Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow belongs to Washington Irving and FOX

AN: And here's where the M rating comes in...

Abbie's POV

"Abbie, you need to wake up."

Like hell, she does. Not when she's cocooned by and cradling something warm and comfortable and perfect. Nope, she's not waking up for anything less than the end of the world.

The thought filters through the heavy fog that surrounds her. Shit, that's a real possibility, isn't it? So Abbie begins to claw her way out of her half-asleep state, the one where she doesn't know which way is up and she feels like she's floating on a cloud.

"Abbie, wake up, please." The voice is Ichabod's and he sounds particularly worried and strained even to Abbie's ears.

"'M awake," she murmurs. She still feels heavy with sleep, but the world solidifies around her. Her cheek is pressed up against a cloth covered shoulder and the cocooned/cradled feeling is actually someone's arms wrapped around her while she's draped over them. The heat of another person's body seeps into the skin of her inner thighs just above the knee and her hands hang over a pair of shoulders, shoulder bones digging into her forearms. And then Abbie feels the ropes around her wrists and ankles and her heart leaps into her throat.

Her eyes snap open. She looks down. Abbie recognizes her own black, scoop neck mini dress and Ichabod's black slacks and pin-striped button down shirt. Memory hits her like a ton of bricks. Black market black arts dealer. Moloch supporter. Undercover sting operation. Abbie groans and she presses her forehead against Ichabod's shoulder. "Fuck." She can't bear to lift her head to look at him, not when she's draped over him the way she is.

"Abbie?"

"What happened?" Abbie asks, still head down. She needs a few more moments to screw up her courage before she looks at him.

"It turns out we are not as good at espionage as we believed," Ichabod says. His breath tickles her ear and it makes Abbie shiver.

"Were we knocked out?" Abbie lifts her head from Ichabod's shoulder and looks him in the eye. She can't have her body betray her like it did when he speaks again.

Ichabod gives her a deprecating smile. "Drugged, I think."

Except being this close to his face isn't helping her sanity. "Are we tied to a chair?"

At this, Ichabod blushes a little. "Yes. Our legs appear to be restrained to the supports, with the ends of the rope knotted somewhere beneath the seat. I attempted to reach it, but I could not reach around you to get at it as my hands are tied behind your back."

Abbie gives an experimental tug against the ropes around her ankles. Her legs are tied to the chair's back legs. Next, Abbie checks her wrists. Desperation drives out awkwardness and she shifts forward to look over Ichabod's shoulder at the bindings.

There are no visible knots around her wrists and the rope is twisted in a creative series of loops around her wrists, with about a foot of slack between them, and the ends of the rope tied down somewhere near her feet. Abbie scoots forward as far as she can go and strains her neck to see if she can spot where her hands are tied down.

She smiles in victory when she sees the knot. "I can see where my hands are tied," she says. "I think I might be able to reach it." Abbie reaches down, her knees gripping Ichabod's hips to keep her balance, and her fingers stretch out as far as she can make them. She's inches away.

"Abbie, I really wish you would not-"

"I almost have it," Abbie says. "Just a little bit further." She shifts again, trying to leverage herself so that she has the maximum reach possible.

"Abbie, please."

Abbie stretches as far as she can, but the knot is still just out of reach. Still, she tries.

"Abbie, for the love of God, stop!"

Abbie rears back, ready to ask Ichabod what the hell his problem is, when she feels it. And, oh god, does she feel it. He's turned on, like really turned on. The hard length of him strains against the fabric of his slacks and presses against her inner thigh. The hair on the back of Abbie's neck stands on end; a frission of desire skitters down her spine to settle low and warm in her belly.

And then Abbie looks Ichabod in the eye and she forgets the rest of the world entirely. Ichabod's looking at her like a man at the edge of restraint. His nostrils flare and Abbie can see the muscle of his cheek jumping beneath the wiry hair of his beard. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils dilated, the blue of the irises a thin sliver framed between black and white.

Abbie's heart begins beating double time. She feels warm, too warm, her skin flushed and lips dry. Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips and Abbie takes in a sharp breath when Ichabod's gaze drops to her mouth. He slowly raises his eyes to meet hers again and Abbie doesn't care about anything else besides the man beneath her – not the predicament they're in, not what their original mission was, nothing.

Holding on to Ichabod's shoulders as leverage, Abbie shifts her hips and grinds against him. She moans as the motion presses the length of his erection into the flimsy silk of her panties, the fabric rubbing across her clit and, oh god, that feels so good. She's already so fucking wet and she's never been more turned on.

Abbie repeats the motion, curling her hips against Ichabod, and this time, he pushes back, his hips rising to meet hers as best they can, and Abbie can't stop the "oh god" that spills from her lips.

And then Ichabod's kissing her, his mouth angling hard against hers. Abbie gasps and opens her mouth to him, her hands cupping the back of his head. Ichabod's hands, meanwhile, go to her hips and he helps her push harder against him. He moans this time, too, a sound that may have been her name against her lips, but Abbie's too lost in the haze of burning lust to know for sure.

His mouth leaves hers and he begins trailing kisses over her jaw and down her neck. Abbie lifts her head to give him easy access. The contrast between the prickle of his beard and the softness of his lips on her neck sends chills down Abbie's spine.

Ichabod abandons his grip on her hips and Abbie gasps when she feels him hiking up further the mini skirt of her dress. The tips of his fingers brush against the bare skin of her ass and Abbie's so glad she went with a thong. Abbie nudges up Ichabod's face so she can kiss him again as his hands fully cup her ass, his thumbs teasing the thin elastic around her hips.

