They decide to walk to the hotel to stretch their legs after sitting for so long. Crane especially needed to move his, as the legroom in the seats was not exactly sufficient for his long limbs.

Abbie slipped her hand into his, loving how her small one was nearly engulfed by his. Large and warm, it was a familiar and comforting feeling, but still felt new and exciting.

They passed a Walgreens on the way and decided to stop in and buy a few essentials: toothbrushes, toothpaste, a silk scarf for Abbie, and condoms.

They walk into the hotel with their meager luggage and check in with a minimum of fuss. Abbie notices Crane looking around and assessing their surroundings, and she knows he is trying to figure out how much she spent on their room.

Being that he still doesn't fully have a grasp on modern prices, she's not too worried about it.

"Come on," she says, grabbing his free hand and pulling him towards the elevator.

Their room is on the 21st floor, and she immediately goes to the window and pulls the curtains open. She is looking out at the view when she feels him come up behind her.

"Beautiful view," she says.

"You wish to stand here and gaze at the city all night?" he asks, bending down to murmur it against the top of her head as he wraps his arm around her middle.

She leans back against him. "God, no," she answers, chuckling. She is about to turn around, but he stops her.

"Close the curtains, Miss Mills," he softly orders.

Slightly amused, she reaches for them, and as she does so, feels the zipper at her back being opened. The soft pressure of his lips kissing his way down her spine as he lowers the zipper sends a delicious shiver through her.

"Are you cold?" he asks, replacing his lips with his hands. He slides them up her back and eases her dress from her shoulders.

"No," she answers, turning around as she pulls her arms from the sleeves. The garment hangs around her hips while she reaches up and begins to undo the tie around his neck. It's knotted in some sort of old-fashioned manner, but she figures it out pretty quickly and has it off and draped over the back of a chair in no time.

He shrugs out of his suit jacket as she begins unbuttoning his shirt. She leans forward and presses kisses to his chest as the shirt opens, mimicking what he did to her back.

He inhales sharply when she briefly deviates to bestow a few gentle kisses to the large scar over his pectoral muscle, and she can just sense his fingers twitching as he struggles to maintain his composure.

"Abbie," he croaks, his hands briefly settling on her shoulders before sliding down her arms and back up again.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks, suddenly alarmed, kicking herself for not thinking about the fact that his scar might be a painful area for him.

"Heavens, no," he answers, his fingertips coming up to chase the tension out of her face. He bends down to kiss her and says, "Just the opposite, in fact. I hadn't realized how remarkably sensitive it is."

"Oh," she dumbly replies. He takes her hand and places it over the scar. She can feel his heart pounding under her fingers, strong and slightly faster than normal.

"For you," he whispers, seemingly reading her thoughts. "Since I have been in this time, it has beat for you."

Abbie blinks, processing his words. What about Katrina? is the obvious question pounding its way through. "But…" The protest escapes her lips before she can stop it.

Crane smiles and shakes his head just slightly. "I did not fully realize – or was not able to admit it to myself – until some months after Katrina's betrayal and subsequent death. And I never would have…"

"I know," she says, closing her eyes and nodding. She knows he would never have cheated on his wife. And she would have rejected him anyway, for just that reason, regardless of how she truly felt. "I know," she repeats.

"Of course you do," he replies. He tugs the opened shirt off, almost like he has just remembered what they were doing amid their conversation, and guides her hands to his belt. "And it is one of the many reasons why I love you."

"You'll have to tell me the others sometime," she says with a smile, unbuckling his belt.

His hands fall to her waist, thumbs briefly, lightly stroking her skin there before pushing her dress over her hips until it falls to the floor.

Crane had already removed his shoes, so he kneels down and lifts one of Abbie's small feet in his large hands. He removes one shoe, then the other, carefully setting them aside before sitting back on his heels to gaze up at her.

