape in my mind. Right now I think it's a one shot, but that's what I thought when I posted CH.1 of this series, so who knows. I'm pretty sure it'll be a T rating. Still some sexy times but less graphic. And Ichabbie romance aside, it will stick close to the show's canon.
"Cavalli the mystic!" Jenny cried from her perch in a secret alcove she'd discovered above one on the bookshelves. She liked to do work up there at much as possible. ("Better vantage point in case of attack.")
Crane agreed. Ichabod had first hand experience with the benefits of high ground, and on Simon's end of things the same logic applied when tranking a bear or what have you in the wild. Whenever possible, but difficult to reach.
Anyhow, she skittered down the ladder waving a small scroll in her hand.
"I finally found something about Wanderers! The scroll is in Latin but I checked my translation four times, it's solid."
Ichabod, Abbie, and Frank gathered around her. Max and Kat were dealing with demon issues in Brazil, as the Apocalypse had finally expanded beyond Sleepy Hollow.
"He was a Monk at Eymsham Abbey in the 11th century, and he wrote this down at the end of a month long period of silence capped off with a one week fast. Okay . . . it opens with a bunch of stuff that's already happened, then this:
"And a Wanderer shall be discovered in plain sight, found in the 5th year of battle, well hidden in his un - warlike nature. He shall emerge from a dark place, and herald with his coming a half year's rest. Great caution now to the armies of God: though the demons do plot, thou shouldst not advance, but rather, rest well. Whatever the wisdoms of all wars gone by, The End is a different beast. Heaven doth not wish a defense built of too wearied soldiers half surrendered in spirit, so heed thee well our word. Take joy and libation whilst prophecy allows.""
"Hm . . . " Abbie mused.
"Yeah I've got a big pile of Cavalli's scrolls up there, I found them in a box in a chest in the cavern under the trapdoor under the couch."
"Damn!" exclaimed Frank. "When you say you'll find something or die trying you do not fuck around!"
"Why were they so hidden, I wonder?" Ichabod mused.
Jenny shrugged. "Who knows. It was mixed in with a bunch of other crap. Maybe the chest was for stuff your 1700s Secret War buddies didn't take seriously but held onto just in case? Like, a crazy homeless lady once grabbed my arm and gave me a pair of beaten up boots without laces and swore up and down they'd protect me. I took 'em to humor her and when I was walking away I heard her tell another person that her scarf ate bugs and geometry. I'm basically sure she was a bucket of nuts, I've still got the shoes crammed away somewhere in my apartment."
"What's the history on Cavalli?" asked Abbie.
Jenny sighed. "The Eymsham Abbey kicked him out because not all Monasteries went in for mystical hoohaa, and Brother Cavalli looooooved him some hoohaa. But all the stuff he prophesied to happen before this has happened, so I think he's legit."
She looked at Ichabod and Abbie. "Even you two falling in love. Not necessarily getting together, but feelings - wise he called it. I've read nothing else that even hinted . . . " she unfurled the scroll another few feet and scanned for the passage about them.
"Here we go:
For now and all time past and future, Heaven's most formidable weapon shall be love. Devotion absolute. The bond of sun to earth. The bond of blood to body. This weapon hell may never hope to rival, and so such a seed shall be planted between our two chosen, to do with as they will.""
"Well . . . " Ichabod clasped his hands behind his back. "I stand convinced. Now what to do with six months of freedom?"
"I'm spending every second with Macy!" Frank declared without hesitation. "The End of Days has seriously diminished my Family Time."
Jenny's shoulders squirmed. "Outside of incarceration I'm not used to staying in one place for long. I might bounce around."
Ichabod and Abbie couldn't decide. The conversation followed them home.
They made tea and snuggled up on the couch to parse through options.
"Honestly?" Abbie said as she blew on her piping hit tea. "All the worst times of my life happened in Sleepy Hollow."
Crane heaved a huge sigh of relief. "I am so glad you said it first! Us notwithstanding I can count the good times on one hand. Small pleasures, yes, but real, standout Good Times? Not many."
"Quiet time snuggled up here?" Abbie suggested.
Crane trailed his fingers up and down her arm. "Don't take this the wrong way, but . . ."
"It'd get boring," Abbie agreed before he finished the sentence. "I have not forgotten the time we were snowed in for a thousand years. Fun for a few days and then," she shuddered at the memory.
"Of course we do have six months at our disposal."
They'd spent the last five years measuring life in day to day terms. They both kept forgetting how long a time six months was.
Ichabod sipped his tea cautiously. "Though I suppose there is still your Police job to consider."
Dammit! She thought. The prospect of total freedom tasted like Soul Candy. Remembering she was still pinned down to an obligation felt like someone swiping her ice cream cone. According to that Monk's scroll things are going to get SERIOUSLY ugly after this . . . what are the odds I'll be able to hold down a job AND . . . a seductive idea appeared in her mind. I really want that six months!
"Honey? . . . What would you think if I quit the force?"
"Are you serious?"
"I mean if I survive the Apocalypse I'll go back, but this could literally be our last taste of happy life for years."
Ichabod opened his mouth with the words 'yes, but' on the tip of his tongue, but then realized he had no follow up. In any other circumstance the suggestion would be too extreme. Too reckless. But standing on the precipice of the most brutal war the world in history, insanity became sanity, recklessness became sensible.
To do anything else but cut ourselves free of all tethers would be foolish.
"Do it!"
