Title: Since You Went Away - Chapter Twenty-One: By the Light of the Silvery Moon
Authors: i-must-go-first & UbiquitousMixie
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, iThe Closer/i
Rating: PG-13 (Overall M)
Word Count: 6784
Disclaimer: Not ours. Please don't sue.
Summary: A late-night craving and a coincidental meeting lead a certain deputy chief to discover that there's much more to the inimitable Captain Raydor than meets the eye, and to realize that her mama was right: sometimes all a single woman really needs is a good girlfriend.
Authors' Note: Although the Month of Love is technically over, we wanted to cap off the festivities with another chapter. We want to assure you that, although it may be a bit of a wait between chapters, we DO intend on finishing this story, so stick with us! We are so grateful for the support and kind words of our readers. Please keep on letting us know what you think, and enjoy!
Manzana's steady, calming purr had lulled Sharon to sleep on many occasions, but that night she was restless. She stared up at the shadows on her ceiling, reflections of the raindrops that spattered against her window, and recalled a time in another life when her children were young. Vivien had been terrified of thunderstorms. On those nights, while Paul and Danny had slept undisturbed, Sharon would climb into her daughter's bed and hold the trembling child and distract her by pointing out shapes in the shadows illuminated by flashes of lightning. She would create entire tableaux for Vivien, regaling her with tales of heroines who battled fearsome dragons and saved the world from villainous bouts of mother nature's unruly temper.
Her chest ached and Sharon closed her eyes, stroking the cat behind her ears. She breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly through her nose, and finally sighed.
As if on autopilot, Sharon reached over to the nightstand and dialed the number she knew by heart. It was after midnight and, once the phone rang two, three times, Sharon began to regret calling.
"Hello?" Brenda answered on the fourth ring, her voice croaky with sleep.
"Oh-I woke you. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
"Wait wait wait," Brenda insisted. "Is everything okay? Is this about work?"
"No, everything's fine. I just couldn't sleep." She pursed her lips. "I...missed you."
There was a pause before Brenda released a slow breath, and Sharon guessed that the other woman was smiling. "I've missed you too. How come you can't sleep?"
"No reason," Sharon lied. What good would it do to discuss how much she missed her dead daughter?
"Liar." Brenda chuckled. "But I won't push. You'll tell me in your own time."
"Mmm. Do you have plans tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow as in...tomorrow, or later today?"
Sharon laughed and rolled her eyes, clearly imagining the sleep-ruffled woman in her bed, confused and clinging to wakefulness. "As in Thursday evening."
"I don't have plans...yet."
The brunette smiled. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"
Another pause. "As in...dinner between friends, or..."
"As in," Sharon said, her heart hammering in her throat, "would you like to go on a date with me, Brenda Leigh?"
Brenda made a small, surprised sound that came out like a squeak. "Yeah," she said immediately, tripping over her own tongue in the effort to get the response out as quickly as possible, as if afraid the other woman might change her mind and retract the invitation. "Yeah, Sharon, I - That sounds great. Perfect. That's perfect."
When she'd made that call the night before, Sharon had felt impatient and antsy, squirming like a child awaiting the approach of Christmas. The amount of time between that moment when she'd scraped her courage together enough to say the words and the promised date had seemed interminable.
Now it was here, and rather than slowly creeping closer on the horizon, the captain felt like the evening had fallen on top of her like a huge boulder. It was 6:46, which meant she was supposed to be picking Brenda up in fourteen minutes, which meant she was already late; and she was still standing in her bedroom in her underwear.
"Shit," Sharon said aloud, staring woefully into the depths of her closet. Her hair was cooperating and her freshly reapplied makeup was perfect, but what was she going to wear? On a date. With Brenda.
Her knees felt wobbly and she collapsed onto the edge of her bed. She'd completely forgotten how to do this, this dating thing. Although she didn't think she'd ever been this nervous before a date, not even before her very first date, when she was fifteen and going to the Homecoming dance with that adorable friend of Richard's she'd been secretly pining over for nearly two years. And she'd known exactly what she was going to wear, because her mother had taken her shopping for the dress. It had been plaid, red and black. She'd worn it with saddle oxfords.
Jeff had held her hand in the backseat of his father's station wagon and she had immediately been put at ease because his palm had been as clammy as hers.
