Uninterrupted

…

Author's notes:

Ever wondered what might have happened if Barclay had never interrupted THAT moment in 'Troubled Blood'? When Strike and Robin were alone in the office after he'd accidentally elbowed her between the eyes. You know the one ;)

No spoilers for any of the 'Strike Series' murder plots.

No trigger warnings for this piece - just adult language and MA-rated good times.

Hope you enjoy!

…

"Robin, I'm so fucking sorry!"

"I know."

"I can't believe - ! I'm just - !"

"I know, Cormoran, it wasn't your fault. Well... It was, but -" She winced as the frozen peas made first contact with the bridge of her nose. "I know you didn't mean to. Ow!"

"I swear to God, Robin -"

"Just - !" Her free hand shot up to silence him, and she eased the peas more firmly against her face. The throbbing was more noticeable now, but the aggressive cold felt like a vacuum, sucking away a little of the pain. When Robin peered around the side of the packet, Strike was slumped in the faux leather sofa with his face in his hands. She couldn't not be a little bit amused that at least he was suffering, too.

Serves you right, she thought, smiling. You big idiot. She'd warned him not to retaliate to that arrogant prick in the bar but nooo; honour had to be avenged, didn't it?! He'd wound back his arm so violently that when she'd tried to pull him away, his elbow cracked hard between her eyes.

What a nightmare.

Strike's hands formed a tight pocket around his nose and mouth, as if he were breathing into a paper bag.

"Pour me that drink at least," she said. "A big one."

"Coming right up," said Strike, who pushed to his feet and rifled through the cupboards of the kitchenette. Robin knew they didn't have any proper whisky tumblers in the office, and wondered whether he'd give her the chipped high-ball or a mug.

Strike, still feeling flustered, made a mental note to get better glassware. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach.

I've fucking hit her, he thought. I'm such a fucking idiot! He thought of her poor nose and cringed. Generally, Strike thought of Robin as a complete being. Sure, his mind's eye often lingered on her face when he was missing her, but he'd never thought specifically about her nose before. It was... it was actually fairly cute as noses go, now he thought about it. Not a perfect button but something more elfin. More sharp, and pleasing in profile. A dusting of freckles...

And he kicked himself back into the moment.

Well you've probably made her nose all black and swollen now, dickhead.

He glanced around the side of the cupboard door at her. She couldn't see him for the big green bag he'd taken from his freezer upstairs. It was pressed hard against her face, like she was screaming into a pillow, and her fingers were going pink from the melting frost. In the silence of the darkening office, he could hear her taking deep, controlled breaths through her mouth and his heart twisted.

Look how much you've hurt her.

And there were no glasses here good enough to give her. Nothing here was good enough to give her. With a sigh, he turned back to the cupboard and looked through the mugs. He took one out he thought was plain, but inspecting it closer, he smiled.

Ten seconds later, Robin heard a soft thunk on her desk and looked. Strike had poured her drink into a mug with 'World's Greatest Detective' written on it. A gift from one of his nephews.

"Should be yours, really," he said, sitting back down with his own mug of whisky. "You're not the tit that lost it with a suspect."

Robin smiled so wide it smarted her nose, and she checked herself.

"Thanks Cormoran."

They sat and drank and ate their curries together until the bag of peas weren't so frozen any more, and succeeded only in making her hand wet. They remained mostly in pensive silence, each deep in thought over the suspects they'd seen and what it all meant.

Something she'd noticed about spending time with Strike was how unafraid she was of wordlessness. There was never any pressure from him; no need to entertain him or make small talk. He always just seemed so easy. So content to just be and it was infectious. She could tell a part of their silence right now may have been due to his guilt. He did look troubled, sitting there all crumpled in his big coat, face dark beneath a heavy knitted brow. But despite what had happened, the sense of shared quiet was... intimate. And she became suddenly very aware of how single they both were at this moment in time.

One invasive thought later, and it occurred to Robin that they were mere meters away from a bed, and her heart quickened despite herself.

The pair of them had barely noticed that the office had darkened right down to just the amber street light, slotting in through the blinds.

Strike, still tormented by the knot in his chest, had been avoiding looking directly at his partner since they sat down. But then her movement caught his eye. She'd just drained the last of her third whisky and looked back at him with bleary eyes. Normally such bright blue things, in the stripes of shadow that now crossed her face, they looked almost black. And large. A tired smile tugged at her rose petal lips and he couldn't look away.

