Some smutty content in this chapter but nothing full on (depending on what you call full on, I suppose) and certainly not nearly as explicit as I would normally be in a smut scene. But this is not a smut fic. Just a fic with some steaminess and some glossing over and maybe a little more than that later on, but not yet.

Also, hi to everyone reading these fics in chronological storyline order and not the order I wrote them who don't know what events are happening/about to happen/being referenced because you haven't read ACOP yet. I'm genuinely loving the reviews from a perspective of people who didn't delve into ACOP first!

The good news: the case they had been called on was just a few hundred miles from where the chemistry conference was going to be.

The bad news: they already had had a delayed start due to what Cabe called "bumbling bureaucracy" under his breath, and if they weren't able to get everything wrapped up by the following day, she and Sylvester might miss the event.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said, busily towel drying his hair. "We did get a lot done today, and they even sprung for these nice rooms for us for tonight."

"Only because Happy and Toby had to stay back with Tad and so there was extra room in their housing budget, and only because our go – to person is mad at his boss and decided to use the entirety of the budget anyway, and…"

Sylvester flicked the towel at her. "We don't have to question everything."

"Yes we do. It's our nature." She had showered first and was already under the covers, her hair nearly dry. With the way his was sticking up every which way, it almost appeared as if he had more hair than her. She found that funny for reasons she really couldn't determine.

He crawled into bed next to her. "Well, let's at least be glad that the case is so close to your convention. If we were so far behind at a job in L.A., we would never make it there in time."

"Silver linings."

"No, no. Gold. Gold linings. This particular lining is very good."

She giggled. "Kiss me, Sly."

Sylvester grinned as he leaned over, and when his lips touched hers she could feel the smile on them. Lifting a hand, Florence placed it against his cheek, pressing her fingertips against his skin as she scooted closer. Sylvester rolled fully onto his side, resting a hand respectfully on her hip. His kiss sent a warm rush through her body, and she made a humming sound against his lips.

His hand moved slowly up and down, from between her shoulders to the small of her back and then over to rest on the outside of her hip again, then back to the small of her back, up to her shoulders, and back down, tracing the same path as before. After a half dozen or so passes, he didn't move his hand to the side, instead continuing lower and then pulling her closer.

Florence felt like she just might spontaneously combust.

Their lips separated briefly, both of them needing air, and having regained a level of lucidity and discovering the boldness that came with it, Florence dropped her head, pressing her lips to Sylvester's neck and feeling it when he took a sharp intake of breath. She focused on the same spot, her hand rubbing his chest over his under shirt, listening to his breathing for instruction. His free hand – the one that wasn't holding her against him by way of her backside, was wrapped around her, and as he adjusted his thumb came close to one of her breasts. Florence shuddered, a pleasant ache twisting in her gut. "Sylvester." She kissed his neck again. "Please touch me."

He seemed to understand what she meant, removing the lower of his hands and sliding it up between them. No one had ever touched her breasts in circumstances like this before, just in a medical sense, so she had no way of determining what, if any, experience he had by what he was doing. But God, this felt good. If he was as unexperienced with this as her, he either had a knack for it or she was just so far gone it didn't matter what he did, as long as he was touching her.

Or she was just so far gone. The thought had passed so easily through her head, but what did she mean by it? Was it about the way her body was crying for contact with his, or about the way she was beginning to feel about him? Her subconscious clearly knew way more than she did; it was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't figure out just what.

Almost before she knew it, Sylvester had pushed her over to her back and moved closer to her again, leaning down to kiss her while his hand continued to work what she could only describe as absolute magic. She pushed her chest up against it, wanting more but not wanting to verbalize that, realizing that the moan that rushed from the back of her throat the next time their lips separated for air that sometimes thoughts could be quite clear even without words.

Sylvester's lips didn't immediately return to hers, and she realized just how hard both of them were breathing. His hand, still splayed over her breast, was still as he looked down at her. His pupils were dilated and she was sure that hers were the same way. She wanted to pull him back down, to keep kissing him, to hear more of those quiet groans he had clearly been trying to suppress, but she was out of breath and they hadn't talked about any of this and –

She cracked a grin, gesturing to his hand. "Second base. That's farther than I made it at the baseball game."

It took Sylvester a second, and then he gave a little snort, removing his hand and tugging her closer to him in a familiar and cuddly way. "You're adorable."

She kissed him, their lips meeting in a way that was much more chaste than only a minute before. "That was fun," she said, then immediately blushed. "Is that weird to say?"

"I don't think so," he replied. "It was fun. Kissing is nice. Kissing and all this other stuff is even more nice. Nicer? Actually, I don't care which it is. My point is, yes, that was fun."

"We should do it again sometime," she said, hoping her voice came out as obnoxiously casual as she wanted it to.

Sylvester rolled his eyes, a grin on his face. "Stop."

"Don't stop."

Walter had no intention of stopping, not with Paige's skin so flushed, her breathing so heavy, and her moans betraying how close she was oh so delightfully obviously. Some days he would tease her, come up for air and make some smartass comment like I think that's all for now just to get her writhing in frustration, but today was not one of those days. They'd been bantering, she'd gotten the upper hand, and she'd said that she "would never forget the day I beat Walter O'Brien in a battle of wits." He'd said he could make her forget. She'd dared him to try. And he'd spent far too long on his knees between the couch and coffee table, building her up to the point that she was already shaking, to not sweep her over the edge and make her unable to remember her own name, much less her clever comebacks. When he got to his feet and then dropped down next to her on the couch, he thought he'd been successful, because she was still trembling so visibly someone unfamiliar to her might think something was wrong. He rubbed the leg closest to him soothingly, guiding her through the aftershocks. "So," he said, kissing her shoulder – or rather the soft material of the shirt covering her shoulder – "do you remember what we were fighting about?"

"We weren't fighting."

"Fair enough. Poor choice of words. Do you remember what we were engaging in lively debate about?"

"Yep."

"What?"

Paige was quiet. "Uh…"

"Ha." He snapped his fingers at her. "I knew it."

"Details, details," Paige said. "It was philosophy related and I was kicking your ass."

"Still. You forgot for a moment there. So I win."

"I was still smarter than you today."

"Um, excuse you…" Walter wracked his brain for a good comeback.

She grinned. "I wouldn't be opposed to you making me forget again."

He raised his eyebrows. "And what's in that for me, exactly?"

She shrugged. "After we can switch positions and I'll make you forget about all your terrible arguments."

Walter slid back off the couch. "It sounds like a deal to me."