Abbie was giddy with excitement, and the next day when she handed in her two weeks notice the idiom 'walking in air' made perfect sense to her. She had to look down to make sure her feet were touching the floor.
They spent those two weeks planning a loose itinerary. (One ought to leave room for spur of the moment ideas.) The only thing they locked down solid was a nonrefundable two week stay in Yellowstone National Park. Simon had been there several times so it was one of the things Crane had always wanted to show her. In fact, the only reason he and Abbie had Honeymooned so close to home instead of going to Yellowstone was specifically because if the Apocalypse. So they could be home in a few hours if something came up. With that threat temporarily shut down, he could finally watch her eyes light up at the sight of boiling clay earth, geysers, buffalo standing inches from the car, and a hundred other things the geographical wonder had to offer.
Their less iron clad plans were to at some point hit:
The Grand Canyon (which neither had ever seen)
The Hoh Rainforest
The Metropolitan Opera and Guggenheim Museum
Max was going the fly them over the Everglades
and of course:
Visit Simon's friends in Maine
Ichabod's dearest friends were either people he saw every day, or people long since dead. Having decades of great, vivid memories with people who were still alive was yet another thing to love about having Simon.
They also decided to begin their hiatus with a barbecue just for the Apocalypse Posse before they all scattered into the world.
Max and Kat also planned on heading to Maine, but not til later (they'd been up to visit for a few brief weekend stays, so Kat had already met the gang, but Ichabod and Abbie's attempts to visit were somehow always thwarted.) Max was the one who first realized the problem of he and Abbie visiting Simon's friends.
"You usually call him Crane," he said to Abbie. "You bust out Simon every once in a while when he's basically all Simon, but it's rare."
Abbie looked at Crane. "What do you think, baby?"
He shrugged. "Back in Maine, surrounded by all my old friends . . . I imagine his personality will be forefront, shouldn't that be reminder enough to call me . . . " he trailed off, chewed his lip and thought about it for a moment. "No, if we plan to stay the week it's likely you'll slip at some point. Especially if we hit Sweeny's Tavern, and I can promise you we'll hit the tavern at least once. It's one of my usual haunts."
"Okay," said Max. "So we need a reason for her to just call you Crane. I have a cunning plan!"
Crane grinned. "Of course you do."
Max pointed to Abbie. "You grew up with a super creepy Uncle named Simon and calling your boyfriend the same name makes your skin crawl."
"Yeah, but why Crane instead?"
"Hmmmmmmmm . . . that's aaaaaaaaa . . . " The wheels in his head were turning at full speed. "Got it again! I am the problem solver!" He turned to Crane. "Your - Simon's middle name is Wycliffe, right?"
"Mm - hm," Crane nodded.
"Cool. Guess what, now you've got a million middle names along with Wycliffe, and Crane is one of them. You come from one of those old school British families that shoves as many family names onto their kids as they possibly can because heritage."
"Why have I never mentioned the other million?"
"You're not -" and this is true for both of you - "you're not big on all that heritage stuff and Crane was the one Abbie picked to call you. Yeah. The rest of them need to be horrendous. I'm the only one who knows this because let's face it our friends will never believe there's a single thing about you I don't know."
"True," Abbie and Crane said simultaneously.
"All right then," said Crane. "Let's pick the names. We need Wycliffe and Crane. I think another three plus West is adequately ridiculous without going beyond the realm of plausibility."
Many choices were thrown around. Max wrote down the best options.
"Bleckly," Crane offered. That is a family name on Ichabod's side.
"Gedrin," was Kat's suggestion. "Actually my great grandfather's first name."
Frank raised his hand and finished chewing up a rib before speaking. "My mom had a cousin who married a Yakerman."
Other choices written down but discarded were Ickle, Hepsubris (terrible, but a mouthful and a little too terrible), Lunkley, Vorelip . . . the list went on. It turned into hours of fun. Listing awful family names went on well after they settled on the hideous:
Simon Yakerman Wycliffe Crane Bleckly West.
Over campfire s'mores (Kat's idea) they discussed what made Abbie's Uncle Simon so creepy, and a few stories.
"The gang is big on stories," Max assured her.
"Pervy is the obvious one," said Jenny as she pulled charred skin off her marshmallow and ate it.
"Criminal record?" Frank offered. "Petty crime?"
"Let's throw in terrible hygiene for good measure," Crane suggested cheerily.
They concocted a few good stories, which Abbie stood up and rehearsed as if indeed telling them about her gross, pervy, criminal Uncle.
"This one time when I was seven he showed up at the house fresh off an eight month stint in jail. I opened the door and he got me in this huge bear hug. Picked me up and shook me, all of it. The only thing worse than his BO was his breath. All his front teeth were rotted out too, it was disgusting. My parents always fought when he visited because my Mom was into the 'do anything for family' policy, and my Dad didn't think it should apply to criminal drunks who pissed on the front lawn and constantly made loud comments about the 'fine asses,' of teenagers even in public."
Standing ovation. Uncle Simon Bell (Abbie's mom's maiden name) was officially the grossest relative ever without assigning him offenses for which he'd have been locked up for life. She rehearsed the story several times, and Crane committed it to memory as well.
Two days later while they were packing their bags Abbie remembered she and Simon weren't married as far as his friends knew. She looked at her ring finger, made a quick pouty face, and started to work the wedding ring off her finger.
"What are you doing?!" Cried Ichabod as though she were setting fire to a kitten.
