Abbie tucked her lipstick back into her clutch and snapped it shut. Normally she would do things like this at home with Jenny making fun of her the entire time. However, right after her shift, she had to attend the yearly Christmas party for the precinct. So, she had gotten ready in the locker rooms.
This also had the added bonus that she didn't have to go to far to get Crane as he currently had permission to stay in the Archives since Corbin's cabin had been burned to the ground two weeks past when they struck a nerve with a local coven of witches. And tonight was not a night to ride on the motorcycle.
Not in this dress, Abbie mused to herself as she smoothed it down.
She had bought the cocktail dress with the express intention of wearing it to the Christmas party. It was a little black sheath dress with cap sleeves and covered in sparkling black sequins. Fringe-like feathers gave the skirt a little bit of flare that would add some fun while dancing if the mood so fit.
She pulled on some thin bracelets then topped it all off with a gold necklace baring a blood red stone that had a deep crack going down the middle. Crane had collected the stone during one of their outings. The deep crack in it was, sadly, from where she had to shoot him to break a spell that had been connected to it. Thankfully she was a damn good shot and had hit the stone, breaking it and the spell.
One of his friends happened to be the best jeweller in town, owed him a favour, and turned the stone into a pendant.
Dating Crane had been interesting so far. Between strolls through the woods, demon hunting, dancing lessons (his idea), finding revolutionary artefacts, cooking classes (her idea), more demon hunting, fighting psychotic witches (one of which was Katrina-and that alone had boggled and perplexed them considering she was dead and all), and roller blading (Abbie's idea) it was easily the best relationship she had ever been in. She had even joined him a couple of times on the re-enactments.
Although, most of their dates consisted of finding somewhere discrete that they could make out like a couple of teenagers at times. The fact they had twice been caught making out in the Archives by Reyes in the middle of the afternoon was irrelevant. Although the talk Reyes had given them afterwards made them feel like children getting caught doing something naughty by a disapproving mother.
The party in question was just down the street from the station. Abbie looked at her cell phone to check the time. Twenty minutes until the party officially kicked off. She reasoned she could go check on Crane, to make sure he wasn't being kidnapped by a vampire or something... again.
Any time she went into the Archives was a test of her willpower. More so since her and Crane had, as he so eloquently put it, became Sleepy Hollows own version of Brad and Angelina. It was even more of a test when it was just the two of them, late at night.
A major contributor to the Archives being a test in her willpower was that, since they were dating, Crane had taken to having very little personal space between them. His favourite thing to do was to step up behind her, place a hand on her hip, and lower his voice to that maddening, sexy tone as he said "Lieutenant."
It hadn't taken him very long to find what it was capable of doing to her and learned to exploit it as much as possible.
Another major contributor was the dream.
The dream had started when she was still in high school, just after she had sex for the first time. While all her friends had been fantasizing about figured in boy bands and other similar things, she assumed her were a mix of her favourite science fiction shows and romance novels. Her dream had created the perfect man in her head-a handsome, time-travelling British man who was intelligent and well-mannered, dressed in a wardrobe from a bygone era.
Or rather dreams. There was more than one that the man appeared in. Though she couldn't understand what he was saying, the tone of his voice had always been kind and reverent, hands were gentle and loving. For years her partner's face had been nothing more than a blur.
The dream would only ever come when she started dating a guy or if she met a guy she might want to date. Her dream lover would kiss her and she would be vaguely aware of the pressure of his lips on hers, but never saw them. She had gotten into the habit of, if she got a boyfriend and had the dream, if her beau didn't match up with her dream man, she would move on.
It wasn't until the first time she entered the Archives, shortly after joining the force, that she was taken aback and forced to wonder if there was some truth to her dream. Between the three large windows and through dust covered bookshelves, she recognized the setting of her dream. Although now she wondered if it was one of the aspects of her being a witness and having a prophesy all her own to keep and hold dear to herself.
