A/N: Just a word about my excellent new cover art. It is not my work, but a piece of fanart (inspired by my story) by a lovely person called shirlywhirl. She graciously allowed me to use it as the cover art for this story. Also, Orlando's tweet has been found! It exists! Hooray!
"So, tell me about sex during the Colonial Era," Abbie says, cuddling against Crane's side in bed.
It's evening now, and they had spent a most enjoyable day together. After a long and decadent shower, Abbie helped Crane trim his beard with some electric trimmers she bought after discovering him working painstakingly with a pair of scissors for over an hour one day. He hadn't used the trimmers yet because he was a bit leery, so Abbie was more than happy to help put his fears to rest, straddling his lap while she helped him with his grooming.
In return, a stiff and sore Abbie (from the adventures with the hellhound and the adventures with Crane) received a very thorough massage.
Crane has learned a few things; such as, he is, in fact, strong enough to hold Abbie in his arms and still make love to her. Especially when aided by the shower wall and her arms and legs wrapped around him. And, after the massage, he learned an alternate definition for the term "happy ending."
Abbie has learned Crane is a very eager student. She's also learned while his experience with physical romance is quite different from hers, he makes quite impressive use of the knowledge he does have.
Now, it's time for me to learn a few more things, Abbie decided.
Crane stares down at her, not sure how to answer. "What, exactly, would you like to know?" he asks carefully.
"What's with the no-touching-below-the-waist rule? I mean, come on, really?" To illustrate her point, she starts sliding her hand down his chest, beneath the covers to his stomach and lower. He snatches up her mischievous hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing her palm.
"Behave yourself, Miss Mills," he admonishes gently, kissing her fingers.
Abbie laughs. "Well?" she presses.
He shrugs, holding her hand in his, resting them over his heart. "It simply was not done. One time, um, Katrina accidentally brushed against it, and it was…" he furrows his brow, "…confusing. She was completely mortified and I tried to reassure her no harm had been done."
"Wow," Abbie says, stunned. "I had no idea."
"Yes, well, the most confusing part for me was I wanted her to do it again. I can admit this now," he smirks.
"I'm sure you did," she answers. Okay, how can we talk about this without me having to hear tales from Mr. and (the first) Mrs. Crane's bedroom? She quickly realizes perhaps this wasn't the best idea after all. Okay, yes, I'll admit I'm a little curious, but… not right now.
"Um, so nobody was… kinky? No one had any sort of interesting… proclivities?" she asks, redirecting.
"Well…" he says, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "there was the matter of Lieutenants Thompson and Carruthers…"
"Oh?"
"They were very… close. As in they preferred each other's company to that of young ladies," he says, his voice taking on a conspiratorial edge. "They were discreet, of course, but…"
"They were gay," Abbie says simply. "No big deal these days. Okay, well, to some people it is, but it really doesn't even faze most people now."
"Really?" he asks.
"Yeah. Homosexuality is pretty mainstream in this century," she shrugs. "Jones is gay."
"Detective Jones? Detective Morales' partner?"
She nods. "Yep. Everyone knows. No one cares. He's a good detective, and a good guy, and that's all that's important."
"Hmm," he ponders this a moment. "Fascinating. In my day, it was… scandalous. No one would dare admit to such a thing."
"Well, not anymore, Baby. What else you got?" She shifts, lying across his chest, resting her chin on her hands, looking up at him.
"It might help if you could define the word 'kinky' for me."
"Oh," she chuckles. "That means someone has a preference… sexually… that someone else might find unusual. Or even repellent. Like, oh… some people like to be tied up. Or spanked. Or tied up and spanked. Oh!" she exclaims, more ideas coming. "And there are fetishes. People fixated on one specific thing, like feet. Or really big boobs. Or leather clothing."
"Hmm," he says again, absorbing this information. "Go on."
"More? Geez. Oh… oh, God, you do not want to know this, but I dated a guy once, some years back, who turned out to be a Furry."
"What on earth is that?" he asks, sounding horrified.
"Someone who enjoys wearing animal costumes for recreation. And, in some cases, sex."
He gives her a look that clearly says Please tell me you did not engage in such an activity.
She laughs. "Don't worry, that was a deal-breaker for me. He sort of… sprung it on me on our third date. Told me to wait in the living room and then disappeared for five minutes." She sits up now, clutching the sheet around her. "He literally came back wearing a rabbit suit – white fur, with floppy ears and everything – and went 'Ta da!'" She extends one arm to the side with the Ta da, still holding the sheet with the other.