"What?" She shrugged. "Except for Pamela they don't even know we're engaged. And we don't have time to pull an Abbie and Simon wedding out of our asses. Not if we wanna do any of the other stuff . . . "
"No. But I can't bear the thought of taking mine off or seeing without yours for a whole week.
Ichabod sat down on the corner of the bed and pulled her into his lap, breathing in the smell of her while he pondered the problem.
There it is.
He smiled and kissed her neck. "We eloped. It's why we're visiting, in fact. Instead of a big wedding we chose to surprise the pants off everyone and then go Honeymooning all across the country."
Abbie returned his smile.
Aren't you smart?
"Keeping our lies close to the truth, you haven't traveled much and I want to show you all there is to see." He scrunched his nose like a playful boy. "We could even register somewhere."
She put her arms around his neck and laughed. "I have always wanted a bread maker."
"Mmmmm," Crane imagined the smell of fresh bread filling the cabin.
"It's one of the few great memories I have of mom." she said as she hoisted herself out of his lap and zipped up her suitcase. "She used to bake bread almost every weekend be she went all . . . . okay. It's settled! Grab your bag honey."
Crane looked at the clock. "We've got hours, dearest."
"Oh no we don't." She gave him a little peck on the cheek and winked. "We're taking detour."
"Are we really?" He said, his smile growing wider. "Might you have something scandalous planned Mrs. Crane?"
"There's a blindfold waiting for you in the glove compartment, and that's all the info you get for now Mr. Crane."
Stay calm, he warned his groin. Mustn't waste energy.
He realized as they loaded their luggage onto the trunk Abbie was wearing a shirt that, while not provocative, leant itself to braless wear.
Clearly we've reached the stage of a relationship wherein casual undress is indeed casual unless otherwise provoked. He always admired such sights as her stepping out of the shower, or climbing into bed naked during humid summer nights, but it did not always stir up a lustful reaction, or pull him from other thoughts.
The realization did not depress him. Honestly the fact that he'd only just realized it threeish years into their romance spoke volumes about the quality of their sex life overall. Also they were fresh off a Honeymoon, a time of naturally heightened sexual awareness.
And off we are again on another one. He thought with excitement he fastened the blindfold snug over his eyes. We must strive to make this time as much like the beginning as possible.
Abbie was silent durning the drive. Ichabod wondered if the silence was part of her tease, as it left him with nothing to think about but where they might be going. The sound of the engine, slows and stops, and winding turns had him hypnotized as whats and wheres floated through his mind like tiny rafts.
He was so lost in reverie that he gasped and jerked his legs in surprise when Abbie's hand suddenly cupped his less than half hardness (he'd done a remarkable job of maintaining control even by his standards.)
He drew a shaky breath as she administered a firm massage.
"Abbie," he whispered.
No reply, but she squeezed him gently.
So this is your game . . .
"Please tell me we're almost there!"
Her hand started sliding up and down over the line if his constricted erection as she massaged. The technique fell midway between rubbing and stroking.
He considered asking permission to unbelt and unzip, but discarded the idea, certain she wouldn't answer.
The car slowed and the ride turned bumpy, uneven. Gravel crunched under the wheels.
Are we going to the spot from our last. . . no, this drive was much longer.
Abbie assisted him out of the car and guided him to sit down on the hood. When she removed his blindfold he found himself on a tall hill looking down on all of Sleepy Hollow.
"I thought we should take a last look before saying goodbye for six months."
"It's a lovely view."
The nose of the car barely nudged out of the treeline, parked perhaps twenty feet from a steep decline. They walked hand in hand to a spot midway between the car and the edge of the hill.
"Home sweet home." Crane mumbled, his mouth pressed to Abbie's head. "It may fall to pieces over the next years."
"Nope!" Abbie asserted herself in front of him and locked him in a determined stare. "No Apocalypse talk allowed. No prophecies, predictions, fates, talismans or trinkets, and we've never seen a Monk's scroll in our lives."
She held his sides and pulled him flush against her. "We are going to embrace the Simon of it, and for the next six month you and I are on a cross country Honeymoon, okay Crane?"
"Understood." He put his arms around her and laced his hands at her lower back. "Now . . . what do you intend to do to me in this wonderfully isolated spot?" His eyes narrowed and his hands moved lower to grip her ass. "Or do you not have specific plans?"
"Oooooooooh," Abbie reached behind her and pried his hands off her ass as though he were a presumptuous prom date pushing his luck. "I have plans. And I think you," she wiggled against his body. "Are are going to like them."
She ran her hands up his shirt and tilted her head back, cueing him to kiss her. A series of feathering touches as she guided him backward to sit on the hood of the car.
I like you this way, Abbie thought. You're eye level.
"May I . . ." he went on feathering down her neck, "perhaps . . . " kisses over her collarbone. " . . . Well, the pants are constricting, you see." His fingers slipped beneath her shirt and played lightly at her waist. "They distract me." He sighed and squirmed closer to her, her body arranged between his legs. "And of course anything short of my full attention is less than you deserve."
She said nothing in response, but arched forward, a move that took his hands naturally closer to the summit of her breasts.
It both helped and hurt. True, it was a clear invitation to enjoy her wonderful flesh - but just the invitation sent a jolt of arousal through his body that made every cell in his straining hardness beg for the talent of her hands, or his hands. Something!
"I think you need to relax," said Abbie, her voice like silken sex as she stepped away and went around to the trunk.
TEASE! YOU MONSTROUS TEASE OF A WIFE!
She returned with a green bottle bearing a familiar label and one odd looking cup.