He counted the seconds they watched each other, frozen in silence as her eyes fixed on his. It should have felt deeply uncomfortable, letting her in for this long, but it was a balm. She radiated comfort, his every muscle loosened, and despite her dishevelled state he thought Robin looked beautiful, and so inviting. Suddenly it occurred to him that his bed was directly above them, and for a mad second, he wondered how fresh the sheets were...

But she was the first to break the spell.

"So..."

No, she didn't break it, but changed it. Pulled the spell taut somehow. Her voice was low and husky, and her eyes darted away only briefly.

"How's it looking?" she asked, pointing to her nose.

"Um... I can't really tell from here, hang on." Strike drained his own whisky and pushed himself off the sofa, willing it not to fart as he left it.

Success. And he moved to perch on the windowsill where the light was coming through.

"C'mhere," he beckoned and Robin wheeled around to face him. She smiled almost into a laugh as he pulled her closer by the arms of her chair so he could see her better in the street light.

Robin could just make out the glint of one of his eyes, the other half of his face in complete shadow. But was that mischief playing on the half she could see? Those gorgeous crow's feet were creeping from the corners of his eyes, now. They only came out for his smiles and she noticed how they warmed her lately.

Those kind creases must have seen her reaction, because they deepened as Strike smiled wider, before he dropped his expression altogether.

"Now then, Miss Ellacott," he said, "Let's take a look at you."

He leant in very close, all focus and care. Different lines emerged as he narrowed his eyes at the bridge of her nose, though they were no less attractive. He didn't have his 'stern' face on, but something much softer. One she'd never seen up close. He smelled of whisky and peppery cologne, and she hoped he didn't notice her taking in such a deep breath.

"No change in colour yet." He shifted left and right to inspect her from multiple angles. "Does it still hurt?"

"Bit less now," she murmured.

"Well, paracetamol and peas have never failed me yet."

"It doesn't look broken, does it?"

"Mmm... Turn your face that way." He nodded to the right and she turned with a grin, keeping her eye on him. "More than that," he said, then huffed when she still didn't turn full profile. She wanted to keep him in her sight.

Tutting, he gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head fully to the side and she couldn't help but smirk. She felt his breath on her clavicle as he leant in very close, his finger still curled under her chin, thumb now resting delicately against her jawbone.

"Huh," Strike muttered to himself.

"What?" There was an edge to her voice that he found amusing and he stifled a grin.

"Nothing."

He turned her head back to the centre again to scrutinise her nose even closer, and Robin's stomach fluttered when his gaze dropped down to her lips for the barest heartbeat, then between each of her eyes. His expression softened, taking a deep breath as he looked at her.

Oh my God, she thought. Is he going to...?

She felt her lips coming slowly apart, suddenly dry. The two of them were breathing the same air, now. His fingertips still held her in place.

And those damned eyes...

At this new angle, a little more light caught them and they glistened like polished onyx. So deep, and sure, and safe. She could have fallen right through them. The way he looked at her...

"And the other side, please," Strike's face snapped back to some kind of mischief as he nudged her face all the way to the left, and she scoffed.

"I'm going to be very ugly in the morning, aren't I?"

"Don't fish," he said and Robin almost laughed, nervously.

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Not a clue."

Then she really did laugh, but with a snort that hurt so much she hissed, and Strike snatched his hands away.

"Fuck," he said. "Sorry."

"S'okay." She winced, and gingerly pinched the pillowy skin where it hurt. She would almost certainly get a pair of black eyes before long. "Just try not to make me laugh," she half-wept the words and he groaned pathetically along with her.

"I'm seriously so sorry Robin, I... I hate that I've done this to you."

"It was an accident."

She took a second to watch him over her fingers, and he was watching her too – so closely and carefully, with real pain in his eyes.

Those eyes...

She managed a smile and his expression dissolved into relief, smiling back. God there was something so appealing about his face. Especially when he looked at her like that, and she felt warm shivers all over her.

Another silence that she'd barely registered, only noticing how long it had passed between them when he spoke again, his voice a low rumble.

"How can I ever make it up to you?"

It was her turn to assess his face, looking it up and down.

Now there's a question...

"I dunno," she said, feeling brave. "You tell me."

He blinked slowly at that and raised his eyebrows, wondering: Did she just...?