She wishes she could touch him more than she's able to. She wants to reach between them and undo his slacks and take him in her hand, run the skin of her palm and fingers up and down his cock. She wants to pull her panties to the side and take him deep inside of her and ride him until neither of them can remember their names.

It's like Ichabod's reading her mind because he lifts her hips up and tugs her thong to the side. There's enough slack in the rope that binds his hands for him to reach down and part her folds with his fingers. Abbie cries out at the first touch of his fingers on her clit and she pushes hard against his hand, needing more, so much more. "Please," she begs, speaking the words against his lips. "I need you inside of me." Abbie opens her eyes and nods at the questioning look on Ichabod's face.

Ichabod's hands abandon her flesh and he slouches in the chair. Abbie keeps her eyes on his face while she hears him fumble with his belt buckle and zipper before he lifts his hips enough to drag his pants and underwear down just far enough to free himself from the fabric. Ichabod sits all the way back up and they both moan when his bare cock brushes against the skin of her thigh. Abbie bites her lip before she kisses Ichabod again. Together, they align Abbie's hips and the tip of him pushes inside of her.

Abbie watches the look of sheer pleasure steal over Ichabod's face as she sinks down onto him, not stopping until he's completely buried inside of her. And she's far from immune, herself. Her breath comes in sharp pants, her breasts heaving against Ichabod's chest. He feels so good inside of her, all hard and hot and heavy and she wants to move, but she's not sure if Ichabod's ready yet.

And then he thrusts up into her, eliciting a squeaking gasp from Abbie, and she knows he's ready. Abbie moves against him, her hips curling with each rise and fall. She starts off slow, but urgency soon drives the pace. They're both moaning, Ichabod holding onto her hips hard enough that Abbie knows there'll be bruises, but she doesn't care. All she knows is the swooning heat that floods her when she pushes back down onto him. His cock is curved just so and it hits that spot inside of her each time he bottoms out inside of her.

She can feel the orgasm building inside of her, coiling tighter and tighter with each roll of her hips. Every nerve ending begins to tingle with her impending release and she grips the back of Ichabod's neck as she moves even faster. Abbie's desperate now, so close to coming that she wants to cry from the need.

Ichabod begins moaning her name and then he's thrusting up even harder into her as he comes and it's enough to push her over the edge. Abbie chokes on a gasp as she comes, listening to the sound of Ichabod calling her name like a mantra, getting louder each time.

"Abbie, wake up!"

Abbie's eyes snap open and she's greeted by the sight of the archives room's ceiling. She can see Ichabod just out of the edge of her vision, crouched beside her where she lays across two chairs of the wood and leather bench seat against the back wall. Blood rushes to Abbie's face and she hurries to sit up. But she sits up too fast and the combination of sleep still gripping her and the rush from her dream make her dizzy, causing her to sway.

"Are you all right?" Ichabod asks, reaching out for her.

Abbie reacts before she can think. "Don't touch me!" she says, swatting his arm away. She plants her feet on the ground and curls in on herself, face pressed into her knees and arms folded beneath her torso. She doesn't have to look at Ichabod to know he's giving her the wounded puppy look, but she can't bear to look at him yet.

The dream, so crisp and clear and fucking erotic, is still too fresh in her mind and Abbie's not sure if she can look at Ichabod without jumping him. And it doesn't help that she's really embarrassed. She's not ashamed of the dream – she's had enough of them just like that and had fantasies that put those dreams to shame – but she wasn't prepared to be woken up out of one mid-orgasm by the man who's been starring in them.

So, Abbie takes in a deep breath and wishes she didn't feel so empty. The lingering rush of her orgasm is still fading from her body and she feels fulfilled and empty at the same time, clenching around nothing.

After a few moments, Ichabod tries speaking again. "Abbie, is everything all right?" His tone is cautious and Abbie feels kinda bad for him. He didn't do anything wrong, but he's being punished anyway.

Abbie lifts her head from her knees and sits up, but she still can't look him in the eye. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…a really powerful dream." It's the truth, or as much as she's willing to admit, and she doesn't want to lie and say it was a nightmare when it was anything but. She notices, then, that she and Ichabod are wearing the same clothes from her dream. "What happened? How'd we get here?"

"We were compromised at that underground club. You were drugged, but I managed to get us out of there. Miss Jenny drove us here not 3 hours ago. Whatever it was you were given must have affected the potency of your dream."

Abbie nods, but has nothing to say. She starts to stand. "I'm going to go splash some water on my face." And find a change of clothes, she thinks but doesn't say. She's a little wobbly and Ichabod grabs her upper arm to steady her. His touch burns into her bare skin and her arousal begins to build back up. Abbie shakes off Ichabod's hand. "I'm fine."

She walks away, heels clacking on the ground, but she can't resist one look back at Ichabod. Desire thrums through her still and, even though he's looking back at her, she knows she can't keep it from her face. Face going hot again, Abbie turns and begins walking faster. She's not looking forward to giving Ichabod a ride home, that's for sure. She just wishes she'll be able to get him there without jumping him.

Ichabod's POV

Ichabod watches Abbie walk away, leaving him standing there awash with confused hope. When he woke her from her dream, he assumed it was a nightmare of some kind. And the way she reacted when tried to provide comfort only supported his assumption.

But as she glances back at him as she walks away, Ichabod knows he'd been wrong. Even a blind man could see the naked desire that flits across Abbie's face. It sends a rush through him like nothing has in quite some time. And, when Abbie is quick to turn back around, Ichabod knows she's aware of the looks she just gave him.

He watches her until she disappears from view and he knows, sure as day, that the desire that spread across Abbie's face was for him.

And so Ichabod stands in the middle of the archives room, alone, and he smiles.