"It's bamboo," she said with a chuckle. "And this," she held up the bottle, "is thirty year old Laghauhulin." She stepped close enough to dart her tongue over his lips. "I've had it hidden in the cellar. I was saving it for the day when we win . . . that thing that's not happening, but I'll get another bottle."
Even in his 1700s days when he rubbed elbows with wealthy and powerful men, many of whom admired him greatly, he'd never been offered such a decadent scotch.
My most desired woman holding my most desired spirit.
She handed him the bottle and held out the cup. "Pour.
He poured two fingers, or what looked like two fingers, and set the bottle down next to the car.
She swirled the liquid around and sniffed. "Mm. Smells amazing." She took down a first sip gracefully.
He stared at the shine on her lips, feeling both blessed and tortured.
Abbie grinned wickedly and tossed back the rest, a fair bit of it spilling from the cup to her chest.
"Oh damn." she purred. "I spilled."
She set the cup down next to the bottle and yanked Crane into a kiss in practically the same instant.
The beautiful taste Abbie, the caramel smoke of fine scotch, and I have them both together.
"You have to," he whined without completely breaking the kiss. "You have to let me, please -"
Before he even finished the sentence Abbie's nimble fingers were unbuckling his belt.
When she had him unbuckled he took over, withdrawing and stroking himself with one hand while the other traveled up her shirt to cup her breast as he licked and sucked thin trails of scotch from her chest. He pulled back just long enough to take the shirt off before returning to drink in more of all she had to offer. Skin, tongue, soft contours, hardened nipples. The tinge of scotch only served to underline the delicacy of her body. So grand that she could stand toe to toe with such a luxury and prove equally intoxicating.
She got her pants open and guided his free hand inside.
"Mmmmmmm," he moaned as he went on stroking himself and pleasured her.
Multitasking!
"Hmmt," Abbie mumbled urgently into his mouth.
He could tell by the motion of her tongue that she was trying to speak.
"Pardon?" He whispered, settling for small shallow kisses.
"Shirt." she panted, fisting her hands in the soft cotton fabric of his shirt with an aggressive upward tug.
In the name of good manners he finished the job for her.
"Back." The simple command was accompanied by two hands on his chest, determined to push him down on the hood of the car.
He put up no fight, but made a sad face when she stayed put. Her half undressed body in full view but out of reach. It got worse when she shimmied his pants down beyond his hips, leaving no hint of fabric to restrain him. And worse still when she took a step back and slid both hands into her open pants.
"You too." she sighed.
He propped himself up just high enough to see the whole show. Her pants were tight enough to see her thigh muscles react happily to the work of her own hands.
"You are phenomenally talented, it cannot be said enough," he mused as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his already greedy firmness.
Imagine the wet of her, it seemed to whisper, how easily she'd take you . . .
He ignored the impulse and went on stroking.
The heat . . . the pulse . . .
"Ooooooooh." he moaned, engrossed in the sight of her plunging her fingers into herself and gasping with pleasure.
Switch your places, get her pants off and take, take, TAKE!
Maybe it was the fact that they were poised on the brink of a freedom even their Honeymoon hadn't afforded them - but suddenly it felt as though he'd never seen her pleasure herself before. Seen her naked before. Watched her cum before.
He stayed where he was, the pace of his stroke unleashed from conscious mind as he rerouted every ounce of his discipline to ignoring base male instinct.
The only experience that came close to this in terms of his emotional response was the the night he left the cabin. How quickly he failed to defeat the longing to be with her right away. Despite his upbringing and it's stern emphasis on propriety. Dignified behavior.
A whole set of rules was cast aside as the need to have her in every sense of the word found him running through miles of frigid, icy weather. The opposite of Dante's hell, but even one more night without her, he felt certain, would have been an equal torment.
Back in the present, when she finally stepped close and reached for him he lunged, his arms rejecting the concept of too close as they wrapped around her and roamed the contours of her back. Then one hand slid around her hips and joined hers beneath the wet fabric of panties.
Abbie knew without his prompting that he had the better angle to reach inside her, so she diverted her attention to the rest of her center. She pressed a middle finger firm against her clit while the other hand massaged and rubbed the expanse of slippery flesh below it.
"There!" She cried when he curled a finger and struck a place that lit up her body and left her brain on total darkness.
"Th - th - th - ah! AH! AH!
Total. Darkness.
He angled his right arm at a tilt across her back so she was free to disregard gravity and balance while her her muscles spasmed erratically.
He was always ambitious when it came to their sex life, (Or almost always. They worked and fought hard, so there were times that a quickie and a snuggle was all they could muster. At least it was closeness.) but this orgasm looked and felt like . . .
Like back to the beginning . . . he thought. Better even, since he was so much more familiar with her body. With four years of practice he knew that when she came with anything close to this sort of enthusiasm, he could keep her there for quite a while. He flung himself off the hood of the car, swooping her tiny body along with him and lavished her neck with endless unwieldy kisses as he strode to the back of the car.
Blanket in the trunk, his brain just barely managed to remind him. We keep a blanket in the trunk for. . . um . . . emergencies or something?
It was already on the ground.
You thought of it when you fetched the scotch, you clever creature!
Just a few more seconds! he assured himself with an inward needy groan while he set her down, rubbing and flicking at her clit for a moment to ensure she remained in the throes of climax.
One second, two seconds -
His impatient mind tortured him as he took care of the rest of their clothes.
Three seconds, four seconds -
They cried out in unison when he entered her, gripping her thigh like an anchor and dropping his head to the curve of her neck.
