Abbie bought both tank tops at the same time, from the same table at Wal-mart. She was looking for a cheap, comfortable tank to use as a pajama top.
They were on sale for $3. She bought two.
One was olive green with a camouflage pattern that she had intended to give to Jenny, but somehow never did. The other was leopard. Neither were particularly attractive or even very well-made; the leopard print looked somewhat faded and poorly done and the camo barely had enough color variation to be noticeable. But it didn't matter since she only planned on sleeping in them.
Interestingly, the leopard print tank seemed to be a bit looser than the camo one, and Abbie would often wake up with one breast very nearly hanging out of the scooped neckline.
She also noticed the way Crane's eyes would unconsciously drop and focus on an area about a foot lower than her eyes the few times he encountered her wearing it. Of course, lately that has been true nearly any time she wears anything somewhat revealing.
He would catch himself, clear his throat and quickly look away, hoping she hadn't noticed but knowing she had. She never teased or chided him for it though.
She never did because Abbie found that she liked his eyes on her. How his pupils dilate nearly every time he looks at her. How he gazes at her as though she is most beautiful woman in the entire world. How he looks at her beneath heavy-lidded eyes and promises her that he will never again leave her side.
And more than the looks are the touches, especially lately. The way he stroked her arm and held her hands after they both returned from the catacombs sent hot chills through her, and she was both disappointed and relieved when he chickened out of whatever he really was going to say to make an inane joke about chess. They way he always stands a little too close to her, almost guarding her, when they are out together. The way he seems to intentionally brush her fingers with his when they pass an item between themselves.
He routinely pulls her feet into his lap when they sit on the couch together for movie night, often absently massaging them. Once or twice she's fallen asleep on his shoulder and woken to find herself tucked into her bed.
Abbie is almost positive Crane wants her.
And she is completely positive that she wants him.
But she knows him well enough to know that he will want to make the first move.
However, that doesn't mean she can't nudge him a little. Especially because he seems the type to silently pine away rather than acting on his desires.
So Abbie decides to make things a little interesting when they are at home. See how far she can nudge him until he does something.
Which is where the leopard tank top comes into play.
She's pretty sure Crane is a boob man. The flush in his cheeks when she wears shorts tells her he appreciates her legs, and she's caught him checking out her ass once or twice, but those pale in comparison to his secret (or so he thinks) preoccupation with her chest.
Katrina didn't have much of a butt, and I never saw her legs, Abbie reasons, looking at her reflection in the mirror, tugging the tank top down a little. She had a decent rack, though. She pulls her shoulders back. Not as good as mine, of course, but passable.
Katrina is also very likely the reason he is hesitant to make a move. He's become gunshy. Not that I should cast stones, standing here behind my high stone walls.
Abbie sighs and looks at the two pairs of shorts sitting on her bed. She chooses the longer of the two, which are quite short in their own right, but considering the other pair are basically booty shorts, they are definitely the more demure. I want to entice him, not kill him. Let my walls down just enough to encourage him to come through. I'm not dragging him, bound and gagged, through the gates.
She knows Crane will be home soon, and heads down to the living room, book in hand. She reclines on the couch, artfully arranging herself to look like she feel asleep reading. Book open face down on her stomach, head dropped to one side. She looks down at her top, and tugs it down, striving for carelessly unkempt. Shifted without her knowledge. A very large portion of her right breast is exposed. Another centimeter and it could officially be classified as a Wardrobe Malfunction.
She hears his key in the lock and flops her head to the side, willing her body to be still and heavy, her breathing slow.
"Mi—" He immediately goes silent when he sees she is asleep. She can hear him quietly padding across the living room to where she is lying, and can imagine the expression on his face as he stares down at her, indulging himself. "Oh…" A soft, breathy grunt escapes his lips, then she hears him walking away. She peeks an eye open to see him set his books down, run one of those giant sexy hands through his hair, and take a deep breath. She closes her eyes again just in time.
Crane gently lifts the book, marking the page and setting it on the table. When he gently lifts Abbie into his arms, she tries her hardest to not respond to his touch, not nuzzle his chest as he effortlessly carries her to her room.
When she lands on her bed, she sighs and shifts, hoping to appear slinky and sultry. His soft gasp tells her she is successful. Then she is lifted again and he places her on the other side of the bed, where he's pulled the covers back.
She is surprised to feel his lips on her forehead in a soft kiss before he leaves. When she hears the click of the door closing, her right hand slides down, under the waistband of her shorts and between her legs.
xXx
Abbie paces herself. Somewhat. She can't hit him every day or it'll be suspicious, but she needs to keep the slow seduction frequent enough to keep his attention. Keep him alert.