Jeff had been a gawky fifteen-year-old, not a gorgeous middle-aged woman. Sharon vividly pictured what Brenda had worn for their last dinner and gulped.
She'd done everything right. She'd made reservations at a very upscale Italian restaurant; she'd made it clear that she'd drive; she had even briefly, in a moment of possible insanity, contemplated buying flowers, but the image of herself showing up at Brenda's door with them had made her laugh out loud.
She'd done everything right so far, and it all felt really, uncomfortably wrong.
The remembered heat of the blonde's mouth pressed to hers, her tongue stroking along Sharon's, her smaller hand gripping the older woman's thigh felt really right, though; so right that even now it set her heart pounding and made her veins tingle as if her blood was electrified. She closed her eyes for a second and breathed out harshly, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. That was one decision made, then: no pantyhose this time.
For a few seconds she tried to envision whatever sexed-up get-up Brenda Leigh might come sashaying to the door wearing, but that way lay madness. Sharon stood up and focused on the two racks of her expensive, sophisticated, perfectly tailored clothing, and scowled as if it had done something to offend her. It was all so... black. Brenda had been right: she needed some color.
But for tonight she had black. She found the sleeveless satin dress with the ruched bodice and the tiny jeweled clip that sat right between her breasts, and snatched it off the hanger. It was the best she was going to do; at least Brenda had never seen it before, because it was both a little too fancy and a lot too short for work. (In fact, she mentally admitted as she gave herself a quick once-over while she toed on one of her higher pairs of heels, she hadn't remembered the skirt being quite that short. There was a lot of thigh on display.)
Did she look ridiculous? she wondered as she slid into her car in a cloud of hairspray and perfume. Did she look like she was begging for it? - Maybe she was, a little. This had not been a good week. For some reason, since Saturday night she'd felt off-balance, and knew she had been unusually quiet and withdrawn at work. Last night she had randomly dissolved into tears over her matzo ball soup, for no particularly good reason at all. She wanted to feel better. She wanted to be with Brenda. She wanted to remind herself that she was still alive.
As Sharon pointed the car toward Brenda's condo, she thought of the restaurant she'd carefully selected after much internal debate, agonizing, and reading of reviews. She'd actually been there once before, with Daniel - her most frequent dinner companion - and even though it had been the middle of the week, she remembered being surrounded by a sea of couples at the spacious tables in the serenely elegant dining room. A thought struck her: would people look at her and Brenda, and see two women on a date? Would there be some visible or invisible difference, some clue or sign, that set them apart from friends sharing a meal? Or had there been people making the assumption for all these months that they were already lovers?
On one level it bothered Sharon that she was even asking herself these questions; but on another, she almost hoped that others would perceive some identifying mark - a rainbow-striped "L" embroidered on her chest, perhaps? It wasn't that Sharon Raydor had ever had any desire to put her personal life on display, but this felt so different, so serious, as if she'd swum away from the shore and could never swim back, could only keep swimming out into the void until she either drowned or was cast up on some unfamiliar shore, that she half hoped she'd be conscious of people looking at them differently, acknowledging them as a couple.
She stopped at the last red light before the turn-off for Brenda's complex, her sweaty palms squeaking on the steering wheel, and her heart pounding wildly and unpleasantly. Christ, Sharon, get it together, she admonished herself sternly. She couldn't show up at Brenda's as a walking anxiety attack.
She walked slowly across the parking lot, forcing herself to take regular, measured breaths. She wanted this; she really did. Perhaps that was part of what had her so shaken - the depth of her desire for this, for Brenda, to explore what was growing between them. She couldn't even remember the last time she had wanted anything so much. She'd thought perhaps that she was no longer capable of feeling anything that strongly, not since Vivien had disappeared. So much of her had been numb since then. It was the only way to keep going, keep living, keep moving forward. And only now that those parts of her were waking up again did she realize how numb she had actually been, and for how long.
Not even Brenda's brightly smiling, flushed face or the way her eyes lit up with unabashed admiration when she saw Sharon could settle the captain's nerves or help her find her footing. She wished the night wasn't so warm: if she were wearing a coat, at least she'd have somewhere to put her hands. Instead she stood awkwardly, twisting her fingers together, acutely aware of how stilted and even stand-offish she sounded but unable to do anything about it. "Are you ready to go?" she asked brusquely.