"Uh, uh, uh, uh -" he pant/grunted as she clutched tight around him, the violent shiver reducing him to an animal state. For a second he was connected to a whole lineage of sex. The formless concept of sex.
The muscles in her neck pulled taught, mimicking the muscles inside her minus the rhythmic shudder.
There was no holding on.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah - God! Abbie! You - you -" the spill of his release seemed to go on and on.
Panting.
Gasping.
Crying out again and again.
"Mine!" He declared, throaty and rasping as he rattled to a finish.
Meanwhile, Abbie was on the ride down. The lazy, sweat - sheened stroll back to normal.
"Mmmmmmm," Crane sighed as he went slack and lowered himself to rest on her body, his one hand between her legs gently stroking the length of her well pleasured sex. He ceased and lifted his head from her chest when he felt her fingers thread through his hair at the base of his neck.
"Hello." he murmured with what little voice he could muster.
"Uh - huh."
He kissed the tip of her nose and rolled over next to her.
After a moment's rest she propped up on her elbows and looked around.
"Are we searching for something Mrs. Crane?"
"Yeah. Our trophies."
He giggled sleepily, petting her back. "There must be committee we can speak to."
They spent another hour sitting on the hood of the car, sharing a celebratory scotch and gazing down at Sleepy Hollow.
A few hours after that they arrived in Maine.
Five seconds after they dropped their bags in Allan and Emily's guest room, they were sitting in Sweeny's Tavern surrounded by Simon's friends. The pair quickly zipped through their 'why Abbie calls him Crane' story.'
"Yakerman? Really?" asked Tyler. "As in Yak?"
Crane took a generous sip of his beer. "You see why I whittled it down to Wycliffe."
Tyler shuddered. "Remind me to call my parents and thank them for 'Morris.'"
Abbie and Crane clasped hands and threaded their fingers together. She beamed at him. He beamed at her. They had loosely choreographed the following announcement.
"We have bigger news." Crane grinned.
"You're moving back to town?!" Emily guessed.
"Sorry no. Abbie and I eloped!" He took their respective wedding rings out of his pocket and placed them on both their fingers.
"Simon!" Allan shouted.
A squatty guy named Chance elbowed Emily. "I told you that was an engagement ring!"
"I don't believe this!" cried Tyler. "Is Max okay? Is he devastated?"
Simon tossed a fistful of pretzels at the man. He caught one in his mouth.
"I promise the distress was quite minimal. Kat takes good care of him." Simon said with a grin. "He does insist on a boy's night out every other Saturday or there's hell to pay, but aside from that." he shrugged.
"Can I see?" Emily held out a hand, eager to inspect Abbie's topaz ring.
"You never struck me as a 'let's elope' man, Simon." said Allan. "More of a . . . 'I want everyone to gather around and worship my bride' guy."
"Oh that was his first suggestion." Abbie gushed, squeezing her husband's hand. "As soon as I said yes he was thinking I needed most beautiful gown we could afford, most popular wedding venue in town - it's this amazing historic church surrounded by an orchard. Couples practically mud wrestle each other every year to book it in Spring when the trees bloom. (True.)"
Crane grinned. "But over the next days as we tossed around Honeymoon ideas we both realized how little Abbie had traveled and how many places I still wanted to see."
Abbie took over. "So we decided screw a ceremony, we're gonna spend our wedding budget on the Honeymoon!"
The whole group cheered and drummed the table.
I love these people! Thought Abbie.
Tyler stood up and whistled. "Hey Devon, another round here! We got Newlyweds!" He pointed to Simon and Abbie.
"Simon!?" Yelled the shaggy blonde bartender. "No shit! Yeah, on the house, aaaaaaaand . . . be right back!" He sprinted to the door that led to the back room.
Abbie raised her eyebrow.
"Don't look at me." Crane shrugged. "Devon is often bizarre and inscrutable."
It was another few minutes before he emerged.
"Okay!" He came running to the table with an armload of stuff. "Rounds comin' in a minute, but first!" He held up a black trench coat with a piece of paper reading 'just married' taped to the back. Followed by a white men's blazer with a piece of paper also reading 'just married' taped to the back. "You'll have to roll up the sleeves," he said to Abbie, "but there ya go. And for you guys," he addressed to the rest of the party and dumped out a small brown bag filled with a mix of kazoos, noisemakers, and those things that explode with confetti and streamers when you pull the string.
Abbie and Crane couldn't stop laughing as they pulled on their respective just married jackets. His sleeves were a tad to small for his arms, and hers were rolled up. It was perfect.
At least a thousand ridiculous pictures and vids were taken.
I'm in Honeymoon Heaven, Abbie thought a half hour later when Devon presented them with the additional gift of two free plates of wings.
"This one's your standard buffalo, and this darker one is my recipe. House made every morning." He winked at Abbie as he set the plates down. "You strike me as a wing girl for some reason."
Crane side eyed him with mock suspicion. "Are you trying to seduce my wife?"
"Oh don't worry baby." Abbie gave his leg a reassuring pat. "You're too good in bed to walk out on."
Devon laughed and headed back to the bar as Simon's friends showered the couple with confetti.
Crane poked her in the side. "Comedian."
She smirked.
Allan had to work the next day, so it was only midnight when they left the bar, but the Twice Newlyweds couldn't remember when they'd had such a fun night out. (The underground cabaret notwithstanding, but it sort of belonged to a whole different realm.)
Abbie woke up at 3:10 a.m..
GOTTA PEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Was her first thought upon opening her eyes.
