Fringe Benefits

Author's Notes: This scene precedes the infamous one I've been warning about for the past couple of chapters. If you are squeamish about explicit sexual writing, you can skip the next chapter and move onto chapter five without missing any plot, I promise. For those of you interested in the details, read in sequence for the full story.


Abby replaced her quiver and collapsed her bow to fit in the gear bag, finishing just as King climbed the stairs.

"You don't play fair, Whistler."

"What do you mean?" She fiddled with the placement of her weapons, holding her hand out for his. He handed them to her, folding his arms over his chest and waiting for her to zip up the bag before speaking.

"That last one doesn't count, you know."

"Don't know what you're talking about, King," she said, sitting back on the flannel sheet.

"I had him, first. That's five for me, four for you."

"Let's call it a draw," she shrugged it off. "What do they know?"

"They know the kid who gets my coffee."

She assessed the threat risk. King lived for his daily injection of caffeine, and, whenever he could, he stopped by a Starbucks en route from a hunt. There was one in particular he liked because the guy behind the corner had gotten his ass handed to him when he'd gotten fresh with her. And now that coffee-jockey was dead. But they were okay, and that had to come first. They were safe. The unfortunate familiars' interrogation probably had not gotten back to their bosses.

"Danica," she said, and King nodded. So, she was still looking for King. After six months, still looking.

"We should get out of here. We have two hours."

Abby shook her head. "We won't need that long."

King regarded her for a long moment. "Won't we?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.

Inhaling a resolute breath, Abby stood, took three confidant steps towards him, invading his personal space with the last one such that he dropped his arms to his sides. In another second, without hesitating, she leaned up and caught him dipping his head down. Their mouths met and locked, knowing and certain, not at all stilted or hasty. One of her hands went to his neck to drag herself up and him farther down; one of his grabbed her waist, tugging her bodily against him. Her other hand dug clawed fingers into the arm at her waist, his twined into her hair.

Abby stepped onto his shoes, pressing down on his toes. Taking the hint, King walked them both towards the flannel sheet. Here, they twisted and tussled, Abby locking her leg around behind his and jerking his knees outward. He fell, they fell, and she maneuvered him under her. Surprisingly, he did not protest when they broke apart for air, but, instead, moved his hand from her waist to her ass, scooting her up until she straddled his crotch.

"How did you know?" She growled as she propped herself up over him on her elbows.

"Whistler, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I gotta tell you something." He brushed her hair, curtained around them both, off his face.

"What's that?" She breathed, closing in on him.

"You're not very subtle."

That did it. She pressed her lips to his and bit down hard when his tongue snaked out to touch hers. He yelped, his whole body jerking against hers, pulling both of them up until she perched over his lap.

He massaged his tongue between his lips. "That was uncalled for."

"Put your mouth to better use than insulting me," she hissed, leaning forward to kiss him again. King ducked away from her attempt.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What?"

"You think I'm going to let you do that again?"

She planted both hands on her hips, relaxing back against his bent knees. "So, what, are we not going to do this?"

"Have sex?"

"Yes."

King shook his head vigorously. "No, we definitely are."

"So," she moved back in, and he darted away again. "What? You're not going to kiss me?"

"If it means I'll still be able to talk after, yeah."

Interesting, Abby had to admit. "Ever think you talk too much?"

"Sure," King nodded, "Like right now. So, stop arguing with me, Whistler, and let's do this." She hesitated as he pulled her closer, unsure of his aim. He seemed to be about to kiss her, but at the last second kissed the corner of her mouth then trailed towards her ear. His beard scratched, leaving her skin raw and yet more deliciously alive than she had imagined it would. It was a consideration against him, his facial hair, when she imagined this, but she knew she couldn't plan for or around it. No man she'd been with before him had ever had a beard or mustache, let alone the well-groomed rug King maintained.