Strike studied her expression. She was playing some kind of game. There was a naughtiness in her eyes and her voice was barely a whisper. Half a wicked smile was toying with her face, but something dead serious, too. She leaned forwards again, only inches away from him.

"Any ideas?" she prompted, and Strike grinned nervously.

"I might have one or two, yeah," he murmured. Were they really going to go down this road?

She pursed her lips, like she was trying to work something out, see if he was bluffing. Robin was so close he could smell her perfume through the sweet scent of whisky that hung lazily between them.

"Mysterious. Can you give me a clue?"

The world was soft around her, around them both, and the whisky was kneading his knots away, making him bold. Robin, too, found she'd somewhat forgotten the pain in her nose as she watched Strike very closely now, registering every miniscule movement in his face, breath caught.

"Yeah," he whispered, and shifted his weight around. "How 'bout this..."

His eyes focused in on her cheek, and inch by inch, he leant forwards to plant a long, slow kiss there, holding it for a few more seconds than a peck should have been. A giddy tangle of nerves whipped Robin's heart into action, and she couldn't help the deep breath she took. Her eyes closed.

She heard Strike inhale deeply, too, before releasing. Her skin felt cold where his lips had left it, but she could still feel his breath there as he lingered. She inclined her face towards him, and dared to open her eyes.

He was all out of focus, still so close to her, but even out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was nervous. The rise and fall of his shoulders was shallow, and rhythmic. He drew back just enough that their eyes could meet.

"What d'you think?" he whispered.

Robin swallowed.

"Can I have another clue?" she asked, barely audible now. But Strike heard, and smiled as he caught that glimmer of mischief in her eye again. He knew he was playing with fire, that he should sober up and talk himself out of doing something irresponsible, something stupid, and putting the company, their friendship, at risk. But then...

Look at her.

She looked so warm, bathed in the amber light, waiting expectantly just an inch away. How could he deny her anything?

Strike brought his hand to the other side of her face to keep her still, his heart racing, and kissed her cheek again. This time, he caught the corner of her mouth and, hazarding a glance, saw her lips had parted, and her eyelids had fluttered shut. Gently, she pushed back against his lips.

Robin sighed, enjoying the prickle of his beard too much. A feeling of deep wanting washed over her, and she could sense the same in Strike – hear it in his breathing.

Her breath shortened, too. His lips left her cheek again and she turned to face him full on, the tip of her nose resting against his. Breathing each other in, she lightly brushed her lips against his, questioning, tasting. And once their mouths closed together it was game over.

She felt Strike's fingers digging through her hair, his other hand cupping her jaw, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. He gasped sharply for air and kissed her again, firmly, dangerously close to hurting her nose but she ignored the dull ache she felt.

She was kissing Cormoran Strike.

What are we doing? she thought frantically, but didn't want to stop. Robin drank deep of his kisses, desperately trying to quench her thirst for him and hummed with gratitude as she did so.

God he's good at this...

His lips worked at hers with such surety, such confidence, and they felt silky and warm as they pressed their faces together tighter still. With her hands, she squeezed his shoulders, ran them down his chest and inside his coat.

She wanted him, badly. And he wanted her.

He wanted her...

Getting drowsy from the heady cocktail of endorphins flashing through her, she paused to catch her breath. Robin looked into his eyes anew, and smoothed her thumbs back across his cheeks. Those irresistible crow's feet were back and she melted a little.

"Cormoran," she gasped. "You're, um... You're not going to regret this are you?"

He looked at her. All Strike wanted to do was kiss her again and rush her upstairs. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes shining, but there was a flicker of concern in there, and he knew why. He swept Robin's hair away from her face, and smiled.

"Listen. You're the smartest person I know." He punctuated his words with a quick kiss, making her smile, too. "So just tell me this isn't a terrible idea and I'll believe you."

She laughed softly and kissed him again.

"Best idea you've had all day."

"Not saying much."

"I know."

They were both grinning so widely now it was difficult to kiss each other properly. Strike wasn't sure he'd felt anything quite like this. He was all nerves and desire and relief and more nerves. He bundled Robin up into his arms – his Robin – and pulled her to her feet, kissing her more urgently now, feeling the curve of her waist, the silk of her hair. Her arms were inside his coat and exploring him, too.

God, how had this night escalated so suddenly?

Between kisses, she sighed a single word into his mouth:

"Upstairs?"

