"Take your knickers off," Ichabod mutters into Abbie's ear. He kisses her cheek while in the area, then adds, "Now," before straightening up and returning to his meal.
They are at the annual Sleepy Hollow Policeman's Banquet, seated at a table with six other people.
He glances over at her and raises an eyebrow, silently asking her why she has not begun to comply with his request.
Abbie leans towards him and he ducks his head to meet her. "You're making assumptions," she says. She smirks at him and sits back.
"Miss Mills," he softly says, using that form of her name. The one reserved for special occasions.
Naked occasions.
Abbie chuckles, knowing he has misunderstood. She knows he has because she was intentionally vague.
She reaches under the table and taps his thigh. He puzzles at her. "Hand," she whispers. The other diners at the table are not paying them the least bit of attention, so he drops his right hand beneath the table.
She takes his hand and moves it to her leg, on her bare knee. She slides his hand upward, under her skirt, until he takes over, moving it higher and slightly inward. Before long, he feels warm, damp curls against his knuckles. He gently explores, his long fingers softly probing, while Abbie clutches her fork.
"I was making assumptions, indeed," Crane mutters, raising his eyebrow again as his finger finds her sweet spot and circles it a few times. "Naughty minx," he adds, his voice very low.
"This was a bad idea," Abbie whispers. "I should have just told you I wasn't wearing any."
"Oh, my dear, I disagree," he says, sliding his finger inside. He moves it in and out a few times, then withdraws it, leaving her feeling empty, her breathing shallow. He sucks the digit clean, then blithely returns to his meal.
xXx
Abbie spends the rest of the meal in a perplexed state of frustration, wondering exactly why Crane requested she remove her panties. Obviously, he had something more in mind than what he already did. And, that was my fault.
Dinner has ended and speeches have been made. Abbie and Crane sit at their table near the back, watching the other officers and spouses mingle and drink. Crane has retrieved beverages for them, but does not seem inclined to circulate amongst the others, so they sit together at their table. Alone.
"That dessert was quite good," he comments, sipping his rum. "I never had much of a sweet tooth in my day, but that perhaps could be attributed to the scarcity of sugar at the time."
"Could be," Abbie answers. She shifts in her seat, still wondering what's going on inside that great big freaky brain of his. She notices how his eyes have been scanning the vicinity as he speaks, so her anticipation begins to build. "Ichab... what are you...?" Abbie's train of thought derails as she sees Crane suddenly disappear beneath the table, completely shrouded by the long tablecloth.
She feels his hands on her knees, pulling her slightly forward and pushing them apart.
"You are not... oh, God, you are..." Abbie whispers through clenched teeth. "Bastard."
His breath puffs against her thigh as he chuckles devilishly, nudging his way forward, forward until he is close enough to reach her. His tongue snakes out, slipping along her folds, and she nearly leaps from her chair. His strong hands on her thighs hold her firmly in place, and she grips the table instead, trying to appear normal. Cool. Collected.
"Hey, Abbie, where's your British shadow?"
Oh, shit. "Luke," Abbie answers. She takes a drink of her wine to buy some time. "He... um, he's in the bathroom," she says. Crane slides a finger into her, adding another layer of sensation.
"What's his deal, anyway?" Luke asks, grabbing a chair – thankfully, not Crane's – and plunking down, uninvited, at the table. "I thought he was going to go back to England or whatever."
Abbie bites her lip as Crane suckles her below, flicking his tongue against her nub, then softly massaging it. "H-he likes it here," she says. "Says helping out here is more re... warding than teaching a bunch of mostly-disinterested young people." That sounds convincing. I think. I... oh, no, no, no...
Crane adds another finger, increasing the contact. He licks her slowly, lovingly, delaying her gratification.
He doesn't want me to come while talking to Luke, she realizes.
"Bullshit," Luke says. "He's still here for one reason and one reason alone, and we both know what that is." He smirks. "Or, who."
Crane moves his lips to trail along her thigh, kissing it softly, his beard brushing her skin. Abbie is grateful because it gives her a moment to think clearly.
"Crane's reasons for staying are none of your business, Morales," Abbie says. "Besides, it's not like we've been keeping our relationship a secret," she pauses as Crane bites her thigh, then slides his tongue across the spot, "so why are you acting like the neighborhood busybody?"
Luke holds his hands up in surrender. "Geez, sorry. Just giving you shit, Mills. You used to have a sense of humor," he says, pushing his chair out.
"Yeah, and you used to be funny," Abbie retorts, and she feels Crane chuckling against her thigh again. Then, he returns to his original task, his tongue pressing softly against her.
"Later, Ab," Luke says, standing. He looks around. "Hope your boy isn't sick. He's been gone a while," he comments.