And then she met Crane.
She remembered having the dream again shortly after meeting him even though, at the time, she hadn't felt attracted to him in that way. In a way, it had been the dream that instigated her initial attraction.
In the dream, she had been walking into the Archives. Her mystery man had been standing, haunched over a large opened tome, with his back to her with candles lit all around. He raised his head as she walked in then turned to face her. Instead of the distorted blur she had come to expect, she met soul piercing blue eyes and found herself looking at one Ichabod Crane.
The first time she had that dream after meeting him, the shock of seeing an actual face had snapped her awake, gasping for breath. After the initial dream of Crane, the more she fought what she felt for him, the more often she would have said dream. First it was every couple of weeks, then every week, two or three times a week, then it was every day. And God forbid she wake up in the middle of the night because more than once she had the dream twice in one evening.
Thankfully her imagination seemed to have toned things down since they started actually dating.
Abbie took one last look in the mirror then walked out of the locker room and headed for the Archives. One of the officers that was on duty let out a wolfish whistle. Abbie froze and glared at him. Although the department was relatively tight knit, she still wasn't particular to whistles and cat calls from her peers.
"We've been through this Jones," she scolded. "Stuff like that is why you're still single and no woman wants anything to do with you."
Jones held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry Mills, just isn't often we get to see you dressed like a woman. Crane's going to have his hands full tonight."
Abbie leaned closer to Jones, if looks could kill, he would be one of Moloch's undead minions, that had already been sent back to Hell. "I'm just saying... a little bit of respect goes a long way." She stood straight and tucked her clutch under her arm. "Besides, three inch heels or not, I can still kick your ass. So watch your mouth."
With that she continued on her way, leaving Jones to being laughed at by the other officer that was on duty. When she ducked into the Archives, she closed the door firmly behind her.
"We're going to be la-" She paused when she turned to face Crane. Warmth flooded her face and other parts of her that she really didn't want to do so, considering they had somewhere to be.
It was like she had walked into her dream.
He was standing at the table near the three round windows, hands on the table, studying an old, large book with yellowed pages. Crane's back straightened and he half turned to look at her. The expression on his face was one of confusion and having a moment of perfect clarity at the same time. It was more breathtaking than when she had seen it in her dream. The soft candle light around the room gave him an otherworldly glow when he was the perfect specimen of polished manliness.
His attire for the evening had somehow married together their time periods, making him look more like a roguish pirate than a fine, upstanding citizen of the revolution. He wore black jeans in lieu of his favoured trousers with trendy black boots. It was paired with a black shirt, dark purple and black paisley print waistcoat, and a matching cravat. It was topped off with a tailored coat that favoured the one he normally wore, only all black with no ornate buttons on it.
Crane had trimmed his beard and had opted to make his ponytail neat and orderly, as opposed to what Reyes referred to as "sex hair."
It was kind of amusing, to Abbie anyway, that everyone assumed her and Crane had been having sex since shortly after they met. Another little gem was that Jenny had made her privy to the latest betting pool once it became public knowledge that they hadn't. And Nick had earned a small amount of respect from Crane when his bet was that they would wait until marriage.
Crane held his head high and walked down the two steps to join her near the door. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed slightly, a coy smile on his lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes as he looked her over. "You are... absolutely captivating this evening, Abigail." He stepped close to her when he came out of his bow and rested a hand on either of her hips.
Abbie placed her hands on top of his, only vaguely aware of her clutch hitting the floor. She mirrored his shameless smirk. "You're not too bad yourself," she murmured, stepping forward to completely close the space between them. "I'm almost tempted to say let's just forget about the party and... have a party of our own."
Together they both looked towards the thin mattress they had dragged into the Archives when he moved in.
Abbie was bemused by the fact both of their minds immediately shifted to the same place. The mattress was empty, save for the bundle of sheets and pillows. Crane had not felt comfortable taking up residence on her sofa, after the fire, despite knowing there would be no social repercussions for their sharing a living space while unmarried. And once again, Crane's re-enactment community had come to his rescue when one of them mentioned needing to find a new home for a barely used bunk mattress.