She hears Crane creeping around downstairs, no doubt in search of a late night snack. She looks down at her attire: camo tank, not the leopard one. But she's wearing the booty shorts this time, and a slow, sly smile crosses her face.
Let's see if a little ass can shake him up.
She picks up her water glass, which is half-full, and empties it into the sink. Then she listens another moment to make sure he's still about. When she hears the refrigerator door open, she quickly heads downstairs, her feet swift and silent on the staircase.
He is peering into the fridge when she casually saunters in. "Oh, hey Crane," she says.
"Lieutenant!" he exclaims, whirling around. "I was just…" his words fail him as he takes her in, his eyes quickly traveling the length of her body. They pause at her bust, waist (Oh dear, has my shirt ridden up a bit and I have some tummy showing? However did that happen?), and thighs before he clears his throat and looks away. "I was feeling a little peckish and was trying to locate the rest of the Thai food we had yesterday."
She walks to the dishwasher, opens it, and puts her glass in. "I had it for lunch," she answers, glancing over her shoulder as she talks. Also to make sure he is watching her. He is, and she opens a cabinet and reaches up for a clean glass. Then she approaches him, still parked in front of the fridge. "It was goooood," she adds, leaning towards him and drawing the word out through pursed lips.
"Oh. Perhaps just an… apple or something then," he says, clearly disappointed. "Maybe some cinnamon toast."
"Sorry," she apologizes, touching his arm. "You shouldn't eat spicy food this late at night anyway. Not good for you." She holds her glass under the ice dispenser in the refrigerator door, hoping the temperamental appliance will dispense its cubes with its usual gusto.
"Perhaps it is for the best then," he replies, pulling two slices of bread from the bag and popping them in the toaster. He turns around just in time to see Abbie bend over and retrieve the fallen ice cubes from the floor. "Good heavens," he whispers, his eyes unable to focus on anything apart from the glorious backside pointed directly at him.
"What was that?" she asks, straightening up and tossing the cubes into the sink. She moves her glass to the water dispenser, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She heard him quite clearly.
"What was what?" he asks in return, looking a bit perplexed.
"I thought I heard something. Must have been my imagination," she says. Then she opens the fridge and brings out the tub of spreadable butter. "You might need this."
"Thank you," he replies, taking the container. "Oh," he exclaims, and turns to retrieve a knife and the cinnamon sugar.
Abbie moves at the same time, and – completely unintentionally – steps right into Crane's path. They almost collide, and a little water sloshes out of her glass.
He reflexively grabs her to prevent her from falling, his large hands strong and warm on her arms. She looks up at him and sees him giving her what is now a very familiar look: eyes half-lidded, pupils wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
They stare at each other for a second longer than would be considered necessary. Then he blinks and seems to snap back into himself. The proper, Captain Crane version of himself. "Oh," he says, moves his hands, and steps back.
"I spilled," Abbie responds, setting her glass down and reaching for some paper towels.
"Allow me," he says, taking the paper towel from her hand. Then his toast pops.
She takes the towel back and gives him a gentle push. "You don't want your toast to get cold," she says, then bends down to wipe up the small puddle.
When he curses sharply, she looks up and sees him blowing on his fingers. As Abbie exits the kitchen, swaying her hips just so, she knows he burned himself because he was watching her instead of paying attention to his task.
She smiles as she climbs the stairs.
xXx
In the end, Crane breaks on his own. Abbie had her third seduction planned, but her plan fell through when she fell asleep.
She wasn't planning to fall asleep. She wasn't even planning to feign sleep. Her plan was to wait for him in his room and directly confront him. Definitely not throwing myself at him, she had to lie to herself.
But he wound up being out later than she had expected (apparently those re-enactors can really get their Colonial Era groove on), and she fell asleep on his bed. Wearing the leopard tank top and black booty shorts.
Soft lips on her forehead are the first things of which she becomes aware. Then her cheek. She can feel his beard on her skin, its roughness in contrast with the tenderness of his lips. When he kisses her neck, she awakens fully, snapping into full wakefulness. Her fingers delve into his hair, holding his head as his kisses become more ardent.
"This torment ends now," he growls into the crook of her neck. "You have been deliberately toying with me for weeks."
"You knew?" she asks, her voice much breathier than she was expecting. Her hands slide down to his shoulders and when her palms slide over bare skin instead of rough cotton, her eyes open wide. She tilts her head to look at him. He is kneeling beside the bed, his shirt off, barefoot, but he still has his trousers on.
"Of course I knew, temptress," he rumbles, lightly rubbing his nose up the side of her neck as he lifts his head. "I merely let you think I was oblivious because… forgive me, but I wished to see how far you would go." His eyes search her face for a moment, then he moves, catching her lips in a brief but passionate kiss. "I cannot help but wonder what it was you had in store for me tonight had you not fallen asleep."