"Dear God," Crane gasps, clearly appalled.
"Yeah. Talk about shock. I just stood up, said, 'Okay, then,' and left." Abbie lies back down, tucked into his side once again. "I can't believe I just told you that. I've never told anyone before."
She feels Crane's chest shaking, and looks up to see him laughing. "The mental imagery of that story is just… unbelievable…" he chuckles.
"I'm glad you're so amused by my horrifying experience," she says, but her own laughter detracts from the bite of her statement. "Honestly, though, I did really like the guy up until then, and cried all the way home that night. Once I was home, I laughed my ass off for a good hour."
"Indeed," he smiles down at her, squeezing her affectionately. "William Campbell used to enjoy wearing ladies' undergarments," he volunteers a moment later.
"I knew it!" Abbie exclaims, startling him. She leans up again and looks down at him. "I knew someone had to be doing some kinky shit back then. That stuff didn't just appear in the last 100 years."
"So it would seem," he replies, pleased with her reaction.
"Who was William Campbell?" She settles back in against him.
"An officer in Washington's army. He didn't think anyone knew. But, of course, we all knew."
"That's usually the way."
"He was even taller than myself," he adds, chuckling now. "A huge man, six and a half feet tall, wearing pantaloons under his uniform."
Abbie laughs, turning her face into his shoulder.
Crane grows quiet, and Abbie looks up at him. He appears to be lost in thought. "Getting tied up, you say?" he suddenly asks.
She raises an eyebrow at him. Seriously? Don't tell me he's going to go all 50 Shades of Grey on me. "Um, yeah," she says. "I can't say I've ever done that, but…" she shifts, sitting up again, taking his hands in hers, and raising them over his head. "Imagine if your hands were tied to my headboard," she says, biting her lip as she wraps his fingers around the wooden slats, "and I was here." She straddles him, low on his waist, this time not bothering to keep the sheet around herself. His eyes widen. "I could do whatever I wanted to you and you would be helpless." She drags her fingers down his chest, tickling his skin. He groans. "Unable to get away." She bends down and lightly bites one of his nipples. He jumps. "Unable to touch me."
He immediately releases the headboard, as if that would be the most unbearable part of the experience for him: not being able to touch her.
"It is an exercise in trust," he mutters, sliding his hands up her thighs.
"I guess so," Abbie says, looking down at him.
"You know I trust you, Abbie, but… not being able to touch… that would be, as you say, a 'deal-breaker.'" His hands slide around to her backside.
She smiles and leans down, kissing him. "I know. You're very tactile. It was one of the first things I noticed about you after you moved in here," she says, talking in between kisses.
"Tactile," he agrees, his hands roving her body, illustrating her point. "That is a very good word."
"It sounds even better when you say it,'" she mutters against his lips.
He chuckles, slides his hands up her back, and holds her close to him so he can continue to kiss her.
Conversation is over, Abbie thinks as Crane starts to move, trying to roll them so he is over her, but she stops him.
"Uh-uh. I'm staying up here," she says, sitting up again and smirking mischievously at him.
"But…"
"You've never done it this way?" she asks, angling her head at him as she trails her fingers over his chest again. He shakes his head "No" and she smiles again. "Oh, good," she purrs, reaching over to the nightstand for another condom. Glad I bought the big box, she absently thinks, setting the packet next to her on the bed. She leans over and kisses him. "I think you're going to like this," she whispers against his lips.
"I already do," he rumbles, fully capturing her lips with his, his tongue seeking hers out. He slides his hands up and down her slender back, her skin the softest thing he's ever felt.
Abbie's hips shift unconsciously, sliding her moist warmth against his stomach. He groans, his fingers digging into her hips. He moves one hand around to touch her, his fingers now knowing exactly what to do.
"Mmm," she moans, grateful for the memory this man has. She moves to kiss his neck, running her tongue along his collarbone, sucking at his skin.
"Abbie," he whispers her name and she shifts, moving lower, reaching for him.
She takes him in her hand, sliding the tip of his length along her folds.
"Oh!" he grunts, his whole body tensing for just a moment from the surprising sensation.
Abbie repeats the motion a few more times, pleasuring them both, then reaches for the condom beside her on the bed, moving a bit lower, sitting on Crane's thighs now.
She opens the condom and places it on him, then lifts up, leans over to kiss him, and slowly sinks down, sheathing him within her.
