I wrote this last year.. hang on, last last year after CocoBacon and I pulled apart The Cortez Connection from the pillows on the sofa that I didn't see, to those looks. I think that them being married totally changes the scene when they are sat at the piano and Simone teases them. So this is for CocoBacon with all best wishes and thanks for the inspiration. I really enjoyed writing this chapter.
There is ratings pushing stuff in this, from half way through but you can skip to the end.
oOo
He doesn't get out of the car. His body remains still, his fingers wrapped on the steering wheel, and he is lost in pensive thought. Harry wonders if Dempsey has forgotten she's there; sat in the passenger seat of her car. They are parked under the streetlight on the road outside his flat. The rain drip drops onto the roof in this dark autumn afternoon. Outside, the wind is shoveling leaves around the pavement. She reaches forward and switches off the radio. A gesture to get his attention, though they're technically off duty.
Still, he broods. They've been getting along so well lately, and Harry can't help the creep of unease that dents her happiness. She remembers his body in hers before the party and shivers. His gentle care of her during the previous few weeks. Life has felt domestic, and it didn't seem to scare either of them.
She liked claiming him in the kitchen, his intimate proximity to her body, the warmth of his breath on her neck as they stood with the music throbbing through the house. His fingers played with her hair as if they owned each other. She wants his hot mouth on her neck, his hands under her jumper and lifting it up, his tongue on her body. She shivers again. He turns up the heating, but she can only recall where his fingers have been; the way he plays her like his instrument. She sings for him like no other.
The chinless man reminded her of why she finds the society into which she's been born is so often tasteless and shallow. The man's actions are so distanced from death that inevitably end up as cases in her and Dempsey's hands. That man in the kitchen; in a house; in a street somewhere in London. He is utterly anaesthetised to the consequences out there in a big city that often feels so much smaller. She never thought she'd have more in common with a streetwise cop from New York than the doubtless Eton-educated idiot who had stood before her, but she does, and it makes her happy.
She's uncertain why Dempsey is so uncharacteristically quiet. She thought he was wonderful in bed. The feel of his mouth, the scratch of his stubble on her thighs. Maybe it's not the same for him. Possibly he wants to get back together with his ex-girlfriend. Despite his assurances, he must miss New York. Simone represents a world he was booted out of with no chance of goodbye. He can have his farewell to one of them.
"Dempsey, I can drive myself back or get a cab. I don't want to intrude on you and Simone." She says hesitantly.
Her words are lies. She wants to set up camp in his bedroom, chain him to the bed and stick a big 'no entry' sign on the door. Is a 'practical' marriage a sufficent claim?
She can't bear to watch it happen. She feels a prick of hot tears. He wasn't hers to own, this blow-in. He would want to go home at some point. It's the thought of him, in bed with another woman, that causes her sickness and breathes a jealous chill through her bones. She's not sure how to say she's upset without making him feel trapped as if marriage wasn't already enough. This secret world, invaded by Simone. The significant ex. Mona. The one he lived with. The one he was going back to last year.
"You don't mean that," Dempsey reads her mind. He's looking at the front door of his home, and he turns to her, voicing his concern with unexpected nervousness. "Do you?"
"I was trying to be tactful." She really wants to take him to her home to her bed. But she'll try to be an adult about his choices. Last night she was clingy. She laid with him on the sofa until she felt secure enough to fall asleep and forget Simone in his bed. Her neck and back protest at the thought of a second night.
"I want you to intrude, goddammit." Dempsey sighs, looking lost, "I'm sitting here trying to get the courage together to go into my own apartment."
"Afraid you'll give in to temptation?" Harry mutters but regrets her words as he looks at her, clearly hurt.
"For Christ's sake, Harry! I'm not getting back together with Simone or going back to New York; I didn't dammed well invite her." He rubs his hands through his hair in frustration, and she resists the urge to brush it flat with her fingers. "It's like two steps forward, one back..."
"Dempsey..." She tries to interrupt his tirade, uncertain of what he means but wondering if Simone won't break them unless they - she - lets her.
He thumps the steering wheel wearily, cursing his crushed fingers. "I know my reputation ain't great, but I'd never cheat on you, princess, and I'm not interested in her."
"Dempsey, I know you didn't invite her..." Her voice wobbles more than she intended. Typically they're both cautious about speaking about the woman in his home again. "But she's flown over here, and you said yourself she doesn't have much money, with no place to stay, specifically to see you. You can hardly blame me for worrying about what other lengths she might go to."
"She ain't taking me away from you." His face is earnest and intense, unlike any look he has seen before. She falls a little more in love with him. "Ain't nobody like you."
"What? Insecure?" Caring for each other means they are both more easily hurt.
"Sexy, beautiful and... apparently, yeah, insecure, when you've no need to be." He retorts with a soft smile, "I was trying to pay you a compliment."
"I know; it's taking a bit of getting used to." She responds quietly. "She'll be gone in a week, maybe."