Right now, she was pretty sure they were both grateful for the connections they had forged since his arrival in town. Although she did wonder exactly how many people in town owed Crane a favour and for what purpose. It seemed like almost everyone owed him something.
She could plainly see it in his eyes that he wanted her. The trick of the matter would be if they would continue on with their plans for the night and revisit the idea when they returned to the Archives after the party, not act on said desires, or just throw everything to the wind and stay in.
Crane's hand trailed up her arm to pinch the edge of her sleeve between his long fingers, stroking the sequins. "Should we attend the festivities we have already committed ourselves to... I fear I will be unable to keep my hands off of you this evening."
Abbie licked her lips, Crane watched the movement like a hawk. "And... what would happen if we ditched the party?"
Crane pressed his lips to her temple.
"Oh, Miss Mills," he said, his voice a gentle rumble, close to her ear. His hands slid around her waist, one coming to rest at the small of her back and the other on her backside. By applying only a little pressure she could feel exactly what he had in mind, if they ditched the party, against her stomach. "I would be sorely tempted to... rid you of this bewitching frock and... spend the hours between now and morning learning the best ways in which to make you utter my name in as many decibels as possible."
Abbie puffed out a breath as her face warmed again and she felt just a little light headed.
"That is, of course," Crane continued. "If you are most amenable to the suggestion."
"I just remembered... Reyes said attendance for the Christmas party was not as mandatory as I thought," Abbie said hurriedly. She tilted her head back and Crane instantly found her mouth with his.
He cupped her face in his hands and broke away just enough to reply, "That is a most fortunate development."
They staggered back until Abbie felt the wooden storage cabinet connect against the back of her legs. She carefully slid to perching on the edge of it, not wanting to lose the sweet feel of his kiss as a warmth started to form in the pit of her belly. Crane's hands slid up her legs and under her dress, stopping at the junction between her hips and thighs.
"You cannot fathom the amount of times, in the past weeks, that I have allowed most lustful thoughts of you plague me," Crane admitted. He peppered kisses along her jaw then down her neck. "It is... wholly... uncommon of me to... consider the idea of... having my way with you... against the bookshelf."
His hands crept up higher, taking her skirt with him. Abbie's head lulled back as his mouth worked magic on a spot just below her ear. Normally his proclivity for talking at great lengths could wear on anyone's nerves. Abbie had always enjoyed hearing him going on and on about how superior his time period was or how history was wrong-being eager to learn was the curse of finding intelligence sexy.
Even though he wasn't going on about history or some other subject, Abbie wanted him to keep talking. She tugged his coat down his arms, forcing his hands from under her skirt so it could drop to the floor. Next she attacked the cravat, while he resumed his explorations underneath her dress.
"Keep talking, Captain," Abbie murmured.
Crane lifted his head to look down at her. "You wish to hear more of my mental deviancies?"
"I said to keep talking didn't I?"
"Indeed you did, Lieutenant," Crane said, his voice dripping with desire. "I assure you, despite my rather reserved demeanour, I once travelled to India with my father. Whilst there the locals shared with me, some of their sacred tales which involved rather exotic means of achieving pleasure with one's partner and-" His voice broke off and he looked confused. "Abigail, are... are you not wearing undergarments?"
The tone in his voice was one of mock admonishment. Abbie just gave a coy smile and pulled his mouth back to hers. She went to work on getting him out of his waistcoat. Abbie was officially starting to get impatient. Crane was wearing entirely too many layers of clothes. If she had to guess, he would probably be wearing an under shirt as well. And she wasn't sure if she had enough patience to get all of that off before they got to the main event.
