Afternoon Delight

"What's so urgent?" I ask before the doors finish whooshing closed.

"I didn't say urgent," Chris answers without looking up as he picks through an open rectangular storage case sitting on the kitchen counter. I see the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown, a frustrated one.

"Your message, delivered with high priority and thus audibly activating my PADD during a meeting, read: Come to our quarters. Don't worry, nothing's wrong. Come now."

He raises his head, turning it in my direction, flashes a pleased smile, says, "And here you are," then goes back to searching through the contents of his box. "Be with you in a minute. I'm going to take care of this squeaky drawer first."

I lean against the wall near the door, the bookshelves are on my left. "I thought Reno confiscated your toolkit after the replicator incident."

"That wasn't my fault," he reminds absentmindedly.

"Which part, the explosion … or the fire?" I counter.

"Both. Either." He then grumbled, "I'd have found the problem eventually."

Maybe, I think, after singeing most of deck three. Traversing the distance between us, I remove the sonic screwdriver from his grip and set it aside. My hands rest on Chris' broad chest, his on my waist. "I still have half a duty shift to go. And a meeting to rejoin so be quick."

"Fast doesn't suit my mood today." His tone is low and husky.

"What's up?" I repeat my question in a different way trying to hurry him along. Sometimes getting Chris to the point is like tugging a reluctant horse to water. Damn. Really? Already? I'm now speaking in equine metaphors too.

An inscrutable smile forms on his slightly parted and now moistened lips. His thigh brushes against me. One of his hands covers mine, its thumb stroking my palm. "Guess."

"I mean, what do you need?" I say resisting the urge to tap my foot and physically convey my impatience.

"You," is his succinct response.

"Come again?" I query. Yes, at times, especially when my focus is elsewhere, I can be completely oblivious.

"And again and again if I play your cards right," he answers, the words accompanied by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

I groan and push away. My facial expression is a wince. Other parts of my body respond differently. Those I ignore. "Didn't Number One forbid your so-called clever puns? Or at the very least beg you not to repeat them aloud?"

"No, she banned my impressions."

Stepping back, putting more space between us, I answer, "Okay. Great idea, but I still have half a duty shift to go and a meeting to rejoin. Raincheck for later?" I reach up and caress his cheek before turning to the door.

By mid-pivot, Chris is in front of me again. "I'm up …" After a cringe of his own, an apology, "that one was unintentional." He clears his throat. "Moving on, and quoting the song, why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?"

"We're in space, cold dark night describes the ship's twenty-four seven environment," I point out.

Our intercom chimes. While crossing the room to answer he calls over his shoulder, "We'll turn up the lights." After assessing the situation, his genial, calming, mentor with a hint of Dad style surfaces and soothes the nervous cadet peppering Chris with rapid fire questions. He ends the call with, "All right then. Well done. If the problem occurs again, call for Number One."

Refocusing on me, Chris says, "Why are you still dressed?"

"Very romantic, dear."

He chuckles, "By now you've likely figured out romance isn't my natural go to."

I harrumph in agreement.

"You did agree to marry me." His smile beams. "No take backs now."

My thoughts have drifted to the feel of his strong fingers running up and down my body. Shaking my head in order to clear it, I attempt regaining control of our conversation. "I have work waiting …"

Back at my side, his hands circle my waist then creep up to the hooks fastening my bra. "But nothing pressing. Think of this as a new assignment. I can do that, change your duties … you know … cause … well … I am in charge."

"As you never cease reminding me," I remark dryly but the words are said in an affectionate tone and accompanied with a fond smile.

"I worked hard for these stripes, they ought to come with a few perks," he says as his fingers stroke my neck at the sensitive spot where it joins my shoulder.

"Very well. I'll explain to the others that our Captain, our fearless leader, is feeling randy, and I'll be skipping work for the rest of the day."

Chris calls my bluff, addressing to the air, "Computer establish a link with …"

"Stop," I demand. A faint unintended sigh escapes my lips.

His cheerful mood wilts the tiniest bit. "If you don't want to …"

Two of my fingers press against his lips. "Of course I want to make love with you. It's just … well … everyone will guess … or assume why I didn't return." Discomfort is expressed with a squirm. "I miss privacy sometimes."

"Yeah, they'll figure it out, but who will have the balls to call us on it?" Chris poses. Yes, he can be that naïve about some things.

"Seriously?" I tick off a finger with each name, "Una, Phil, Erica, Lucero, and that's just off the top of my head."

"Okay, okay. Point made. And now we've sorted through all of that, why are you still dressed?" In an instant his finger crooks and my bra is unfastened. Leaning down he whispers in my ear, "Shall I strip you slowly or …"

I nod as my head rests against his chest.

He prompts, "And about those perks of my stripes …"

"Not calling you sir," I mutter adamantly as Chris brushes feather kisses down my neck and across my now bared collarbone.

The kisses pause. "Oh really?" he says. The whisper is back, "I never shy from a challenge." His mouth and fingers work together in an interesting and sensual combination. A very, very pleasurable one.

Alternating between breathless and panting I murmur, "Yes … like that … yes … more … please … sir."

Chris almost keeps the hints of triumph out of his grin which is a mixture of overly pleased with himself and seductive. In one smooth movement he picks me up and carries me to our bed.

Later, the sheets tangled between our legs, his left and my right hand clasped between us, I lie on my back, Chris on his side facing me, his right-hand rests possessively on my abdomen. "Computer lower lights," he orders.

He's the cuddler, I'm the one who gets drowsy first.

"We'll be home in six weeks. Did you look at my ideas for our wedding?" he asks.

"Christopher, I am not getting married in a barn."

"But then how will the horses attend?" he asks in a genuinely serious tone of voice.

A/N: For those who did not grow up with hippie parents who came of age in the 1970s, the song referenced above is Afternoon Delight by Starlight Vocal Band.