"Yeah, sure. Let me just get my -" Brenda crossed the room and picked up a small beaded clutch, and Sharon couldn't tear her eyes away from the way the tight material of the blonde's dress shifted over her hips. Brenda was in black too, and it occurred to the taller woman that they looked like they were attending a very high-class funeral.
From the corner of her eye, the captain watched Brenda shift nervously in the passenger seat and tug the material of her dress down over her thighs. "So," the deputy chief said brightly.
"So," Sharon echoed hollowly. They glanced uneasily at one another, and then both stared fixedly out the front window.
This was awful, Sharon thought dizzily. Only a few minutes in, and this date was turning into a nightmare. They were behaving like two intensely polite strangers. Where was Brenda? Where was her best friend? She suddenly wished passionately that this was any one of the dozens of nights the two of them had spent together eating takeout, or, hell, even that night when she'd nearly severed her finger. She fought the urge to take the first exit, turn the car around, and drive back to Brenda's condo. They could both take off their ridiculously high heels, order a pizza, and figure this thing out from there.
But Sharon Raydor refused to accept defeat without a fight. She pressed down a little harder on the accelerator, the car jerking with the unsteady movement of her stiletto.
"Sharon? Are you okay?"
"Yes." She blinked, shocked to feel the pricking of those unexpected tears again. "No. I don't know."
"We, um -" Brenda reached out, her fingertips just grazing Sharon's knee before she opted for the safer territory of her friend's bare arm. "We don't have to do this tonight if you don't want to, or if you're not ready."
"No!" Sharon exclaimed adamantly, grabbing the other woman's hand. "No," she repeated more steadily. "I want to. It's just -"
What was it, just? Even being with Brenda hadn't dissipated that sense of wrongness she'd felt all evening long. And yet it wasn't because of Brenda, or because of the idea of being with her romantically. Just the contact of their palms pressed together made her pulse skip. That felt right.
She thought of the restaurant, the corner table that was no doubt awaiting them at this very minute. The pieces didn't fit together, no matter how hard she tried to rearrange them. She felt like she was playing a part.
She cut her eyes over at Brenda, who was gripping her hand tightly, her face pale and pinched.
Oh, God. For an intelligent woman, Captain Raydor could be so stupid sometimes.
"Hey," she said suddenly, and Brenda looked at her. "Do you like crab?"
"Sure."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Sharon took that exit then, and in minutes they were headed away from the upscale Italian restaurant and toward a very down-market, weather-beaten shack hugging the edge of the beach. About a dozen cars were parked in the gravel lot. Multi-colored Christmas lights strung around all the windows glowed like tiny beacons.
The captain looked over at her companion, smiling genuinely for the first time that night, excitement and nervousness sparkling in her eyes. "They only serve three things: steamed crab claws with drawn butter and a baked potato or fries, but it's wonderful, I promise." She hesitated. "I know it's not what you were expecting, and -"
"It's perfect," Brenda cut in, unbuckling her seat belt and grinning at the brunette. "Just perfect. Let's go."
Their heels wobbled in the loose gravel, but they clung to one another's hands for balance, and in a moment they were seated at a table for two beside the window. Their waitress, a cheerful middle-aged blonde, took their drink order and promptly left them alone.
Sharon rested her hands on the table and laughed helplessly, hoping that it was not entirely obvious to Brenda that she had agreed to go on a date with a crazy person. That was exactly how she felt-crazy, completely unbalanced. If her life were splashed in words upon the pages of Danny's psychology textbooks, what would be made of her? She shuddered to think; if she was crazy, if something were wrong, then she'd need to be fixed, and she had absolutely no idea how that would be accomplished.
Brenda reached across the table and clutched Sharon's hand in her own, giving her fingers a squeeze before she began to rub her thumb soothingly against her knuckles. She smiled patiently, and Sharon's pulse slowed to its normal cadence. Warm brown eyes regarded her with a mixture of such tender concern and affection that Sharon felt her throat tighten with the threat of oncoming tears. She laughed again.
"Hey-it's me. It's okay," Brenda said, and for a moment Sharon believed her. "It's just me."
"There is no 'just' you," Sharon replied and then she winced, watching the confusion etch across the woman's forehead. Sharon threaded their fingers together, locking their hands in a gesture of intimacy. "What I mean to say is...oh lord, what am I trying to say?" She looked down at the table, at the plastic bib stamped with a giant crab in a chef's hat. "You say 'it's just me' like it's simple, or lackadaisical. But you're so much more important than that. It is you and I am nervous...and I'm going to stop talking now."