She leapt out of bed and beelined for the bathroom.
When she came back she noticed something she hadn't before. Allan and Emily had arranged a muffin basked for them on the dresser. She picked up the card nestled amid the muffins and squinted to read it.
'For Simon and Abbie. Made these fresh just for you.'
She was amazed that Simon hadn't fought Ichabod tooth nail to go back to his life in Maine. The fact that he stayed in Sleepy Hollow without a fight made her feel a lot better about their first time together. ('Ive known you for twenty minutes, hey let's fuck' being the nutshell version.) He really must have gone all in on their relationship right away.
Weird, but I'll take it.
"Abbie?" asked a soft, sleepy voice.
"Aw, did I wake you up? Sorry."
"No," Crane replied, yawning and scooting upright against the headboard. "I was half awake already. Mmmm," he noticed the muffin basket. "Care to split one? They'll probably be blueberry pecan, it's my favorite one he makes - Allan I mean. And a thousand dollars says he bakes us us a mini wedding cake too."
Abbie grabbed a muffin and tossed it to him. He scooted to her side of the bed and they sat on the edge hunched over as they ate. Better to get crumbs on a hardwood floor than fresh sheets.
"Oh my God," Abbie whispered with a sigh as she swallowed her first bite. "We need to fill the back of the rental car with these things, how many can he crank out in six days?"
Crane chuckled quietly and accepted the bite Abbie held out for him.
"You left a lot of awesome here." she mused. "You must love me a whole big lot."
"Mmm," he nuzzled the side of her face and placed a soft kiss on her temple. "I really, really do." He leaned back and smiled at her.
Despite the poor lighting she could still see all the affection on his eyes.
"I'd even marry you a third time."
"Isn't he sweet?" Abbie asked no one, twitching her nose adorably.
"Oh dear," Crane murmured. "You've got a bit of blueberry riiiiiiight . . . " he leaned in and licked the side of her mouth, gently sucking her lower lip between his before drawing back.
He hovered barely a paper's width away from her mouth. "I do love blueberries." His arm came around her waist and he pulled her into his lap.
She cooperated and curled up, her feet resting on the mattress next to his legs.
". . . But it occurs to me suddenly," he took the muffin from her hands and set it on the lamp stand. "What fun it would be to set it aside and enjoy you first." He kissed her throat. "Quietly of course. Mustn't be rude to our hosts."
Abbie wrapped her arms around his neck. "Seriously? You wanna cum stain their sheets?"
He unbuttoned the top two buttons of her pjs as he replied. "We'll launder them ourselves before we leave." He took care of the next two. "And even if Emily does manage to sneak in and collect them, she's an adult. Evidence of adult behavior . . . " he undid the last button and slid the garment off her shoulders. "Should hardly shock her."
Abbie let her shirt fall away as Crane adjusted their bodies and laid her down across the width of the bed, his p body looming above her. "Pecan and blueberry can wait until I've the taste of you in my mouth." He moved down the mattress and drew his tongue in a straight line from her navel up her abdomen. He paused briefly to lap at her breasts, then finished at her mouth with a long, languid kiss.
"Mmmmmm," she sighed.
He propped himself up, leaving enough room between their bodies for her to unbutton his nightshirt. She worked silently, caressing his slim frame as she went, and slowly brushed the back of her hand up his chest when she finished.
All the while he merely gazed and said nothing, too preoccupied with observing the subtle details of her expression.
A tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth as she tucked her right arm beneath her head.
"You're the one with the plan Mr. Crane." she murmured. "Let's see it."
"Hm . . . " he mused, rearing back on his haunches for a better view while he finished removing his shirt. "My plan is . . . more of a work in progress, really." He curled his fingers beneath her calves and gently prompted her to lift her knees so they became like armrests at his sides. His hands wandered up and down her legs.
A steep incline summiting at the knee, and decline from knee to hip.
Abbie waited patiently while he contemplated her like a genius studying quantum theory, delighted as his mind swirled with so many possibilities and puzzles.
He lifted her hips and used his knees as a wedge between her ass and the mattress, then bent down to nuzzle and kiss her still clothed thighs and the bare flesh just above her waistband. All while his hands roamed freely.
From Abbie's vantage point she could clearly see the curve and movement of his spine. Every flex of his shoulder blades. A pale body in motion as he traversed the flesh and muscle of her widespread legs before moving on to the curve of her silhouette.
She sighed, damp and eager.
A chuckle rumbled against her skin. "And how are we feeling?" He whispered as a hand wiggled beneath her her panties and massaged through her center.
She answered with a soft happy sound.
"This will do," Crane said in reference to her readiness. he gripped her pants and panties and pulled back, sliding off the bed and taking the last of her clothes with him. He rose and hunched over the bed, took care of the last of his clothes, and crawled forward settling gracefully between her legs.
"Ahh!" She cry/sighed when his tongue flicked over her clit.
"Ssssshhhhhh," he cautioned as he pressed her thighs apart and relished the sound of her hushed mewling while he lapped at her soft arousal. Small, light strokes that stayed small and light even when his fingers increased their pressure on her clit.
He felt the strain between his own legs when her body began to writhe and thighs began to shiver.
"Oh that's good!" She whispered, her hands on the back of his head alternately petting or clenching his hair. "Really good . . . "
He pushed her left leg far enough to gain a downward angle on her inner thigh without actually sitting up while two fingers slid easily inside her. He kissed and nibbled her warm skin, tilting his gaze upward and enjoying the view.
