Under the Mistletoe

...

Friday 21st December

It's getting somewhere close to stupidly late when Boyd finally makes his way back into their underground lair after spending the day cooped up in a conference room with Kat, Spence and a host of other officers attending a training seminar of questionable use but professional requirement. His team has scattered into the night, nothing useful has been accomplished today and his back is twinging very unpleasantly from the extended sitting, listening and note-taking. Accordingly, he's not in the best of moods.

As he heads for Grace's office, he wonders how easy it might be to convince her to work her magic on his tired, aching muscles. To his disappointment though, she's not there. The entire squad room is dark and very quiet, as though no one has been working in it for some time. Changing direction, he heads for the lab, betting the odds are likely he'll find her there – he knows her car is still outside, so she hasn't left yet. And he's well aware that when the rest of the gang are out, Grace and Eve naturally gravitate towards one another; he's caught them with their heads together and silly grins on their faces often enough to know that they get up to plenty of mischief behind his back, and he's absolutely, categorically sure that he does not want to know whatever it is that they gossip about.

Pausing in the doorway of the lab, three things catch his attention. The first is that Grace seems to be alone, working quietly at a table with books and files spread around her, and that she hasn't noticed him arrive. The second thing is the soft music playing in the background and the way she is humming along, swaying very slightly in her chair as she reads – he seems to have caught her in a very quiet, unguarded moment and her relaxed obliviousness makes him smile in simple affection, makes some of the day's tension instantly drain out of him. The third thing is composed entirely of potential naughtiness, and is thus naturally begging to be taken advantage of. Immediately.

Leaning easily against the open door, he says casually, "Why are you still here?"

Grace glances up at him and smiles softly. "Too much to do and no one to go home to," she shrugs, leaning back in her chair and stretching slightly.

"Where's Eve?" he wants to know, watching as she caps her pen and puts it down, closing the file in front of her.

"Gone looking for something in the archives," Grace yawns, getting slowly to her feet. "How was the seminar?"

His brows draw together, a trace of irritation returning to his expression and she shakes her head, understanding. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse," he tells her gloomily, holding a hand out to her. "Come here for a second?" he asks, a hopeful expression on his face.

She is immediately quizzical, wary. "Why?"

He just smiles at her, head resting on the doorframe as his eyes glint with a hint of something she knows very well, something that looks a lot like trouble and the sort of intended bad behaviour she is sadly very fond of but knows far better than to trust. But it's late, and while he's undoubtedly not had the best kind of day, they are not alone in the building and therefore she has no reason to suspect he might have anything inappropriate in mind.

She's a couple of feet away from him when he reaches out a hand to her again, and with an inquisitive frown she takes it in hers, wondering what he's up to. Eve could come back at any moment, and while Grace suspects that their resident pathologist has her suspicions about the nature of the relationship between the two of them, so far she has no empirical proof to back up her hypothesis. And Grace has no intention of giving her any.

He's smiling at her. It's not good for her equilibrium. At all. Or her ability to maintain rational thought. Really, she thinks, as she draws closer to him, that smile of his is something else. It's charming, it's enticing and it's dangerously good at convincing her to follow his lead. His fingers are wonderfully warm and secure, wrapped tightly as they are around her own. She allows a tiny sigh to escape, and wonders if he's willing to leave now or if he wants to stay behind, working away into the small hours to catch up on whatever it is the seminar has caused him to miss. Her thoughts are interrupted though, when he gently tugs until she's close enough that he can slip his arms around her and pull her flush against him.

"Boyd," she protests softly. "Eve –"

"Is in the archives, like you said – she'll be gone for ages," he interrupts easily, thoroughly unworried. And then he's kissing her, and just like that she's not worried anymore either.

His lips are warm, soft and very intent as they thoroughly explore hers. She feels the fingers of his hand comb through her hair and brush gently over her cheek, before sliding slowly across her shoulder and down. She shivers, his touch sending a light tremor along the length of her spine as she gives in to temptation and wraps her arms around him.

His fingers are deftly unbuttoning the stark white lab coat, allowing his hands to reach beneath and settle on her waist. It's only momentary though, because then they are curving warmly around her body, up and across her back, pulling her closer, tighter. And Grace can't help pressing herself against him, wanting to feel his body along the length of hers.

He's nuzzling her neck now, and Grace is fighting to keep a clear head, to voice the only pressing thought in her mind. She manages, but only just. "We should go," she murmurs to him, her voice soft, slightly hoarse.

"We should," he agrees, tone equivalently low and deep, but he makes no move toward doing so. He's distracted by the way she's kissing him again, by the very familiar taste of her lips on his and the delightful intensity of the way she's exploring, the way she's slowly but incredibly adeptly setting all of his senses of fire.

He feels her pull back and growls slightly in irritation, but she just smiles, her eyes full of wicked promise, and then she takes his hand again, small, slender fingers tugging insistently as she nods toward the door. "Let's go home, Peter."

…

Hidden in the shadows, silent and unnoticed until now, Eve smirks gleefully to herself as her long-standing suspicions are finally, unconditionally confirmed. She watches the happy couple depart with a very knowing glint in her eye as she glances, amused, at the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above the spot where they were standing just moments before.