With only a brief moment of awkward maneuvering, Brenda stood up and rounded the table, careful to keep their hands joined. Sharon watched, wide-eyed, as Brenda leaned down and pressed her lips against her cheek. It occurred to her to wonder if anyone was looking; they were two women on a date, and they were engaged in a public display of affection. Sharon didn't care that people might be looking. She took a deep breath, inhaling Brenda's perfume, and lingered on the way Brenda's mouth felt. She, Sharon Raydor, was a complete basketcase, and Brenda Leigh Johnson liked her anyway.
Brenda pulled back, her thumb tracing the tingling part of Sharon's cheek that her mouth had so lovingly adored. "Lipstick," she said apologetically. She smiled and took her seat, squeezing Sharon's fingers once more. "Are you all right?"
"I am now." And because Sharon couldn't help herself, she darted her eyes across the cramped room, scanning their fellow diners for any sort of voyeuristic intentions. No one was looking. No one, it seemed, cared that they were two women on a date. Each person was focused on his or her own companion, paying no notice to the people who surrounded them.
"Sharon, I think you're thinkin' too much."
Sharon laughed breathlessly. "That's not the first time I've been accused of doing that."
"Nor will it be the last, I'm sure." Their waitress returned with their glasses of wine. Sharon did not pull her hand away, and Brenda smiled. "Really though...this doesn't have to be so serious. We can take this slow. We don't have to call it a date. We can just be two friends out for a meal...in fancy dresses."
"I'm sorry-I made you get all dressed up and brought you to a shack."
Brenda waved a dismissive hand. "I was gonna dress up anyway. I wanted to look pretty for you."
"You always look pretty," Sharon said, and she knew she meant it. Brenda was, for lack of the proper terminology in the English language, effortlessly beautiful. On her worst days, with an unscrubbed face and a rat's nest on her head, Brenda was gorgeous. Sharon had always been aware of it, even when she hadn't liked her. Now, however, she looked upon the other woman's beauty not with jealousy but with reverence and awe. She wanted to tell her this but instead she sipped her wine. "Brenda?"
"Hmm?"
"I want to call it a date. We're not just two friends."
Brenda's face was hesitant for a moment before her mouth split into a wide, brilliant smile. "I'm glad you feel the same way."
Once the food came there was little time for awkwardness, their nerves making room for their abundant appetites. Sharon felt better with a full stomach and better still once she watched Brenda attack her crab with fervor, removing any doubt from her mind that the other woman might be disappointed that she wasn't eating Italian. By the time they made their way back toward the car, bellies full and sides hurting from laughter, Sharon began to wonder what she could have possibly been anxious about to begin with.
Neurotic indeed.
"I'm sorry they didn't have dessert," the brunette mentioned as they slowly crossed the gravel, hands clutched tightly together. "I know you had your heart set on gelato."
"You know what I want for dessert?" Brenda asked quietly, stopping abruptly beside the car.
Sharon's heart hammered loudly and she licked her lips in anticipation. "What's that?"
The blonde bit her lip when she watched Sharon's tongue dart across her lip. She smiled. "I'd like to go for a walk on the beach."
Any disappointment Sharon may have felt at having misread the other woman's intentions was outweighed by the pleasant lurch of her stomach. "A romantic moonlit stroll in the sand?"
"Complete with the crash of waves and pleasant company...what do you say?"
"I'd love to."
They walked to where gravel met sand, each woman steadying the other while she slipped out of her shoes. They held their heels and clasped their hands together, heading slowly down to the shoreline.
They walked in silence for several minutes, adjusting to the pleasant give of the cool, loose sand beneath the soles of their bare feet. Sharon marveled at how right and natural Brenda's hand felt clasped in hers, and allowed herself to experience a small glow of triumph. Despite her acute attack of nerves, she hadn't completely screwed this evening up - and indeed, what was more conventionally romantic than a stroll on the beach with the one you... liked? They weren't very conventional, either separately or together, but some pleasures were too simple and pure to fall victim to cliche.
Sharon inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the salt air and letting the crash of the waves resonate in her ears. "Thank you for this," she said quietly.