Dempsey runs a hand over his face; she hears his stubble scratch his skin. She blushes in a Pavlovian response, "My mom wasn't sure how long, and Mona ain't mentioned a return ticket."
"You'll have to move in with me then," Harry says with more confidence about the situation than she feels. "You virtually live at mine anyway, or I'm at yours."
He smiles, his eyes twinkling as he reaches over to kiss her. She chases him when he moves away, catching him quickly.
"Anyone could see." She murmurs, hoping that Simone will take this moment to spot them.
"Let them." He replies, catching her train of thought. She loves the low growl of his voice. "Can't stop thinking about before the party. All times before that."
Oh.
"I wanted you to stay over this weekend," Dempsey admits when he's studied her face, she thinks to check for any insecurity that might linger. "Gonna be a surprise, but Simone's drunk all the OJ, probably the champagne too, and broke a new high ball glass."
To her surprise, Harry finds this funny and laughs enough that she has to catch her breath. She's tired, fed up, and she wonders if it's mild hysteria as she hiccups. Dempsey is looking at her like she has grown two heads. "It's so like you and me."
"Is it?" He's amused and slightly confused, "The universe out to get us?"
Harry wipes stray tears from her eyes and collects herself. "Bloody universe," she agrees, liking the sound of 'us.'
Dempsey peers through the misty windscreen at his front door. She thinks of Dempsey versus the Universe and feels sorry for it.
Neither of them move.
"I remember everything," Harry says softly. They seem like the right words because he looks at her again with a warm gaze, like the partner, friend, and man whom she's falling for, faster than she ever thought possible now she's trying to step off her emotional brakes.
He seems to consider her for a moment, "I was gonna cook and take you to the theatre. Get you breakfast in bed, flowers, champagne... the works."
"Oh!" Harry gathers her thoughts together; he's taken her completely by surprise. It sounds perfect, and there's a flicker of need that he ignites in her now. "Do you think she'll be upset if I come in again?"
"Don't care." He looks like a grumpy child, pouting at her. She's not sure if she wants to take Simone out.
"Dempsey, I know you, of course, you do," Harry says quietly but firmly, trying to put a hold on his irritation even if she's secretly pleased that he's being protective about them. "It's because you care that I'm here with you."
"And that's grinding my gears. If you come with me, it could go either way." He studies her hand in his and looks up with a look of desperation.
"I only met her briefly; she clearly didn't expect me to be here." Harry wonders if making her presence felt might persuade Simone to move out. "At the moment, she's still a mythical ex who has become a glamorous temptress. I have a vivid imagination."
"I noticed. There are better ways of putting that to good use in my bed." Dempsey looks cheekily at her and kisses her hand. "Except it's occupied…
"I wonder if your things are the same as my things?" She ponders, drawing circles on his thigh, distracting him.
He is looking at her fingers with longing, "You keep going, and we're gonna have to test out the back seats."
"Promises. Promises." She laughs when he launches himself across the console and tickles her sides. When she's begged for mercy, he pauses and touches her face tenderly.
"You're the glamorous temptress. I don't know what kind of women you think I used to date; I only got gold when I met you."
"Dempsey, that's a terrible line, but I'm flattered by the compliment." Harry teases, still trying not to think of the backseat of the car.
"I mean it." He says thoughtfully, " I don't want you ever thinkin' you are second best to anyone else ever."
She nods, it's enough for now, but she's not letting him go that easily. "You can't sleep on your sofa for another week or however long."
"You spent the night with Lupino. That bed wasn't fit for the dead."
She remembers how he'd clung to her that night in his sleep, "You know, underneath all this tough cop stuff, you're a good man with a kind heart."
"Huh?" He looks at her in disbelief.
"Are you criticising my taste?" Harry injects playfully, but he's not entirely joining in.
She knows that he's equally tenacious in her heart, but she needs to be precise. "It really doesn't feel like two steps forward and one back to me. It's going to be complicated because, well, life is, but you said you've never cheated, and I believe you. You know the sad tale of my first marriage."
He gets that look on his face, the one which reduces her to a puddle of lusty need, but she still needs reassurance, for herself, if not him. "It doesn't mean I'm not scared to death that I'll lose you to her. That you might wake up in the night, have an epiphany, and go back to New York."
Dempsey starts up the car suddenly. She is taken by surprise, "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." He replies in a low rumble.
He silently swings the car through London, and there's something about his demeanor that makes her burn. It's the vibe he gives when he draws himself to his full height before walking into the middle of a confrontation. When he's going to break the rules, but she follows anyway. The electricity that she thrives off because it's an infectious vibration that binds them.
Lately, Harry isn't sure if Dempsey will argue, kiss her or fuck her when they're pushed on a case. The depth of feeling he creates in her is terrifying. She can't help question her reactions in this strange reversal of roles. As he turns into her street, Harry knows what she wants from him.