"I think you have a pretty good idea," she says, caressing his face. She tilts her chin towards him and he meets her, now taking his time kissing her. They revel in each other for several decadent minutes before her finally lifts his head again.
"No more games, Lieutenant," he says, the seriousness of his voice betrayed by the adoration in his eyes.
"No more games, Captain," she agrees, then pulls him towards her.
He willingly comes, climbing onto the bed and over her. He looms, staring down at her like she is a precious jewel. "I never notice how petite you are anymore," he says, noting how he easily surrounds her form with his. He drops his lips and kisses her again, finding it quite difficult to stop now that he has started. "'And though she be but little, she is fierce,'" he quotes, murmuring with his lips against her skin.
"Shakespeare, Crane? Now?" she asks, her hands busying themselves learning the lines of him. Her fingers trace the scar on his chest, and he jumps a little at the sensation of it.
"Shakespeare is always appropriate," he answers, sucking on her neck. He lifts his head. "'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Though art more lovel—'"
His words abruptly stop when she pulls him down, her lips crashing into his in a long, deep kiss that leaves them both thoughtless and breathless.
"Shut up," she breathes, stroking his face with her fingers as she smiles up at him.
"As you command, my heart," he says. He kisses her again, his hand sliding down to her side. "This ruddy tank top," he mutters between kisses as he tugs at it. "It does nothing to contain your… assets."
"I thought I told you to shut up," she says, laughing. Man cannot even close his mouth for ten minutes.
He chuckles, sliding his hand under her shirt. "You love it when I—"
"Rant?" she asks, smiling up at him. Damn it, he's right, I do. "Okay, yeah, I've kind of gotten to enjoy it. But I more than kind of want to get around to something else before dawn, too." She hooks her leg around his.
He pauses, searching her face. "You truly wish to…?" he asks, and she nods. "Fully?" he confirms.
"Not doing this halfway," she says, hoping he isn't going to decide to have a moment now, of all times.
"Have we… the proper protection?" he asks, surprising her not only with his question but by flexing his hips into her, allowing her to feel the hard length of him against her.
She gasps, then regroups. "I'm protected, and we're both clean," she confirms, now skimming her hands up and down his chest as he hovers over her. She expects him to ask her what she means by "protected", but he simply nods and moves his hand, rucking her tank top up higher.
She pushes him and sits up. Between them, they manage to remove the offending garment and he takes a moment to stare.
"Glorious," he whispers, then guides her back down onto her back beneath him. Starting at her lips, he begins kissing a trail down her jaw, over her neck, skimming her collarbones, until he finally reaches her breasts.
Abbie hums pleasurably, enjoying his ministrations. Any questions she may have had about his ability to please a modern woman quickly vanish, and she smiles, running her fingers through his tousled hair.
Crane lifts his head. "May I say one more thing?" he asks, his long fingers now toying with the edge of her shorts.
"Make it good," she answers.
"I love you, Abbie. I have for longer than you likely realize, and I will for longer than I can say," he says, his voice soft and velvety.
"Wow," she replies. "That was good." She leans up and kisses him, then whispers, "I love you, too, Ichabod."
"You do?" he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Yes," she confirms. "Why do you think I've been trying to seduce you for weeks?"
"Oh. Um. I…"
She laughs, then reaches down between them, pressing her palm against his shaft through his trousers. When he groans, she slides her hand up and brings her other down to begin unfastening his buttons. She manages them much more quickly then he would have expected, and he quickly moves away to pull them down, along with his boxer briefs, the one piece of modern clothing he consented to wear ("I don't know what kind of drawers you've got on under there, but I can 100% guarantee you they are not going to last," Abbie had quite matter-of-factly said).
When he crawls back over her, he is happy to see that she did not remove her shorts. "Did you leave these for me?" he asks. She bites her lip and nods, watching his face as he curls his long fingers into the waistband of the small, tight shorts and begins to slowly peel them down. She lifts her hips to assist, but otherwise gives him no other help.
He ponders her naked form for several long moments, and finally says, "I have never before seen anything so beautiful." His voice is hushed, almost reverent.
If anyone else had ever said such a thing to her, she would have rolled her eyes, figuring he was full of shit. But not Crane. She can see it in his eyes, in his expression that he is completely in earnest and speaking from his heart.
His lips are on hers before she can come up with any sort of reply, covering her small body with his.
Abbie moans into his mouth, and Crane answers with a groan of his own. Her hand finds his length again and he gasps her name.
Her body undulates beneath his, asking to be touched. He immediately complies, his ling fingers trailing over her skin, down, down, tracing her curves until he slides them around her thigh and inward. She angles her hips to meet his questing hand, and when his fingers slip into her folds, she gasps and bites his lower lip.