Brenda turned to look at her, her profile almost unbearably lovely in the moonlight. "What do you mean? You planned it all."
She chuckled, reaching up to sweep a stray strand of dark hair out of her eyes. "Yes," she agreed tartly. "And despite that it hasn't been a complete disaster."
Brenda stopped moving and tugged lightly on their joined hands. "I don't think bein' with you could ever be a disaster." Off Sharon's extremely skeptical expression, she added, "Not like this. You and me, together like this. I'm really glad you asked."
"I'm really glad you said yes."
"You knew I would."
When Brenda closed the distance between them and softly feathered her lips across Sharon's cheek, something inside the older woman cracked, and a hot, sharp sweetness rushed out. She closed her eyelids, feeling those damned tears pool behind them again.
"Sharon?"
She opened her eyes, and the concerned expression that had overtaken the blonde's face told her plainly that Brenda could see the droplets of moisture clinging to her spiky lashes like tiny jewels in the moonlight. She managed a smile. She felt a little bit out of control, but there was Brenda's hand holding hers, Brenda's solid warmth anchoring her to the present. "I'm okay," she said again.
Brenda's response was unexpectedly perfect: "You don't have to be."
Sharon nodded in appreciation and blinked away her tears. She was surprised to hear herself admit, "This week has been... challenging," but it felt right to share that here, tonight, with Brenda Leigh.
Brenda released her hand, her arm gliding seamlessly around Sharon's waist instead, so that their hips bumped comfortably as they began to walk again. "You don't have to keep that from me, you know, Sharon."
Sharon's feet shuffled in the sand and she gripped the gritty grains between her toes. "It isn't you... I have to keep it from myself."
There was no good answer to that, and Brenda didn't try. Her fingers squeezed Sharon's waist.
The ache that had never really gone away was back, and it was stronger this time. It was too complex for Sharon to put into words, even to herself. Pain, gratitude, deep affection, sorrow, joy, desire - She stopped them this time, turning into Brenda and cupping her cheek. When her mouth descended upon the other woman's, it was neither gentle nor tentative, and she felt the quick, surprised tension that ricocheted through Brenda's body before she relaxed into the embrace, her other arm wrapping around Sharon's neck.
All those complex emotions were pouring out of Sharon and into Brenda as intense, urgent hunger, and the younger woman gasped and whimpered against Sharon's mouth as her body melted into Sharon's. The change of mood was abrupt, jarring, but not unwelcome. Sharon's tongue swept into Brenda's mouth and demanded her response with a possessiveness that left both of them trembling, and before the blonde could return the kiss to her own satisfaction Sharon tore her mouth away and attacked the pale, slender column of Brenda's neck with such carnal intent that the deputy chief threw her head back and cried out to the sky.
Sharon laved the warm, quivering skin with her tongue and then sucked fiercely, undoubtedly marking the younger woman's pristine flesh. Brenda's pulse hammered against her lips and her hips shifted restlessly, instinctively tilting her pelvis up toward Sharon's. The answering hot, wet rush of her own arousal flowed through every atom of Sharon's being, her desire coalescing into a fierce, sharp need. She wanted to fuck Brenda. She wanted to throw her down in the sand, rip off that frothy little concoction of a dress, and reenact that famous scene in From Here to Eternity. She wanted to bury herself inside the other woman until they both forgot everything but the heat and the pulse of their bodies.
And she knew it would be so wrong, so awfully, horribly wrong, and that once done it could never be undone. Neither of them was ready for that step yet, especially not Sharon; and if she gave in, it wouldn't be about Brenda, or even about the two of them together, but about satisfying this awful, desperate desire to blot everything else out. Sharon didn't want that for them, and she would never do that to Brenda. She wanted so much more, so much better, for their fledgling relationship.
She lifted her head to rest her cheek against Brenda's, and insinuated her fingers into the loose strands of the blonde's up-do, gently scratching her scalp as their breathing slowed. She could feel how wildly Brenda's heart was pounding.
"I'm sorry," Sharon murmured finally, her cheek still pressed against Brenda's so she wouldn't have to look her in the eye.
"Hey, no," Brenda protested, her voice shaky around the edges but firm in intent. She mirrored the other woman's position, cupping the back of Sharon's skull and leaning back until their gazes met. Her pupils were dilated, her skin flushed a deep rose that looked gray in the moonlight, and she was so gorgeous that Sharon felt her body clench. "That was... Wow. Unexpected. But not unwelcome."