She is out of the car before the handbrake engages and he touches her; if he does, she'll haul him into the back of the car. His body presses to her back as she fumbles for her house keys, cursing at her inability to concentrate because he is placing hot kisses down her neck. Feels all of him wanting her. She ineffectually protests as he does it again and turns around to pull him back when he obediently stops.
As they fall into the door together, Harry drags off her coat and watches him do the same. There's a moment when she knows either one of them can say no. She chooses to look at his mouth instead and pulls off her top as she does so. Her fingers tremble when she unzips her skirt, uncertain of where this is going but willing to take the risk. Challenging him to finish what she has started, conversely hoping for no end. He curses and unbuckles his belt, and she pulls his shirt apart, laving his chest with her tongue.
He advances on her with a stormy look that she's never seen before. Purposeful. It causes a hitch of breath deep in her throat. She's held in place by just one of his fingers on her waist; his other hand is tangled in her hair as he looms over her holding the base of her head, with his fingers splayed, moving her mouth to mold against his, conjuring up an erotic pleasure for two. She's a stringless puppet in his hands. He moves to nip and lave her neck just under her hairline. It's not something anyone has done before, and she's never capitulated in this way but finds herself responding, letting him take over, consenting with sighs. Entranced.
"You said you didn't know what lengths Simone might go to to take me away from you," Dempsey says, his face animated with unspoken need, his breath catching. "You're my wife..."
He drags his tongue down her sternum and sets fire to her.
They won't make it upstairs or even to the sofa; Harry doesn't want to anyway. She welcomes him with open-mouthed kisses to the crown of his hair as his lips follow his fingers over her skin, roughly moving her bra down to release more of her willing body to his hot, wet mouth.
"I ain't for taking, not from you." Dempsey peels apart from her, his hands holding her face firm, "You got that?"
There's a fine line between his demands and affections. Harry realises how well she knows that and nods. It suits him too because he devours her mouth again. She arches against him.
"Please," Dempsey mumbles so she does it again. "More."
Harry pushes his shirt to the floor..
"Only you make me like this, nobody else, never." He mutters, his arms moving to her thighs, pulling her up against him, his hand sliding up her leg. "Only you can make me beg."
Harry impatiently flicks at the buttons on his jeans. They really aren't moving from the hall because she anchors him with a panted 'now'. He stops her from dropping to her knees with a heady promise of 'next time.' As soon as he's free, she writhes up against him giving her consent, as if he didn't know already.
"Don't want to hurt you," Dempsey murmurs as he lifts her up easily, and she winds both legs around his waist and keens up against him.
"You won't; I trust you." She runs her hands down the warm skin of his neck, feeling his tendons move under her touch. She is overcome by a desperate and illogical urge to climb into his soul.
"Mine." Dempsey groans, gathering her into his arms as if he feels it too. She kisses him like he's oxygen as his body claims hers.
"Yes," It is the only word that Harry can breathe out, speech almost lost as the hot delicious ache that only he can create spreads deliciously through her body. How can it be that it feels like he is everywhere all at once, tipping her world on its axis?
As he fills and stretches her, she kisses him, bites his shoulder. It's a blessed relief from the delicious torment when he moves. She throws her head back, panting out his name on a sob. There's a beautiful balance of power as he holds her, keeps her safe, and she moves, urging them on in the hall of her house, its walls now echoing to the obscene noise of their bodies meeting and the moans that volley forth.
"Mine," Harry leads him on, wanting him to satisfy her. He marks her again with his teeth, tenderly soothing with his lips.
He replaces her hand with his, finding that spot, one of the places he's learned already, and she falls apart in his arms, his mouth swallowing her cries. He shudders and follows her with a shout, seeking his comfort in the crook of her neck.
"That was - huh - spontaneous?" Dempsey murmurs finally, his breath hot on her skin, panting.
Harry kisses his warm chest as if she's buried inside him, not the other way round. He lets her down and looks for any sign of regret on her face, but she rewards him with a smile, for there is none. Her heart thunders as she finds his mouth, needing his gentle touch, which he gives freely. She can't stop kissing him.
Her hands smooth his mop of hair because she can. He leans into her touch like an alley cat. "I'm going to need a high neck... it's alright; we're a matching pair."
Dempsey smiles as he investigates her neck, but there's an air of uncertainty about him. "I've never lost control like that. You, Jeez, Harry, it's all you."
Harry presses herself to his mouth again, feels his tongue slide against hers, and the heat builds again. It's too much, but not enough.
She meets his affectionate gaze with a blush. Sometimes he treats her like she's cut glass, "I'm happy we did. I needed you."
"I didn't hurt you?" Dempsey looks at her torn bra and ripped knickers. "I'll buy you new ones."
Harry shakes her head and blushes, silly really, given what has happened, "I liked it rough."
Then she kisses his surprised face again. When they're both dazed again and voice what they both really want to do - stay here - she takes his hand, "Come on, we need a shower. Then we're both going to see Simone together."
"You gonna wash my dirty thoughts away?"
"Whose to say I'd want to."