And Cormoran Strike melted like butter. He didn't need asking twice.

"Myeah," he managed upon releasing her lips, and they were both laughing anxiously again at the absurdity of what they were doing. He lifted Robin a foot off the ground and crossed to the office door in a few strides, making her squeal with excitement.

Her feet found the floor again and she locked up quickly, then pulled him towards and up the metal staircase, pausing their progress to kiss passionately a few times on the way.

Robin couldn't believe they were really doing this. The whisky had relaxed her and given her courage, but she didn't feel the least bit drunk. Everything was happening in sharp definition and her senses were alive and alert and she was desperate to continue what they'd started.

She would have raced upstairs faster if not for Strike's leg, but since they'd waited so long to do this, what were a few more seconds?

They finally reached the door of his attic flat and Robin leant with her back against it. Strike pressed in close as he fumbled with the key in the lock, kissing her mouth, her neck, squeezing her hip with his free hand as she ran her fingers through his curls. The lock clicked and they stumbled into the tiny living space, giggling like teenagers as the door slammed behind them.

Strike was still wearing the tie he'd chosen for the interview at the bar, and Robin tugged it looser, using the knot to pull him towards the open bedroom door. He followed her, hook, line and sinker, not wanting to break contact between their gasping mouths.

In the bedroom, Robin undid his tie completely and threw it to the floor, which was invitation enough for him to take something off of her, too. He slid his hands inside her jacket, pushed it off her shoulders and she did the same with his coat. Then her fingers darted straight for the buttons of his shirt, only undoing a few at the top so she could plunge her hands into the warmth of his shoulders and chest and still kissing him all the while.

God, her lips.

Such plump and succulent fruits he wanted to devour. She was delicious, and her little sighs of enjoyment further stoked his already raging fires. Their hands were all over each other, grabbing at fabric and flesh. She guided his to the zip at the back of her dress and he pulled it down the length of her spine, smoothing his other hand over her curves.

Robin pushed him backwards towards the bed and pressed down on his shoulders, telling him to sit.

"Are you sure about this, Cormoran?" she asked, massaging the back of his head with soothing fingers.

He rubbed his hands more firmly up and down her waist as he looked up at her, and said:

"I am if you are."

"Good."

She smiled and bent down to kiss him, then shrugged out of her dress to let it fall to her ankles. Robin's underwear was very her. Pale blue lace, cute, classy, and fit her like a dream. Strike pulled her closer to kiss her stomach, her ribs, her breasts and helped himself to two handfuls of her – as it turned out – excellent arse. He was in heaven.

She laughed softly as he growled into her cleavage, and she climbed onto his lap, each knee on the bed either side of him.

Fuck, she's left her high-heels on and everything.

Robin adored the scratch of Strike's beard against her neck, which sent pleasant chills through her. She adored his scent – the natural one she recognised behind the cologne. And she adored the feel of his large hands on her back, on her thighs, behind her neck as she kissed him, and teased her tongue between his lips. It was met eagerly by his own, which came to swim in her mouth, and she felt his hand come up to squeeze her through the bra.

She undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt and peeled it away from him, liking how hairy he was, and ran her hands over his broad chest. It swelled with every breath he took and she could feel his heart pounding against her palm.

"Do you, um..." she began, breathless. He wasn't making it easy to get her words out. "Do you need to take your leg off, yet?"

He grinned against her mouth and murmured:

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"'Course, not," she tutted. "Can you do it from here?"

She meant their current position, with him sitting upright at the foot of the bed and Robin kneeling astride his lap.

"If you hold on tight," he said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he leant forward to pull up his trouser leg. He had to lean quite far, in fact, and she giggled at just how tightly she had to hang onto him. She crossed her legs around his torso for better purchase and squeezed, feeling his hard-on through the fabric, stimulating herself against it.

Strike groaned and kissed her shoulder as he worked off the prosthesis, the suction cup and the sock. His erection was still throbbing valiantly, and he raced to get his shoe off, too. The metal leg fell over with a clank and Robin pushed him backwards onto the bed, passing her hands all over him before coming to rest at his belt. He was lost in a sea of red-gold hair and wanted her so urgently it hurt.

Still kissing him, she unbuckled his belt while he worked on the clasp of her bra, and succeeded in unhooking it first time. She began to unbutton his fly, rubbing hard against his cock as she did so, while he slipped her bra straps down her arms. That was when she pushed herself up, letting the bra fall across his chest. Strike tossed it aside and went to massage her breasts, making her sigh.