Sharon's lips curled into a shy, embarrassed smile as she stepped back to arm's length, wary of testing her resolve by prolonging the intimate contact. "We should go," she said softly. "We both have to work in the morning."
"Or sooner," Brenda pointed out wryly. "Who can ever tell?"
They were silent as they walked back to the car, but it was a surprisingly comfortable silence, given what had just transpired. They were quiet on the drive, too, but when Sharon shyly reached over and rested her hand on Brenda's bare knee, the blonde gave her a bright, happy smile that soothed the pangs of regret that had begun to gnaw at the captain's stomach.
Sharon walked Brenda to her door, grinning internally at the reversal of the dating roles to which she'd been accustomed for forty years, and when Brenda turned to her and said, "I had a really good time tonight," Sharon believed her.
"So did I."
Brenda hesitated, crossing one ankle behind the other. "Would you like to come in?"
"I would, and I won't."
Brenda smiled crookedly and nodded. "Well, good night, Captain Raydor."
Sharon smirked. "Good night, Chief Johnson," she replied in kind, and chastely pressed her lips to the other woman's.
Brenda's voice stopped her at the bottom of the shallow flight of steps down to the courtyard. "Hey, Sharon?"
She looked back up at the beautiful blonde silhouetted in the doorway and couldn't help grinning.
"Are you busy Saturday?"
The captain shook her head.
"Well, you are now. I'll call you."
"I'll answer," Sharon responded, and she knew the words were embarrassingly silly, but couldn't bring herself to care. Despite the false start, this had been the most successful first date she'd ever had. She couldn't wait to see what Brenda Leigh had in store for the second.
Brenda pulled her key out of the ignition, regarding the other woman with trepidation as she awaited her reaction. When the corner of Sharon's lips turned up into a smile, she let out a sigh of relief.
"I had this whole big to-do planned," Brenda said, taking her sunglasses out of the cup holder in the center console. "And then I realized that we might be better off if we just had some fun...took the pressure off a bit." She worried her lip with her teeth. "If you think it's completely ridiculous, we can go somewhere else."
"I don't think anyone has ever taken me to mini-golf on a date before," Sharon replied wryly, the grin on her face genuine.
"Let it be known, Sharon Raydor, that I fully intend on wooing you-but I figure I've gotta keep you on your toes as well." Brenda winked and the older woman laughed, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. The blonde tactfully neglected to mention that after the emotional rollercoaster that Sharon had taken them on during their last date, Brenda felt the need to play it a little safe.
What was safer than a little friendly competition and ice cream?
"You're wonderful." Sharon studied her for a moment, her expression closed, before she grinned again. They got out of the car, heading toward the small pirate-themed building that housed the game registration. "I should warn you, Brenda, that Paul is a devout golfer, so I'm not unfamiliar with a golf club."
Brenda slapped a twenty onto the counter, telling the pimply teenager that they required two clubs and two balls. She selected a pink one for herself and was unsurprised when Sharon chose the black. "This isn't a drivin' range, Sharon," she teased, holding open the door that led to the first hole. "It's putt-putt. It's about takin' it easy and slow." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Think you can handle that?"
Sharon raised an eyebrow as she knelt down to set her ball on the tee. "Loser buys ice cream," she challenged, rising to position her club with a quick shake of her shoulders. "Keep your wallet handy."
Brenda laughed, breathing deeply as a gusty breeze whistled around them. She watched her date carefully, looking for any sign of the troubled woman of several nights prior. It had unsettled Brenda to see Sharon so shaken. A very deep part of her-the part that was an expert at her job-told her that there was more going on with Sharon than nerves about dating her best friend. Sharon Raydor always exuded an air of mystery, but this was somehow...different. Brenda had kept an eye out for subtle indicators of what had gotten to Sharon but had found nothing.
Either Sharon didn't want her to know what was going on, or Sharon herself didn't even know. The latter made Brenda's stomach churn with unease.
Sharon swung her hips as she knocked the black ball down the putting green, hitting it with enough force that it knocked against the far barrier and changed direction, putting it a mere six inches away from the hole. She grinned smugly at Brenda. "Between bowling and playing mini-golf with the twins, I've had plenty of practice."
