A/N: Hello! Here's a little oneshot based off Eric Church's "Like a Wrecking Ball." I heard it this morning for the first time in a hot minute and decided that a little Henry and Elizabeth action would be good.

Enjoy!

Elizabeth

"We used to have sex more often."

"We had sex this weekend." Henry answered, looking up from his notepad.

She crawled onto the bed and sat on her knees, "But we used to have weeknight sex."

"Stop overthinking things."

When George interrupted that conversation by coming to their door that night, she hadn't thought much more about it. But now it's Saturday again and a whole two and a half weeks have passed, which means three entire weeks have passed since they last had sex, and she's gripping the steering wheel and staring at this redlight willing it to change to green.

"Stop overthinking things." She'd like to stop overthinking things, but maybe she needs to be overthinking these things. Is this job worth it, this job she's only had mere months which seems to be getting her into something way too deep? Is this job worth uprooting her family and potentially causing tension between she and Henry? The worry in George's voice plays again, and her heart aches a little as she misses her friend so recently ripped away from her.

The redlight becomes a bit blurry right before it switches to green, and she blinks the tears out of her eyes while reaching for the volume dial on the radio.

Fred argued with her this morning before she took the keys to her own car, telling her they really, strongly suggest that she not drive herself. She asked, "Are you telling me no?"

"No ma'am, I can't tell you that you aren't allowed to—"

"Good."

With a little smile and a curt nod, she quickly told him she would be extra careful and that she just needed to clear her mind. This is the last traffic light before she gets to the country roads, and it's just what her heart and head needs: some fresh country air.

When she rolls the windows down, she shakes her head around a bit for the wispy hairs to blow out of her eyes, and she reaches for the volume again to turn it up just a little too loud—reminiscent of her teenage days. The tears have all been pushed away for now, and her mind wanders back to Henry again so soon. Their marriage. Their kids. This job. George. A vicious cycle.

But she swallows thick and scans through the radio stations, her favorite one only playing commercials right now. She finally gets to a station playing music, and a smooth electric guitar is playing what sounds like a slow blues riff. She looks down and sees the station, recognizing the numbers as one of the local country stations. Piquing her interest, she keeps it there and turns it up.

She's never been much of a country gal, but something about this sultry sound is making her stay.

Without realizing it, her fingers are relaxing on the steering wheel just slightly. Her shoulders have come down an inch or so from her ears, and her back teeth are not clenched together any longer.

There's something about these few bars of guitar, bass, and drums that makes her feel like she's back in college, and she's suddenly aware of her heart in her chest because it feels like it's getting heavier, like it's trying to escape her chest and leave her.

The singer starts with his lyrics, and after the first verse, Elizabeth's left hand has dropped from the steering wheel. Her elbow is resting on the driver's side door while her head is fitted in her palm, and her ponytail is being tugged out the window with the wind.

I'm gonna find out what that house is made of

It's been too many nights since its felt us make love

Her eyes dart down to the radio as if there's something there to look at, but she just sees the station and the time: 11:40. She straightens her upper back, letting her hand that was holding her head fall to her thigh and rest there, keeping the other hand on the steering wheel as she brings her eyes back to the road.

As the road is curving and she keeps it between the lines, the singer keeps going.

I wanna rock some sheetrock, knock some pictures off the wall

Her tongue is poked into the inside of her cheek as she listens intently, her heart still feeling a bit heavy in her chest while there's an added burning in the pit of her stomach. "Indigestion?" She thinks briefly before the singer continues.

Love you baby, like a wrecking ball

Her breath hitches and she clears her throat, inaudible over the loud, smoldering song and the whipping of the wind. "No," she thinks to herself, recognizing that feeling in her stomach, "Something entirely different."

Her ears are totally focused on the song as he continues singing, but she tries to relax her body again. It's not rigid like it was sitting at that redlight when she was telling herself how much she wishes she could stop overthinking. It's not stressed, but it is tense. Even with the windows down, blowing fresh air all around her, there's a tightness in the car that she has now put her finger on.

The music picks up a bit as the singer goes into the chorus again.

That old house is gonna be shakin'

Her mind flashes back in time, bringing her back to their first days at the farmhouse. Henry's parents had taken the girls for a few days so they could get settled in. And, well, she's not sure that "settling" in would be the right term for that. When she thinks of those two days without the girls, a grin comes across her face, and she bites her bottom lip to keep herself from looking like a smiling buffoon.

She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself and not let herself be so affected by this song and that memory, but he keeps on singing.

I hope those bricks and boards can take it

But I won't be surprised if the whole damn place just falls

Her hand grips the steering wheel as her tongue plays around with her back teeth, her breathing becoming a bit shallow as she feels her heart race.

"Henry…" Elizabeth mumbled as they stumbled into the old farmhouse, Henry pushing her backwards through the door. He already had her pinned against a wall in the entry way, her hands up above her head as he was kissing down her neck.

He gave her a mischievous grin, "Hopefully these walls are sturdy."

Her other hand is rubbing her thigh subconsciously, sliding inward toward the crevice her two legs made in the seat. The friction of her fingers against her jeans tickles her legs and makes her shiver, and goosebumps rise all over her arms. If she could see her legs underneath this material, she'd see goosebumps there, too, but she can feel them mingling with the denim.