"What's next?" She whispered in his ear as his surprisingly soft lips moved down her neck. It was bizarre, the sensations on her throat: first, the abrasion of his beard, then the buffering softness of his lips, and, last, the rough wetness of his tongue. She giggled as he found a spot that tickled. Absurdly, she found herself saying, "We can talk more this way, I guess."

"Mmm," King said against her throat as she brought her hands down his sides to the hem of his shirt. "You really want me to do that?"

"Talk more than your usual, you mean?" She moved her fingers up under his shirt, over the hard muscle, reveling in the sleek skin running over them and shuddering. She had to touch him more. Ever since seeing him in the shower yesterday after their workout, she was bound and determined that when this happened, she would run her mouth over those muscles, just to make sure they were real.

"Yeah," King murmured, blowing cool air over the wet trail he'd traced to the center of her throat.

"We don't talk, really." And this was true, even as she realized she didn't mind that fact much. King sat back to let her at his shirt, and, when it was up under his chin, his arms still caught in it, she rocked him backwards; he fell with a grunt, and she held him, arms tangled and face hidden. Walking herself down on his body, Abby bent down to his chest, stretching out over him like a cat, and flicked out her tongue. King froze, holding his breath as she, with more confidence, put her lips to the same spot.

"We really should," he faltered, "Should talk more, if this is what happens when we do."

"Mmm," she mouthed, sucking gently at the skin under her lips, feeling the slight resistance as it clung to the muscles just underneath. God, they were real, and she giggled again.

"What?"

"Nothing," she dismissed, sticking her tongue out again to taste him. She worked her way down the center of his chest, dipping between the definite lines of each and every muscle group, all of which he kept tensing whenever she stopped, anticipating more.

Though he didn't fight her to get the rest of the way out of his shirt, King eventually worked up to asking, "Can I get out of this yet?" Abby hummed against his belly, enjoying herself, denying his request by ignoring it. It would be a cold day in Hell before she confessed as much to him, but her fantasies involved sucking on every inch of his body, so, maybe it was a good thing they weren't kissing. So many better things to do with mouths.

"Whistler," he growled when her mouth reached his belly button. The tone was wrong, not aroused, but pained. He was aroused, that she could feel poking up against her, but she shook her lust clear and sat on his legs, allowing him to free himself from his shirt.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just I," King licked his lips anxiously. "I just didn't want..."

"King," she put a hand on his chest, right over where his heart was. "Talk."

"It's stupid," he shrugged, raising himself up to his elbows.

"Probably," she agreed. "Tell me anyway."

"While I appreciate the rest of that," he grinned at her, trailing off, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes. There was alarm there. Abby looked down at his stomach, biting her cheek to control herself, keep herself focused as she took him in. What? What was wrong?

Then it hit her. Her mouth hadn't been more than a few inches from the tattoo on his abdomen. She moved her hand over his pants to the spot where she knew it was. King swallowed heavily, giving himself away. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, she felt for the button and zipper there, tugging away the flaps of his pants and shrugging down the elastic of his boxers until the mark was exposed. She looked down at it, and it seemed to look back at her, daring her to cross that line.

"King," she said, voice heavy with intent. His gaze traveled up her body, eventually meeting her eyes again. "Watch me." Squirming, he did, and she felt his eyes on her as she lowered herself back to his body. Purposefully, she kissed the black marks as he shifted beneath her. She pulled back and spat on the mark, contemptuous of all it represented but not of him for having it. "There, all better."

It certainly seemed to be. In an instant, King was up again, long arms wrapped around her back, and he startled her by closing his mouth over hers. His tongue licked the roof of her mouth, around her sensitive gums, grappling with her tongue in her mouth with a fury that erased the hesitation and discomfort of only a moment earlier. They rolled back to the sheet, and she squeezed his hips with her thighs.

Gasping, she broke away, wanting nothing more than to laugh. "I thought we weren't kissing."

"I changed my mind. I do that," he chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief as he sealed her mouth with his again.