"He's fine," Abbie says, her breath coming out a little breathier than she'd like.
Luke gives her a half-hearted wave and walks back to the bar.
Abbie clenches her thighs around Crane's head. "Get up here. Now," she says. "No one is looking."
Crane kisses her thigh and pokes his head out. "Clear?" he asks.
"Yes. Get your skinny ass up here," she says, irritated, aroused, and strangely amused all at once.
He emerges, sitting gracefully in his chair. He reaches for his rum and takes a long drink, then fixes her in his stare. "I'm 'fine'?" he asks archly.
"You know what I meant," Abbie huffs, and he chuckles, lifting her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist.
"Shall we retire?" he asks, rubbing his beard in what appears to be a thoughtful manner. Actually, he's wiping it dry, making sure there is no visible sign of what he had just been doing.
"Yes, please," she answers.
He stands and offers his hand. Abbie takes it and they head for the doors. Irving waves at them, and they return the gesture just before heading out of the room and into the corridor.
Instead of leading her towards the exit, Crane pulls her in the opposite direction, to a darker area of the building.
"Crane, what are you...?"
"No questions," he answers tersely. He peeks into the coatroom, but there aren't enough coats to provide cover. He grunts softly and continues on, trying the knob on the first closed door.
It opens, revealing a janitorial closet.
Oh, he is not...
He pulls her inside, closes the door, and presses her against the hard wood.
"Cr—"
He silences her feeble protest with a searing kiss. She can feel his hands working the buttons and fly of his trousers (he agreed to wear modern attire for this event) as his tongue does sinful, delicious things inside her mouth.
It's pitch black inside the closet, heightening their other senses. Especially touch.
"Ah," Crane declares, successful in his efforts. He hoists Abbie into his arms, bracing her shoulders against the door, and somehow manages to bury himself in her before she even has a chance to finish wrapping her legs around him.
"Oh..." Abbie gasps, hanging on to his shoulders as he pounds into her, his lips now trailing carelessly down her neck. She drops her head back against the door, relishing the feel of his lips and beard on her skin, his hands gripping her backside, his shaft thrusting deep within her. "Mmm... oh..."
He groans against the swell of her breasts when he feels her fingers dig into his shoulders. Her breathing speeds up and soft whimpers are dropping from her lips, so he increases his efforts, knowing it won't be long. Thankfully.
"Oh... y... Ichabod..." she breathes his name, shifting one hand to his head, holding it against her neck as she shatters around him.
"Ab... bie..." His answer comes a moment later, her broken name grunted through gritted teeth as he also endeavors to be quiet.
Having sex in a semi-public place is fun. Being discovered doing so is not.
"Damn," Abbie sighs as Crane slowly releases her. She slides down his body until her feet touch the floor. "Damn."
Crane chuckles, knowing her exclamation is not one of regret. He finds her face with his hands and drops his head to find her lips between his thumbs. "I enjoy this darkness," he mutters against her lips. "It requires one to..." he slides a hand down, exploring, "feel one's way around."
Abbie laughs, ineffectively swatting at his hand. "Well, feel your way to the doorknob and see if the coast is clear," she says, making no move to stop kissing.
"I think it would be prudent to first return my soldier to his battalion," he answers, kissing her one final time before fastening his pants.
Abbie laughs harder at this, but takes the opportunity to make sure her dress is covering her bottom half.
Crane opens the door a crack, peeking out. They hear the muffled sounds of the party drifting down the empty hallway, but nothing close. He leans out further.
"Clear," he says, quickly exiting, pulling her with him. They take a moment to check one another over in the light. Abbie fixes Crane's hair where she mussed it. Crane adjusts the strap of her dress.
He takes a moment to gaze down at her. "Have I told you how lovely you look this evening, Lieutenant?"
"Three times, and you know it," Abbie answers, smiling.
Crane offers his arm, and she takes it. They begin walking out. "Well, then, I do not believe I have adequately expressed how much I love you this evening," he says.
She looks up at him. "Only this evening?" she asks, smirking impishly.
"This evening, tomorrow evening... every evening, every day, every night, every moment," he corrects, completely nonplussed by her teasing.
Just outside the doors, Abbie stops on the steps, facing him. He obligingly moves one step lower. "I love you, too, Ichabod," she says, leaning over to kiss him. "And, I think we need to go home and have Round Two."
"Mmm," Crane agrees. He takes her hand and kisses it, heedless of the door opening behind them. "However, this time we shall have all the lights on. Every single one. Groping in the dark is quite enjoyable, but I wish to see you," he says, heading down the stairs.
At the top of the steps , an unnoticed Luke Morales stands, gaping.