"You have... way too many clothes on," Abbie ground out as Crane's fingers shifted to between her legs. Her head fell back as a loud moan escaped her mouth. She gripped the edge of the cabinet to keep from falling off as Crane's hand continued to work magic under her skirt. He seemed intuitive about just how to touch her to make her not know whether she should spread her legs further apart or snap them together to give her a moment to take a breath.
"Ichabod..." she yelped. She grasped his wrist tightly, digging her fingernails into his skin, but still not able to discern whether to push him away or telling him to keep going because she was still teetering that precious line.
The hand not occupied with the task between her legs slipped behind her back to keep her in place while his mouth returned to her throat. "Leaving you unsatisfied will simply not do," he whispered in her ear.
His thumb delicately brushed the bundle of hypersensitive nerves. Abbie choked on her own breath as the pleasure hit with full force and she managed to push his hand away. She panted heavily as she watched Crane pull the tails of his shirt from his jeans then pull it, along with his under shirt, over his head and cast them aside.
"Is this preferable, my love?" Crane asked.
Still unable to speak, Abbie nodded. She grabbed the waistline of his jeans and pulled him close once again. With tentative fingers she traced the line of the scar on his chest. She knew, without any doubts that she wanted to learn every inch of his body, become intimate with each scar. There were a few of her own scars that she would be willing to let him learn too.
Abbie let her eyes follow the path her fingers took to return to his jeans. She glanced back up at him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she plucked the button free. Crane drew in a sharp breath, watching what her hands were doing. He cliched his fists and then flicked his fingers, a common thing he did when unsure of what to do or say or was simply curious about what was happening around him.
That was when Abbie realized he was giving her time to do what she wanted to him. Of course, at that moment all she really wanted to do was get his pants down and find out first hand what all he had learned from his friends in India.
She was about to unzip the jeans when she decided to stop and brush her hair out of her face, tucking rogue strands behind her ear. Abbie leaned back, putting her hands flat on the cabinet, behind her. She tilted her head and smiled. Crane muttered with frustration.
Abbie hooked a foot behind one of his knees, making him stagger towards her. "I feel like there's some more dirty fantasies tangled up in your head," she teased.
Crane leaned in, a devilish gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps it would be more enjoyable if I simply show you, Miss Abigail?"
"Indeed it would," Abbie said, batting her eyelashes.
She had watched as he lowered the zip of his jeans, heard the gentle rustle of the fabrics as he pushed them down to free himself from their confines. But she was wholly unprepared for the magnificent way he filled her when they came together. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and lured her into another of his sweet kisses.
Abbie clung to him as he moved against her, mostly because their currently position left it to where all she could really do was moan his name and scratch her nails down his back. "I have long dreamt of your bronzed skin against mine in this most intimate way," he murmured against her mouth, as he drew down the zip on the back of her dress.
He guided her dress down her arms. Abbie pulled her hands out of the sleeves and immediately returned them to his shoulders, not wanting to waste a second by not touching him. The gentle friction between there bodies was making a delightful pressure build in the pit of her belly, like an elastic band getting carefully stretched and twisted to the breaking point.
Suddenly, Crane cupped her bottom in his hands and hoisted her off of the cabinet. Abbie laughed but wrapped around him tightly. "What are you doing?" she asked against his neck.
"My love," he replied. "I simply must be at the leisure to fully touch you."
He swept her away to the mattress. As soon as they had sank down into rumpled sheets, Crane wasted no time sitting back on his knees and trailing his diligent fingers over her chest, arms and stomach, before finally making it to her breasts. He then followed the same path, as far as he could, with his mouth.
It felt like forever had passed before they both found release. But it was forever in a good way, like lounging on a Hawaiian beach while on vacation and sipping a daiquiri; the kind of forever you wished wasn't over yet.
Once they were able to recapture their breaths, Abbie wiggled her dress over her hips and down her legs and tossed it out of reach. They then spent a good fifteen minutes of playful wrestling to get his boots and jeans completely removed, which had somehow resulted in another vigorous round of love making.