"Don't think you can psych me out, honey," Brenda nonchalantly muttered, setting up her pink ball for her first shot. "I give as good as I get."
Sharon's eyes flashed with the barest glimmer of arousal and she smirked. "I count on it."
By the time they reached the final hole, Brenda was in the lead by a par of three. Sharon, despite her distaste for coming in second, appeared to be enjoying herself. Brenda was relieved: as far as dates went, this was low maintenance, cheap, and bore a striking resemblance to the outings they'd shared as friends. Though Brenda couldn't speak for Sharon, she had a hunch that this method was working out well for both of them. Things became complicated when they thought too much about the mechanics of dating-who initiated the kiss goodnight, who paid the tab, when was it okay to hold a hand. This? This was effortless. This was the two of them doing what they did best: enjoy each other's company.
It didn't hurt that Brenda had butterflies the entire time.
Brenda sat on the decorative stump by the putting green, watching as Sharon squared her hips to take her final shot. Sharon knew she was watching, a smile playing at her lips as she shook her backside for good measure.
"Tease," Brenda called out with a laugh. "Stop tryin' to distract me from beatin' you!"
"Would I do that?" The brunette smacked the ball directly into the center hole of the course's faux pirate ship mast. They both peered over the edge of the small hill, watching as the ball was deposited right beside the eighteenth hole.
"Yes, you absolutely would." Brenda pursed her lips. Sharon flashed her teeth in a competitive smile, a sight that was so uniquely Sharon and so casual that Brenda sighed. "Hey, c'mere." She slipped her index finger into the belt loop of Sharon's denim shorts and pulled her closer, kissing the tip of her nose.
"What was that for?" Sharon asked, nudging Brenda's nose with her own.
"'Cause I like you, that's why." She kissed her nose once more for good measure and set down her lucky pink ball. "Think they'll notice if I keep this? It's my new good luck charm."
Sharon chortled. "You haven't won yet, Brenda."
The blonde should have known that she had spoken too soon; she missed the center hole, sending her ball against the side gutter. "Whoops! I'm still ahead," she reminded, raising an eyebrow at the older woman's smirk. She hit the ball again into the hole closest to her, which guided it down the hill and placed it to the far right of Sharon's ball. "Shoot."
When Sharon sunk her ball with one gentle stroke and Brenda only managed to make hers after another two, she conceded that her lucky streak had ended. For the child-like grin of victory on Sharon's face, she decided that it didn't matter all that much that she lost.
Sharon scooped up Brenda's iridescent ball and tossed it up into the air before catching it easily. "Guess you won't have to commit petty theft after all, hmm? You weren't so lucky."
The blonde took in the open, relaxed expression on the other woman's face and felt a pleasant, satisfying warmth in her stomach. "I don't know," she replied with a grin, sauntering toward the captain. "I'm feelin' pretty lucky."
Sharon laughed and actually blushed slightly, her eyes sparkling.
After they'd returned the balls and putters, Brenda made a beeline for the snack bar, but Sharon snagged her elbow. "No," she said authoritatively, changing directions and piloting them toward the parking lot instead. "Come on."
"I want ice cream," Brenda protested as stridently as a child, and Sharon smirked loftily.
"Ice cream you shall have, but not some generic soft serve. I promised you gelato the other night, and I always keep my promises."
Brenda subsided, content to wait if she was waiting for imported Italian ingredients. She suddenly held up her keys. "You wanna drive?"
The taller woman quirked an eyebrow. "Why, Brenda Leigh. Are you asking me if I'd like to play the role of the man?"
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Of course not. But I assume you know where we're goin'."
Sharon smirked again as she reached for the handle of the passenger side door. "Don't worry," she returned in a low, suggestive tone, "I'm very good at giving directions."
Brenda compressed her lips to hide the grin that was threatening to break through, and then let it break through anyway. The idea of taking directions from the captain was, surprisingly, more of a turn-on than a turn-off - as long as Sharon realized Brenda always gave as good as she got.
Half an hour later, Sharon was watching with a bemused little smile as Brenda sampled every single flavor of gelato offered by the small storefront gelateria, leaving only the sorbets untouched. Unsurprisingly, the younger woman eventually selected dutch chocolate and giandiua, a chocolate-hazelnut blend.