Crane groans, gripping her thighs, instinctively trying to move his hips. She tightens her legs around him, keeping him still, and he groans again, pulling his lips away from hers.
"Abbie…"
She chuckles, kisses him once more, then sits up and starts to move.
"Dear God," he murmurs, transfixed, watching her body undulate, rocking in a hypnotic, up-and-down motion.
She takes his hands and moves them to her breasts. His fingers respond automatically, squeezing, caressing.
"Ah," Abbie sighs, arching her back before shifting again, moving forward and down so she can kiss him again.
Crane responds immediately, kissing her back with everything he has, enflamed by… everything. The novelty of this position. Abbie's beautiful body on display right in front of him, only for him. Her bold, seductive attitude, so different from anything he's known.
It's easier for him to move his hips with her leaning forward, so he does, meeting her motions with his own.
"Oh… my love… forgive me, but…" he croaks out, and a second later he comes with a deep groan, clutching her small body to his.
Abbie continues moving, too close to her own finish to stop. She hears his groan, and the raw, primal nature of it tips her over the edge.
"Oh… oh, yes…" she gasps, shudders, and collapses gracefully onto him with a sigh, her soft hair bushing his chest.
Crane wraps his arms around her, holding her, stroking her back, realizing he loves the slight weight of her body lying on top of his.
"Mmm, I did enjoy that," he says, kissing Abbie's forehead. She chuckles and cuddles against him, shifting slightly, gently disconnecting them.
She kisses his chest and runs her fingers through his chest hair, finding herself mentally ticking off qualities Crane has that she doesn't normally go for in a man.
The beard. The long hair. The arrogance (rarely directed at me). The brain (I like guys with brains, but generally like to be the smarter one). The baggage, the likes of which I've never seen.
Well, a lot of his baggage isn't exactly his fault.
He's so unlike any man she's ever dated, but somehow, on him, it all works. Like really works. Works so well, she's going to marry the guy.
Abbie sighs contentedly, about to mentally make, what will undoubtedly be, a very long Pros list to go with the short Cons one (even though, they aren't really cons), when his voice pulls her from her thoughts.
"Have you ever ridden a horse, my sweet?" he asks.
"No. Not unless you count the occasional pony ride at the County Fair when I was a kid," she says, looking up at him, knowing where he's going with this question.
"I think you'd be quite good at it."
xXx
Friday arrives, and with it, Crane's doctor's appointment. He's a bit nervous, as is to be expected, but Abbie promises it'll be fine.
Unless they find something wrong with him.
Irving, still a proponent of making Crane a Contributing Member of Modern Society, had no problem at all with them taking off mid-morning to go to his appointment, barring any demonic activity, of course.
Crane doesn't do too badly in the doctor's office. He had quietly inquired if Abbie was planning on accompanying him into the exam, and Abbie correctly interpreted his question as "please come with me."
She was planning on staying with him anyway, as she's still a bit quicker at coming up with the little white lies sometimes necessary to prevent others from thinking both she and Crane are crazy with a capitol cray.
He endured the immunizations with his usual stoicism; nevertheless, he held Abbie's hand throughout the process.
From there they went to the lab where Crane had two vials of blood drawn, followed by the ultimate humiliation of having to urinate in a plastic cup.
His last words to Abbie before disappearing into the restroom were, "We will discuss this indignity later, Miss Mills."
Only when the door was fully closed did Abbie allow herself to laugh.
An hour and a half later (Crane's ire over the amount of time they had to sit in the waiting room goes without saying), they head outside.
"I feel like a bloody pin cushion," he mutters, rubbing his upper arm.
"Sorry, Baby. That's probably going to be sore for a few days," Abbie says, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
"Now, will you please explain why they wanted a sample of my… water?" he asks.
Abbie starts laughing again, unable to keep it inside any longer, and Crane scowls at her.
"Miss Mills," he says sternly.
"Sorry," she says, stepping close to him, just outside her car, and wrapping her arms around his waist, hugging him. "It's the same reason they want some of your blood. They'll test it for different things. Mainly drugs, probably," she says, releasing him and reaching for her car door.
"I never!" he declares, offended. "Yes, I'll occasionally imbibe in a spirit or two, if the occasion calls for it, but I have always staunchly eschewed the use of… stronger fare such as opium."
Abbie drops her hand. "It's just S.O.P., Baby," she says.