"So wet, Miss Mills." His voice is a lightly teasing rumble, and she responds by tightening her grasp on his length as she strokes him. He grunts and his fingers lose rhythm for a moment.
She has to admit his cockiness is kind of sexy at times. And when he is gazing down at her with a look that would set her panties ablaze (if she was wearing any), she will readily admit that this is one of those times.
"Now, Ichabod," she says, willing her voice to not sound as needy as she feels. She tells herself she won't beg, but she knows damn well she will if he decides to torment her for too long. She knows damn well that if anyone has the power to make her beg, it's him.
Thankfully, he removes his hand and simply says, "As you command, my heart." When she moves him into place, he slowly drops his hips, taking his time burying his impressive length inside of her.
"Mmmm," she hums in pleasure, her hands sliding down his back to grab his backside. She makes another pleased sound when she finds he actually has something to grab there. His antiquated Colonial trousers don't do much to flatter his assets from the rear view, not to mention the long coat he wears most of the time.
When he is fully seated, he stills, then leans down and kisses her, softly, tenderly. Then he slowly pulls back and thrusts forward again, whispering, "My treasure, my own," against her lips.
"Oh, God," Abbie moans, nearly overcome. She clings to his shoulders as he moves over her, hoping to ground herself on the solid mass of him, because she feels like she might float away.
She thought she had experienced lovemaking before. With Luke, with Danny. Perhaps one or two others.
She hasn't. She really, really hasn't.
"Damn…" she exhales, grabbing his face and pulling it back down to hers, needing to kiss him.
"Oh, Lieutenant… Abbie…" Crane gasps, moving one hand to cover a breast, his thumb sliding over her stiff nipple, drawing another moan from her.
"Do that again," Abbie whispers, bringing her knees higher, allowing him to go deeper, and she cries out when he hits just the right spot. He continues caressing her breast and moving in just the right way until she is exclaiming, "Oh!" or "Yes!" with every thrust.
She comes with another shout a moment later, her body bucking under his. She opens her eyes to see him watching her with rapt adoration, and he leans down and snatches a kiss just before his whole body tenses like a great coiled spring. He growls her name into her neck, where he has buried his face, his back taut and bent for a few seconds before he collapses onto her with a surprising amount of grace.
"That was extraordinary," Crane sighs after a minute. He is still lying on top of her, but she doesn't mind. He kisses her neck and gently moves to one side of her.
"That was unreal," Abbie amends. "I swear I was seeing stars."
"Stars?" he asks. "Is that all? I was seeing entire galaxies."
She falls into an uncharacteristic fit of giggles, turning to curl into his embrace.
"This is where you belong, my Abigail," he says, holding her. "In my arms."
"I think you may be right," she agrees. She pauses a moment, then asks, "Why did we wait so long to do this?"
"Stubbornness on both of our parts, I believe," he answers, pulling the blankets up over them. "Foolish, pig-headed stubbornness."
She shifts in his arms, then kisses him. "Yeah, you're probably right. God, we're dumb."
He laughs, hugging her closer. "I do love you with all that I am, from the deepest part of my soul," he says. "I thought I knew love before, but…"
She kisses him again. "I love you, too," she answers. "I wonder if this is part of the Witness thing."
"We shall have to research it. I, too, am curious to see if this new… dimension of our relationship is a…"
"Perk?" she supplies.
"Yes. A 'perk' of our bond as Witnesses. Something beautiful for us to have amidst all the ugliness with which we must deal," he says.
She shrugs. "Possible. But you know what? I don't really care if it is fate or choice."
"Don't you? We are both people from whom many of our choices were taken away, and—"
She stops his words with another kiss, effectively silencing him for a while. "Don't overthink it. Just accept it for the gift it is, regardless of the reason."
He nods and lays his head back on his pillow.
They lie together for a time, communicating by means of touches and kisses, not caring that it is now closer to being morning than night, simply reveling in the newness of being together this way.
After a time, he speaks again, his fingers trailing up and down her body.
"Please tell me that Miss Jenny was not jesting when she told me that there are no longer laws governing… adult nocturnal activities," Crane blurts, staring down at her with a look that tells her he is definitely not asking for hypothetical reasons.
"She wasn't joking," Abbie confirms, pushing herself higher. "Anything goes these days, as long as both parties consent," she continues in a whisper, her lips brushing his ear. She licks the shell of it before adding, "And I consent," because she knows he's going to ask. It doesn't even occur to her to wonder what it is he has in mind.
She also makes a mental note to ask Jenny why she was giving him this information.
"Good," he growls. "Me, too," he says, dispatching his usual formal demeanor in favor of brevity as he suddenly disappears.
"Ichabod!" she exclaims as he plunges his face between her thighs.
I hope no demons come calling any time tomorrow.