"And I," the captain piped up in her precise, restrained way, "will have peach and hazelnut, please."
The young woman behind the counter blinked at Sharon, and the brunette figured she was trying to calculate how much revenue the shop had just lost from Brenda Leigh's sampling spree. "Cup or cone?"
"Cone," Sharon responded instantly, as if there were no other choice at all. Brenda nodded her approval.
"Do you want to sit?" Sharon asked when her precious cone had been handed over, gesturing vaguely at the two small tables crammed inside the shop.
"No, let's go outside."
The older woman blinked in surprise but complied. "Outside" was the parking lot of the strip mall, hardy a scenic vantage point, but as she watched the blonde amble over and lean against the side of her car, Sharon decided the view of her long bare legs and sweetly curved derriere was amply scenic.
"C'mere." As she had before, Brenda used her free hand to catch one of Sharon's belt loops, tugging the taller woman closer until Sharon stood between her feet. Her soft, gentle kiss tasted of rich, thick chocolate, and Sharon smiled against her mouth.
"I've got you figured out, Johnson."
Sharon drew back enough to see half-closed lids and eyes that matched Brenda's gelato. "Have you?"
"You just want to try my ice cream." Obligingly she held the cone out, but before the other woman could lean forward, she also held up an admonitory finger. "A small bite," she qualified.
"Had I known you were so possessive of your frozen dessert products, I might have thought twice before enterin' into this relationship," Brenda retorted, and then Sharon was distracted from thoughts of their relationship by the sight of that perfect pink tongue peeking out to lap at the gelato. "Mmm, that's good," the blonde sighed. "But mine's better."
"You're just biased."
"No, I just know what I like. I like chocolate." Her eyes met Sharon's steadily, a mischievous smile playing about her lips. "And I like you."
Sharon felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the residual heat of the day. "Let us hope there's never a situation in which you have to choose between the two of us," she teased.
"Mmm, perish the thought."
They met in the middle this time, melting together as the flavors of their ice cream melted together. This was nothing like the other night on the beach. It was... sweet, fittingly enough. In the course of their relationship Sharon had admired Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson for many things, but never, until tonight, had she numbered restraint among them. On a certain level she was nearly mortified, as she thought of how very unrestrained she'd been Thursday night; but then she realized she was doing exactly what Brenda had accused her of doing then - thinking too much - and simply concentrated on kissing her back.
So deeply immersed did she become - no small testament to her companion, since Sharon's mind rarely ever turned off - that she was unaware of anything else until Brenda pulled back and murmured, "Hey, the ice cream's meltin'."
Sharon looked down to see the light brown of the hazelnut and the flesh-colored peach running down her arm, thickly coating the skin between her thumb and forefinger. Brenda's gelato was melting too, but dripping onto the pavement rather than onto the blonde.
The captain hastily switched hands and lifted the cone to her mouth, slurping the melting treat; and despite her avowed preference for all things chocolate, Brenda lifted Sharon's sticky hand to her mouth and began to clean it with her lips and teeth and tongue.
Sharon was confronted with a very real, very persistent problem, which concentrated itself into a single, pulsing ache between her legs. For all of the restraint they had shown in their exchange of slow, probing kisses, the intimate act of Brenda lapping away the melted confection had served only to reignite the captain's desire to throw restraint out the proverbial window.
Watching the openly wanton display—the baring of teeth and the sensuous stroking of tongue—made Sharon once again wonder just how aptly that mouth might perform in less "innocent" acts. Her legs trembled at the startlingly vivid image of that blonde head between her legs.
She nearly dropped her ice cream onto the asphalt.
Brenda pulled back with a smirk, reaching into her pocket to extract a rumpled, clean napkin. She wiped away the remainder of the gelato, her tongue firmly lodged in her cheek. "You're all sticky now."
Sharon closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the erotic images of Brenda licking ice cream off of her breasts. She took one steadying breath after another before she opened her eyes and cleared her throat. "Indeed." She stepped back and leaned against the car beside Brenda, allowing their shoulders to touch. She took a bite of her ice cream, rolling it around her tongue to stop herself from asking Brenda to come home with her.
"I like this," Brenda said after a long, quiet moment.
"The gelato?" Sharon turned to her with a comfortable smile. "Or me?"
"Both." The blonde leaned in and kissed Sharon's temple. "Especially you."
"I like you too."