Biting her lips. Head moving erratically at a speed just shy of thrashing.
I think we can take this up a notch.
He alternated between curling his fingers and splaying them wide in all directions, pushing hard against her walls. He felt her feet at his sides nudging him upward.
"Impatient are we?" He asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.
"Yes," she whined. "You're mean, and yes!"
He decided to push his luck and tease a while longer. He thrust harder with his fingers and went at her clit with a vigorous tongue.
Her reaction amused him. A string of hushed unladylike words of reproach and offense poured from her mouth, but her body's behavior completely contradicted them. She bucked and gasped at each flick of his tongue, and quivering approval met every thrust of his fingers.
"Ah, oooooooh . . . Crane, y - y - you suck!"
"Mmmmmmm," he moaned as he sat back, pulling her body up with him and letting gravity do the work of bringing her slicked heat down onto his waiting length. Every inch of him buried in a blink.
"AH!" She cried out with a jolt at being so quickly filled.
"Sh!" He clapped a hand over her mouth and pressed his face to her throat as he tried not to laugh.
"Sorry!" She panted while he set the pace.
"Mm! Mm! Mmmmmmm . . . mm!" He struggled to stay quiet as the familiar need to cum built steadily inside him. He gripped her ass and reared up on his knees with the intention of moving their bodies, but the mattress was too soft to support the weight and they pitched over.
"Oh!" Abbie yelped.
"Nooooo!" Crane warbled.
They both froze and struggled not to laugh. Abbie started to break.
"Stop it!" Crane whispered.
"You stop it!"
He nipped her jawline and started to roll his hips with measured caution. Just in case they had woken Allan and Emily, he didn't want to make a blatant radio show of their sex life.
"Mind your husband!" He hissed facetiously.
"Mind your divorce papers!" She scoffed.
"That threat . . ." He breathed as he pinned her left hand above her head, "lacks credibility . . . ooooooooh, wonderful . . . when I'm inside you." He sped his pace. "Perhaps t - t - try after?"
Her knees rose on either side of him and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound of her stifled mewling even though their noisy tumble had put a serious dent in their rise to orgasm. Still, spectacular sex was officially an unrealistic goal.
"Here." Abbie wrapped her legs around his waist and took control of her body, tensing around him so he'd have enough friction to cum.
He finished with a sigh and laid down next to her. "That . . . was not our best work."
Abbie laced their hands together. "It was our funniest."
Crane stifled a giggle. "Lovely. The sex life of Mr. and Mrs. West gets off to a comedic start!"
The two of them knew without saying that they weren't going to fall asleep again. Which left them with several hours until the sun rose completely.
"Hm . . . " Abbie mused. "Our funniest. What do you think is our best so far?"
Crane pondered the question. "Well, our first time together should take the title by default, but based solely on merit . . . ? I think the night we got married."
Abbie smiled. "That was awesome." She curled up on his chest. "How about a top five? First ever, first married, aaaaaaannnnnnd the last three . . . ?" She pondered her own question. "I vote The Night At The Opera for number three."
It happened the previous year. Someone had gotten them box seats to the opera, and they were alone in the box. The seats behind them remained vacant, so they decided to live dangerously and do hand stuff. It went really really well.
"Good choice." Crane replied. "However, number three for me was the night before my birthday two years ago. No question. That was a work of sheer genius, Abbie . . . " he squeezed his wife's hand affectionately as his mind drifted back to the night in question.
She left the archives room early and ordered him not to come home before seven because she was making him a special dinner.
"You better be hungry." she purred when he came through the door.
He took a deep breath."It smells phenomenal in here!"
The table was adored with two plates, both covered, and several serving dishes in the center, one quite large. Also covered.
"A mystery!"
Abbie wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled his chest. "I hope you like it. Open the big one first."
She followed him to the table and swelled with pride when he lifted the lid.
"Oooooooh . . ."
A red satin corset with black lace trim at the top.
"I take it I'm getting a pre - dinner show?"
"Mm - hm." Abbie replied with a lascivious grin. "Keep going."
He chose the next largest lid.
A pair of black stiletto boots.
His breath shallowed. He imagined a stiletto shoe would be brutal for hours and hours of wear, but for sex? Nothing shaped Abbie's legs or ass more beautifully than stilettos.
Abbie kept her eyes riveted on him as he continued to unveil the teases of his impending gift.
He had to unfurl the items under the next lid to discern what they were. Thigh high silk stockings, garter belt, long sheer robe. All black.
He struggled not to get hard. Too soon.
"The smaller ones are all different options." said Abbie. "Your choice."
A thin strip of suede long enough to wrap around wrists several times.
Handcuffs.
Damn you! He scolded his own disobedient body as the base of his shaft began to throb with arousal.
A length of black silk.
One, two, three, four pairs of panties. Various combinations of silk, sheer, and lace. All either black, red, or both.
Optional panties. His mind struggled to pick the more appealing option. Another black and/or red adornment to play with. Or just the stockings and garter belt with her sex and ass on full display. On the one hand he loved to get her panties inhumanly wet before removing them. But on the other hand the idea of bending her over the table the second she was dressed and having her right away - at least to start - appealed as well.
He took a deep breath in order to stay calm and speak with discernible English words. "Abbie?"
"Uh - huh?"
He made a point of not looking at her for fear of what it would do to his brain and body.
"How hard are you prepared to work for my benefit tonight?"
"I slept way in this morning, done nothing strenuous all day, and took a nap when I got home."