"Abbie…"
"Standard Operating Procedure," she explains, smiling up at him. "You did well in there, by the way. I could tell you weren't comfortable at all, and…" she pauses, chuckling again, "…I could see the snide comments rolling through your brain, but you held them in like a champ. Now, come on, I'm hun—"
"So, the rumors are true." A voice interrupts their conversation, stopping Crane in his tracks. He turns from his route to the passenger door of Abbie's car and walks back to her side.
"Detective Morales," Crane greets him politely.
"Were you following me?" Abbie asks, dispensing with the niceties.
"Maybe I was driving past and saw your car," Luke answers evasively.
"Maybe you wanted to know where Crane and I were off to and followed me," she shoots back. "What do you want, Luke?"
"You and him. It's true, isn't it? What everyone's saying at the station."
"What is everyone saying at the station?" Abbie asks, cocking her head at him. She knows what he's talking about, but wants to make him say it.
"That you and… him – Professor Stork here – are together. Like, together."
Abbie sighs and Crane rolls his eyes theatrically.
"Oh, grow up, Luke," she says. "Yes, we're together," she adds, mimicking his tone.
"Forgive me, Detective, but I cannot help but wonder why you feel Miss Mills must answer to you for her actions," Crane says.
"Because she's my girl!" Luke blurts. "I mean…" he composes himself, but is unable to come up with a different answer.
"Luke, we broke up months ago," Abbie says. "We're done. Get it through your skull. I love Ichabod, not you."
Luke opens his mouth and closes it, clearly rattled by hearing Abbie declare that she loves Crane.
"Look, it's cold out, and I'm hungry," she says, reaching for her car door again.
"I saw you," Luke says, his face clouded.
"What?"
"What?" Crane echoes.
"Just now. Talking to him. Hugging him. Looking up at him. No. Gazing up at him."
"Luke…"
"You never looked at me the way you look at him," Luke continues, his voice soft but emotionless, like he is removed from himself.
"I believe that has less to do with Miss Mills and more to do with yourself, Detective," Crane says.
"What?" Crane's words snap Luke back into himself.
"What did you do to earn such a look of love and admiration from Miss Mills?" he asks, unfazed. Abbie closes her eyes and squeezes his hand, starting to wish the earth would open up and swallow her whole. "Did you make her feel cherished, as though she were truly the only woman on earth, or at least the only woman to you?"
"I… Well, she never…" He stops again, looking down at his shoes a moment. When he raises his face, it is to glare at Crane.
"I did not think so," Crane snaps. "Now, if you will excuse us, we have more important matters to which to attend than your bruised ego. Miss Mills." He reaches down and opens the car door for her.
"Luke, let it go. Move on," Abbie says. She gets inside the car and allows Crane to close her door.
"I'm watching you, Professor," Luke mutters darkly, now that Abbie is inside the car.
"And I, you, Detective," Crane returns, sweeping gracefully around the car to the passenger side.
"Douche," Abbie says when Crane enters the car. "Luke. Not you."
"Of course," he says, making a mental note to look up what this douche is later, as he is certain Abbie is in no mood for his questions.
"What are you hungry for?" she asks.
"Might we go to Subway?"
She smiles. "Being repeatedly jabbed with needles does earn you the right to choose lunch," she says, pulling out of the lot. "We can go to Subway."
"Abbie," he says a few minutes later, "I would like to ask you to take care regarding Detective Morales. I do not believe he is quite finished with his attempts to regain your heart."
"It'll be fine," Abbie says, dismissing him. "And he never really had my heart, now that I think about it…"
"That point is irrelevant, I fear. He seems quite persistent. His eyes… they were quite feral when he looked at you. It troubles me."
"Luke won't do anything. He's harmless."
"Abbie, I do not believe he is entirely harmless…"
"Fine, I'll be careful," she says, basically placating him. "Sheesh. Battling demons and the apocalypse and I'm supposed to be worried about a jealous ex?" she mutters, pulling into Subway.
"You are aware I can hear you?" he says, raising an eyebrow at her.
"I am," she shoots back, turning the car off. "And while I think you're overreacting, I'll watch my back. When it's not being attacked by hellhounds or Headless or Moloch or…"
"Thank you, Miss Mills, you've made your point quite effectively," he says. "Now, shall we eat?"
A/N again: William Campbell was a real person, whose recorded height is 6'6" (according to Wikipedia). I have no idea if he actually wore ladies' underwear. Probably not. Also, I have no idea what Detective Jones' sexual preferences are supposed to be. I just decided to use him to illustrate Abbie's point.