He really didn't expect the night to go like this, and fed on this image of her with ravenous eyes. She really was gorgeous.

But he couldn't contain himself forever.

He flipped her onto her back beside him and moved her up so her head was on the pillows. He sucked on her neck, dragged his tongue down the valley of her chest, kissed beneath her ribs and began to work off her delicate knickers.

Robin was panting hard already, scrunching her fingers through the hair at Strike's temples as he went lower and lower down. She tingled where his fingertips traced the sensitive skin inside her thighs, and he pushed them further apart. He kissed her lower abdomen earnestly, moving his hands up to her breasts, then down again to hold her by the hip bones. She was already sighing in anticipation.

He teased her for a short while from the outside before 'breaking the skin' with his tongue, and Robin was lost to it. She gasped and moaned as he serviced her, slowly. He sent a deep hum reverberating up through her and she shivered, losing her grip. His lips and tongue worked rhythmically between her legs, and with the help of two fingers massaging inside her entrance, faster and faster, she felt a searing heat as she pushed through a long, loud climax.

It was music to Strike's ears and the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Since he couldn't be sure that stage-fright wouldn't get the better of him later, he was so glad that she came this way. She kept screaming as she succumbed to wave after wave of it.

Oh my fucking God, she's incredible.

The noise alone could have ended him right then and there, he could have released himself all over the bed he was that turned on. The aching of his crotch was becoming unbearable. She tasted so good to him, and once he was sure she was done, he licked his lips.

Robin was a twitching mess now, groaning with relief. She could see why all his previous girlfriends were as gorgeous as they were, and she chuckled privately to herself.

"Fucking hell, Cormoran," she rasped.

He kissed his way back up to her neck and she wrapped every limb around him. He'd taken off his trousers and boxers while he was down there, and so she kicked off her high heels. She wanted to be as naked as possible with him. He reached for a draw in his bedside table and felt around inside it, eventually producing a condom.

"Do you mind?" he asked cheekily, holding it up.

"Please do."

She might have had the orgasm of her life but she was still desperate to fuck him.

"Don't wait up for me, though," she said as he tore into the wrapping. "I've had mine. It's your turn."

"I dunno," he drawled, "Don't write yourself off just yet."

She wondered if she had it in her to get there a second time, but couldn't possibly mind if she didn't. Robin was able to get a better look at him, now, as he knelt before her. She already knew he was no athlete. But the extra bulk wasn't all that much, and it looked good on him. His wide chest and shoulders had some muscle but the chunkiness of the rest of him was actually doing it for her. She trailed her fingertips through the dark seam of hair that ran down the centre of his belly and helped him with the condom.

He was larger down there than she'd expected, and Robin tried not to be intimidated by it. But she was ready for him and more than just warmed up. Positioning her hips just right, she took hold and guided him in as he lowered himself onto her again.

They eased into it together, kissing slowly and sensually. Strike thought his heart might burst. It was unbelievable, being this close to Robin. His Robin. He loved it. He loved her. God, he was so in love with her. She was amazing; his best friend and favourite person – the most incredible one he knew. He loved that he could make her moan and sigh and gasp like this. She held onto him so tightly like her life depended on it, and whispered such sweet pleasures into his ear.

The words: 'I love you' were on the tip of his tongue more than once as they picked up the pace, but he held back, afraid of getting ahead of himself. After all it had been through, his heart was hesitant. Even a little scared. And his head was a mess, too, so he let his body take the wheel.

"Oh ffffuck..." she whispered as he sped up. She was so tight and warm and wet around his cock.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, keep going."

Robin couldn't believe it, but she was climbing the ladder all over again, getting more and more worked up as Strike's pounding grew faster and more powerful. He was going full throttle against her sweet spot now, and she felt herself approaching those heights for the second time. She felt his hand press down on her thigh and stroke its way towards her groin. His thumb found her clit and stimulated it while his rock-hard member kept working inside her like a piston.

"Oh my God, Cormoran!"

She was so close! His combination of moves was exciting her to new levels. She was almost there but needed more speed and more force. She nudged his hand away and dug her heels into the bed for better control. Her hands reached back to grip the metal headboard and she pushed back hard and fast against him, urging him for more. He took the hint, adjusted his position and gave her all the intensity she desired.