"Beautiful. You are truly beautiful, Miss Mills," he says, his expression almost worshipful as he looks at her. His fingers dally at the edges of her thigh-high stockings, dancing over the edges of them before slowly, painstakingly drawing them down her legs, one at a time. Once they are set aside, he leans forward and kisses her stomach before standing again.

"You look pretty good there, too, Crane," she says, running her hands up and down his chest. They settle at his waist and she opens his trousers. She makes a quiet sound of surprise when they fall, but recovers quickly and arches an eyebrow at him.

His own brow quirks up in response. "I have yet to find an acceptable style of undergarment, so I have been simply going without," he says. He doesn't seem embarrassed or ashamed in the least.

Her eyes boldly travel downward, taking all of him in. All of him. "Damn, man, I'm not surprised," she says. The myth about tall, lanky men with large hands and feet definitely holds true for Ichabod Crane. She reaches out and drags a single finger down his length and he shudders.

"Abbie," he grunts, catching her hand in his. He lifts and kisses it, then releases it to pull her closer, determined to regain his composure and take control of the evening. He slides his hands around her back, his fingers questing for the clasp of her bra.

"You might need some—oh, I guess not," she says, impressed that he was able to unclasp it so easily.

"I assure you, the garments of my time were much more complicated than this," he says, his fingers trailing down her arms as he guides her bra off. He tosses it aside. "Magnificent," he reverently whispers, dropping to his knees before her. "Simply magnificent."

He leans forward and kisses her stomach, then reaches for her panties. Her fingers slide into his hair, threading through the long, silken strands, as he makes a career out of removing the last piece of clothing she had on.

"Bed," she says. It comes out as a breathy gasp because he is already busying himself, holding her foot as he kisses his way up her leg.

He has her scooped into his arms and onto the bed before she fully realizes what has happened. She squeaks in surprise, then flops back onto the pillows when he picks up where he left off, his lips soft and wet, his beard prickly-soft against her skin.

"Get up here," she says, reaching down to tug his hair.

"All in good time, Lieutenant," he answers, briefly contemplating the carefully-groomed patch of hair at the apex of her thighs before lightly touching, then kissing it once. He moves to her belly button next, dipping his tongue in, then dragging it up her stomach until he reaches her breasts.

"You are trying to kill me," she groans when he bestows teasing kisses and licks on her breasts, lavishing attention everywhere except her nipples.

He chuckles lasciviously, and she whimpers, realizing he has only just begun to torture her. Then he finally gives in and sucks a hard nipple into his mouth. She gasps and curls her fingers into his hair.

With her other hand, she gropes for the box of condoms, but is unable to locate them. "Crane," she gasps. "Ichabod," she repeats, louder.

He lifts his head. "Hmm?"

"Where are the condoms?"

"Oh yes." He darts away and returns a second later with the box, which he lightly, almost carelessly, tosses onto the bed beside her.

She picks it up and begins opening it, but the swirling of his skilled tongue around her nipple distracts her, so she fumbles with it a bit. She eventually gets one packet out and separated from the others, but before she can open it, Crane's fingers find their way between her thighs.

"Oh shit," she gasps.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, kissing his way back up to her lips.

She slides her free hand down and wraps her fingers around his cock, gasping again when she discovers they don't reach all the way around. When she strokes him, his fingers stumble and his body jerks in response.

"Abbie… your touch is everything I crave," he whispers between kisses. "You have no idea how I have fantasized about how it would feel to touch you… kiss you… have you touch me… make love to you…"

"Crane," she says, nudging him with her chin so he lifts his head. "Shut up and show me."

"With pleasure," he rumbles, his voice nearly a growl. He plucks the condom from her fingers, sits back on his heels, and rolls it over his length.

Abbie watches him, biting her lower lip as she imagines how it's going to feel to have that sheathed within her. She wants it, but she's just a little intimidated as well, since it has been a while and he's pretty big.

As he begins descending over her, she reaches up and puts her hand on his chest. He gives her a questioning look, but when she flips them a second later, his expression turns devilish.