He felt the warmth of her body as she moved close enough to brush against him.
"You can fuck me till sunrise if you want."
We'll have to start without panties. She'll wear them later.
There was one more left to uncover.
Part of him wanted to savor the delightful pain wondering, but lust compelled him to toss the lid aside without hesitation.
A small device that seemed designed to fit over a finger.
"Mmmm," Abbie sighed. "You wear it, press this little button, and it gives my clit a really nice hum. I tested it yesterday - just enough to know it felt good, not long enough to cum. I'll cum when you wear it."
How thoughtful.
"Dinner is a roasted chicken by the way, I've turned the stove off so we can eat anytime you want."
"Certainly not now," he said breathlessly. "I need you dressed at once. No panties."
While she was changing in the bedroom he paced the floor, tortured by a slew of decisions.
She deserves one hell of a thank you . . . go down on her before getting selfish?
But the whole point of this gift is MY pleasure . . . perhaps I should take selfishly and work my way to thank you?
He was leaning toward claiming his gift aggressively and to his heart's desire then showing his appreciation, but when Abbie returned to the room the sight of her was too overwhelming for him to give a damn about proper manners. The fact that she was presenting herself for the specific purpose of serving his desire freed him from the burden of Lover's Etiquette, and he plummeted into selfishness.
"Over the table," he rasped, kicking a chair out of the way. "Pleasure me until I say stop and bend over the table."
He couldn't remember the last time he was so dizzy with lust.
Possibly never. (With the implicit exception of their first night but that was sentimental.) in terms of raw lust, this was experience was proving extraordinary. His hardness demanded satisfaction with an unparalleled deafening urgency.
His hypnotized gaze raked over her body as she walked across the room. "On my knees, or stroking?" She asked as she undid his pants, her voice low and husky.
Blow job later, you can get her over the table faster if she's standing.
Rather than answer the question verbally (words . . . ?) he took her hand and guided it around his firm, hyper sensitive flesh.
"Mmmmmmm," she sighed as she stroked his full lenghth, her grip neither tight nor soft.
Flawless! Flawless! He thought frantically as his body sung to every stroke.
His next thought was one he'd had quite often, but never so sincerely. We. Are. Fucking. BRILLIANT!
He titled her head back and devoured her mouth, her lively tongue sweeping and tangling with his. He let it continue as long as he could bear to before telling her to stop. As per his previous instruction she moved into position, arms bent and palms flat on the table.
Too wild even for the extra second it would take to check her readiness, he buried himself to the hilt. Her plentiful arousal took him easily.
Finally! He thought, every cell in his body tingling with fervent thanks.
"Aaaah - AH!" She cried, braced for the force of him (as he was clearly not interested in violins - and - roses sex) but still unprepared for the driving depth.
Impressive.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" Every thrust pushed a noise from her that oscillated between throaty, shrill, and whining, and he answered in kind.
Language took a back seat to some kind of warbling half - growl as he gripped her waist and stared down at her. The shine of vibrant red perfectly complimented her dark shoulders and neck, and her hair swung with the motion of her body. He didn't want to lose his mind his soon so he indulged the powerful thrust only until it threatened to consume him, then eased both pace and force, and nudged her legs further apart to win a tighter hug around his rigid sex. He meant to enjoy her depth for as long as possible.
His whole body was shaking and his back slick with sweat by the time he began to swell, aching to cum.
His entire reality contracted to nothing but soft rippled flesh and red satin.
"Fuck!" He yelled. FUCK!" Crane bucked and moaned, cursed and praised as he came. "Un . . . un, that, oh, beyond . . ." he panted as he finished and withdrew. "Abbie. . . " he collapsed into the chair by his side and zipped up his pants."You . . . ooooooooh . . . " he gulped down air as if he'd been under water for a truly dangerous swath of time.
Abbie wobbled upright and fell onto his lap in a straddle.
"Was I too -"
"You didn't hurt me." she assured him. "I'll let you know if you do." She twitched her nose and gave him a quick nuzzle. "Unless a little sting is what you're going for."
He pet her thighs and chuckled softly.
They seldom played such games so it took him a moment to remember their Safeword. Snow. Not that he was even remotely considering going at it again so soon.
Out of the question. Mid - coitus heart attacks tend to spoil the mood.
He had her put on a pair of lace panties and the robe, and they ate dinner. After a reasonable amount of time, while they were sitting in the couch, he snaked his hand beneath her panties without a word.
She leaned back and sighed while he rubbed and stroked, soaking her panties as he so loved to do. This time he had her on top in a straddle, hands tied behind her back with the suede strip. She had only her muscles and focus to rely on for balance while she rode him. Her walls pulled and shuddered with heightened tension too, as though she could clutch and hold his generous shaft to help keep her balance.
Meanwhile, he removed her corset and put all his attention on caressing and kissing her breasts. At least, all the attention he could manage to wrest away from the delicious, rolling, up - down slide of her welcoming center. Though he did remain utterly self involved as per her intention, that time he needed her to cum in order to feel the full joy of all her body had to offer. He granted her flesh and clit have all the attention they needed in order to give him the always stunning gift of her thrown back head, flung open mouth (panting all manner of obscene praise), and wildly shuddering core, surging forward to coax his release.
He allowed hours of downtime between fits of pleasure, and turns were taken with who worked the hardest, but he did use her promise of superhuman stamina to its fullest advantage. When he did finally decide to call it a night, he used the last of his energy to lick and stroke a heartfelt thanks between her legs.
The clit toy helped immensely.