##
At some point they managed to fall asleep, Abbie wrapped up in Ichabod's arms. It wasn't until her phone started ringing that she had to crawl across the Archives to relocate her clutch from the night before. When she crawled back to the mattress she was greeted by Ichabod's sleepy smile, his hair thoroughly tousled and hanging in his face. Abbie returned the smile, stopping at the edge of the mattress, remembering all the transgressions that took place in order to get him into such a state.
"I just awoke to a most delectable sight," he murmured.
"Did you?" Abbie asked.
"Indeed I have," he replied, his voice deep and raspy with a mix of sleep and sexual intent. "I watched a lovely, heart-shaped bottom retreating around the cabinetry. I was very much disappointed it had gone away. But then a beautiful, exotic pixie returned and appeared to be stalking me as though she were a wicked seductress seeking me as her prey."
Abbie tossed her phone down onto the floor, next to the mattress and proceeded to pounce her fellow witness, who just happened to also be her lover. Within minutes, she had him pinned down on the bedding, groaning her name as she rode to him completion as the morning sunlight started filtering in through the windows.
Afterwards, Ichabod spooned up to her back, letting her head rest on one of his arms while his other hand found a home in the curve of her waist. He placed light kisses on the back of her neck, sending delightful chills down her spine. "I wish we could just stay in this moment forever," Abbie said with a soft sigh.
"I can truly say there is no better moment in which to stay than basking in the afterglow of coupling," Ichabod replied. The hand at her waist captured her fingers and he placed kisses on the pad of each digit. "Although, this would presently be a good time to assure you that my intentions towards you are in no way dishonourable. I vow to you, Grace Abigail Mills, to be eternally faithful to you in mind, body, and soul."
A lump formed in Abbie's throat. She looked over her shoulder at Ichabod the best she could. "Ichabod Crane," she said, surprise in her voice. "Are you proposing?"
"In my day, you would simply vocalize reciprocation of the vow and we would, indeed, be wed," Ichabod said. "If the laws have changed in that aspect, then yes... I suppose it could be considered a proposal for marriage."
"The State of New York put a stop to common law marriage in 1938," Abbie said with a wicked grin. "But, I will accept your proposal until we have a chance to make it legal." She drew in a deep breath before adding on, "I vow to you, Ichabod Crane, to be eternally faithful to you in mind, body, and soul."
Ichabod cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers, sealing the agreement. They would have sealed it more thoroughly had Captain Reyes not barged in unannounced, coffee in hand, wearing the darkest sunglasses she owned. "Mills, Crane... we- Whoa... sorry about that." She turned her back while the two scrambled cover themselves. Being their clothes were half way across the room, they made due with the bed sheet.
"We're... as decent as we can get, sir," Abbie said dryly.
Reyes turned back around to address them. "We missed you two at the party last night," she said flatly. "But obviously you two had your reasons. Mills, I need you to cover the morning shift in place of Evans. She had one too many chocolate Martinis with me last night and has a bad hangover. There's a few things I need delivered this morning and I need you to see about getting some statements from a few people. Take him along," she nodded towards Ichabod. "He might be useful. You have twenty minutes to get ready to go." She stalked back to the door, stopping at it to turn back and readdress them, "Oh, and lunch is on me today."
Ichabod and Abbie shared a look. "Why?" Abbie said unsure of where the conversation was going.
"You two just helped me earn $300. The least I can do is buy you lunch," she opened the door. "And no sex in the patrol car."
With that, Reyes exited the Archives.
After a moment of dumbfounded silence, Abbie said, "Well, I have a change of clothes in my locker down stairs for emergencies. We should get cleaned up and on the road."
Ichabod brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I look forward to it," he said, arching an eyebrow as he smirked. "Lieutenant."
Abbie pushed him over. "Stop saying it like that!"
It ended up being almost an hour and a half before they managed to make their way out of the police department.