"Attempting to regain the upper hand?" he asks.

"Bold of you to assume I ever lost it," she says, straddling him. She runs one hand up her stomach and over her breasts, drawing his gaze, distracting him just long enough. When she takes him in her other hand and begins lowering herself down, he swears.

"Fuck…"

"Dirty boy," she says, attempting to sound calm or even stern. Instead it comes out as a breathy sigh, as his girth and length are stretching her in ways she hasn't been stretched in too long. Possibly ever.

"You have no idea," he grunts his reply, his long fingers digging into her hips as he adjusts to the feeling of finally being here with her, inside her.

"Mmm, that sounds promising," she responds. She begins moving over him, sliding up and down on his thick shaft. She finds his hands and guides them to her breasts.

He lightly squeezes, then flicks his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them into hard pebbles. His lips are parted and his eyes are full of desire as he gazes up at her.

Abbie drops forward, catching those parted lips with her own. Crane groans and hungrily kisses her back, his hands moving from her breasts to her ass, caressing and squeezing the firm, round globes he has so long admired.

"Oh shit," she gasps. She can feel the sensations building, starting where they are joined and spreading. Every place he touches feels deliciously oversensitive and she wants more. "Oh fuck…"

"Come for me," he murmurs, his voice little more than a soft rumble against her lips. Then he thrusts his hips up, hard, to meet her as she sinks down, and she cries out. He does it again, and again, until she is gasping.

Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as she falls apart over him, crying out as she orgasms harder than she ever has.

He gives her a moment's respite, then flips them over, still managing to stay joined. Close to the edge himself, he drives into her, his hips making a slapping sound as they snap against the backs of her thighs.

A few seconds later he surges into her, stilling as he comes. "Oh, Abbie, my own," he sighs as he slumps over her, careful not to crush her.

She wraps her arms around his torso and squeezes him, holding him tightly, pressing him against her. She wishes she had the words to express the somewhat unexpected torrent of feelings she is experiencing, but all she can manage is, "Yeah. Always."

"This is the best Christmas gift I could have ever hoped to receive," he says once she loosens her grasp on him. He kisses her once more and then gently rolls away to clean himself up a bit.

Abbie briefly leaves the bed to deal with her hair, and when she returns, Crane tucks her in beside him, pillowing her head on his shoulder and tucking the blankets around her.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks after a few minutes.

"Of course. You may ask me anything at any time," he answers, idly dragging his fingers up and down her side.

"You really seemed to know what to do with that condom…"

"That is not a question."

"Crane."

He chuckles, then gives her a small squeeze. "First of all, such things did exist in my time," he informs. "They weren't as… sophisticated as your modern ones, but they were effective. Mostly."

"Mostly?" she asks. "Don't tell me you got yourself into some trouble back in the day."

"I most certainly did not," he answers. "But I know of several people who were not quite so fortunate."

"Mmmkay," she replies, deciding to file that away under Later. "You said 'first of all.' Did you have a second point?"

"Of course. Secondly, it is not exactly a difficult concept," he smugly says.

"Not like ancient Persian then," she teases, looking up at him.

"I will master it," he insists, and she feels him stiffen as he bristles with irritation. "Dr. Farzan assured me—"

"Crane," Abbie interjects, moving up to kiss his lips. "I'm just giving you shit. Settle down."

"Settle down?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow at her while his hands begin moving into more interesting locations. "Are you certain that is what you want, Lieutenant?"

"God, it's hot when you call me 'Lieutenant' in bed," she gasps. Then she yelps when she suddenly finds herself on her back, pinned beneath him.

"Is it now?" he asks, looking positively sinister as he grins down at her. He lowers his head and kisses her deeply and with such ardor that it makes her head spin.

"Mmm, I'm so glad you were my Secretive Santa," she says, smiling and gazing up at him with hooded eyes.

He softly nuzzles her nose and says, "Secret Santa," before claiming her lips with his once more.