They were getting sweaty against each other and her wails grew higher in pitch, gasping words of encouragement for him to keep going until finally she hit the pinnacle. Again! And long, long waves of excruciating pleasure crashed over her.

And Strike could feel those waves squeezing in all around him and this time her yelping really did set him off. He groaned into the pillow and almost swallowed a mouthful of Robin's hair as he gasped desperately, defeated at last.

He felt like he might have blacked out, he came so powerfully. He stroked back the sweaty strands of hair from Robin's forehead and kissed whatever part of her was already in reach, then felt her do the same. They lay like that for a while, breathing in and out as one, and eventually he gathered enough strength to prop himself up and look at her.

She smiled tiredly up at him, skin dewy and glowing.

"Wow," he sighed.

"Yeah."

And then the laughter set in as they processed what they'd just done. Foreheads pressed together and hands gripping tightly whatever they could, Strike and Robin fell into uncontrollable giggles of relief.

"Thank fuck for that," he managed as they caught their breath. He gave her a few more lazy thrusts for good measure like some kind of victory lap, and she hummed groggily, biting her lower lip.

Robin was loving being surrounded by him, the feel of him weighing down on her. She felt safe underneath him and kissed his hairy chest, then he lowered his lips to hers. Not wanting to think about what all this would mean for them just yet, she kissed him more fervently and filled her lungs with him.

A few minutes later, once Strike had discarded the very full condom and Robin visited the bathroom, they were back in each others arms between the sheets which, he was relieved to find, had been fresh enough after all.

"Not gonna lie," he said into her hair. "I'm bloody terrified I'm gonna muck everything up for us."

They both laughed anxiously at that.

"I know." She played with the hairs on his chest and kissed his shoulder. "But don't worry. We'll be fine."

"Well you say that, but I've not had a relationship yet that didn't end in total disaster."

"You've never had one with me before, that's why."

"And whose fault is that?"

She scoffed.

"Yours."

"Is not."

"Half your fault, then."

"Fine," he chuckled and held her tighter, smoothing back her red-gold hair.

She slept in his bed that night, between bleary periods of consciousness where they talked, giggled, squeezed and caressed each other in the dark. It was actually the first time he'd ever had a woman up here, and the significance of that emotional milestone wasn't lost on Strike. It was right that it was Robin he let into his most private, personal space. Apart from this tiny attic flat, his only other refuge from the stresses of other people was anywhere he could be alone with her.

He knew he loved her, as he curled his body behind hers. But he was nervous to say it until he was sure she felt the same way. He knew too well what it was like to be put on the spot like that, though he now realised what a sin it was to keep these feelings to himself.

Give it time.

Just a little while they got their bearings.

Eventually the sun brightened behind the curtains, and he was still curled up behind Robin, with his arm and half a leg draped protectively over her. She stirred and grumbled lazily, and Strike kissed her shoulder blade.

"Mornin'" he croaked.

"Mmh, morning."

She seemed sleepy still, but happy. He propped himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her face.

"How's your nose feel-oh my God!"

"What?"

She looked up at him with two angry-looking black eyes. Deep reddish, blackish bruises had spread outwards from the bridge of her nose like inkblots, and her eyelids were swollen half-shut.

"Jesus Christ, Robin, you look like a Rorschach test!"

"Please be joking. Ow!"

Her nose screamed at her as she went to pinch it.

"Fuck's sake, I really did a number on you, didn't I?"

She got up and went to the bathroom mirror.

"No, don't look, Robin!"

"Oh my God! Oh shit that looks so horrible!"

"Sorry again!"

"I know, I know."

She returned to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, still naked, with her hands on her hips. Strike tried really hard to suppress a smile. She huffed, semi-cross.

"If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy," she said, and a laugh spluttered through his guard.

"I think someone needs to stay in bed, today," he said, patting the space beside him which she dashed into immediately.

"How about two paid sick days?" she asked. "That can be how you make it up to me."

"I thought I already made it up to you last night!"

"That was for the pain. This can be for the ugliness."

He laughed at the cheek of it and wrestled her closer.

"Don't fish."

...

Thank you so much for reading this one-shot! I have a few more in the pipelines so if you think you'd enjoy more like this, please do follow me so you don't have to watch this space ;)

Fingers crossed these characters really do get together before too long. The tension is KILLING me!

All IP and characters belong to Robert Galbraith