The burning sensation has spread all over her body from the origin in her stomach as she thinks about that first time in the farmhouse, she and Henry breaking it in so well over the course of two days.

I'm gonna rock you baby, like a wrecking ball

The music goes back into the slow, sultry beat again and she lets her head fall back against the headrest. Her eyes glance down away from the road for just a moment and she sees that at some point, her legs have spread apart, and she laughs pitifully to herself. "Three weeks without sex and you're a horny teenager again." She mumbles, rolling her eyes.

She continues to try to steady her breathing as the man continues the song, but the beat picks up again and she feels woozy. All she can see in front of her is she and Henry in that old house of theirs. Henry hovering over her. Henry underneath her. Henry in front of her while her back is against a chilled wall. Henry's hands reaching around to the front of her while they share the shower, saving hot water like good conservationists should.

Before she realizes it, she's jerking the car back on the road, and finally she just gives in and pulls over. She's out in the middle of absolutely nowhere and hasn't seen a car since she left the city.

She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing.

Crash out through the front door, back you up against the wall

Love you baby, take it right there baby

Rock you baby, like a wrecking ball

Her eyes are still closed, but her breathing…there's no hope for her breathing as her fingers drift down, thinking of Henry's hands touching her in these places that make her shudder and crumble into him. Her left foot comes up and rests on the cup holder in the door, her knee bending up beside the steering wheel as she lets out a quiet whimper and desperately wishes he were here.

She reaches for her phone over to the right on the passenger seat, opening her messages to send a text to Henry. She types out, "When will you be home?" and presses send, but the message doesn't go through—she has no service.

She tosses her phone over and thinks about what he's doing in the archives today, but her mind quickly goes away from that topic to another, wondering if they could somehow steal away to a quiet place tonight.

Without much thought, her fingers are working at the button on her jeans before she slides her hand in, finding that spot so quickly that she'd been nursing through the layers of material. She lets her head fall to the side as she moans, rubbing slow circles only a few times before she feels like she's going to burst.

The last riff of the song is playing as she's coming to, and she starts digging through her console to find some hand sanitizer or something as the radio host comes on, "That was Eric Church with 'Like a Wrecking Ball,'" he says, and Elizabeth makes a mental note to play that again and again whenever and wherever she can.

Henry

He throws his briefcase into he passenger seat from across the driver's side, climbing into his Grand Cherokee soon after. Putting the keys into the ignition, he looks at the time when it pops up on his radio, seeing that it was already 1:05. He leans over and digs around in his briefcase, realizing that he hadn't checked his phone in a few hours since he was so focused on the archives this morning.

He sees a text mixed in with email notifications from students and the department. It's from Elizabeth, and it reads, "When will you be home?"

He types out an answer to it, saying he'll be home in a few because he's leaving now, and he throws it back on top of his briefcase and puts the car in drive.

A few minutes later, he's almost home, and the radio starts playing a bluesy sound. He looks down at the screen to see if it shows the information, and "Eric Church – Like a Wrecking Ball" is scrolling across while this riff rings out in his ears.

As the song plays, he smirks to himself, thinking about that one time that he and Elizabeth broke in the farmhouse. That was a time they were truly like wrecking balls—and he's only glad now of two things:

1. That the house was sturdier than it sometimes looked.

2. That the girls were away for those two days with his parents.

He's tapping along to the beat of the song on the steering wheel when the lyrics perk his ears up again.

It's been too many nights since its felt us make love

I wanna rock some sheetrock, knock some pictures off the wall

He swallows hard and turns his turn signal on to head down the road where their new house is, the place that still hasn't quite felt like home yet. In their past homes, they'd made it feel like home pretty soon, but what always sealed the deal is whenever they brought a new baby home. That's when it truly felt like home. But he snorts to himself now, thinking how those days are long behind them.

But then his mind darts back again to those lyrics, thinking about the pictures on the wall of their Georgetown home. When Elizabeth was hanging them a few months ago, they'd joked with each other and teased that they need to be sure to put plastic in instead of glass so that they won't break if they fall. It's the same wall their headboard shares, and Henry had brought up the time in college when their apartment neighbor knocked on the wall when their headboard had been hitting it too hard.

He smiles to himself and takes a deep breath when he sees their house, and then he's suddenly very aware that these thoughts had brought up a certain feeling in him. He looks down briefly at his lap to get visual confirmation, as if he needed it since his pants felt so tight, and he pulls into their driveway and shuts the car off.

He looks up at the door and bites his lip, thinking how nice it would be to do what this Eric guy was singing about—crash through the front door and back her up against the wall. Much like that first time in the farmhouse, but with the security guards standing at each entrance, it would make things a bit difficult.

And then, of course, they have teenagers now. That never helps things, either.

He sighs and reaches for his briefcase, heading up to the door. The briefcase is strategically placed in front of his hips while he glances over and notices Elizabeth's car is here, so she must be back from her drive, and he nods at the guards and greets them before going inside.

The briefcase is laid down at the table, knowing he doesn't have to use it to hide since the kids are all at friends' houses this weekend. Stevie is still away at college, and he's pretty sure she doesn't plan on making an appearance any time soon. "Honey?" He calls out, looking around and stepping past the office.

She's usually in there when she's home, working her life away. But he saw no cute blonde sitting in any of the chairs, so he continues past and goes into the living room. "Babe?" He calls again, a little more concern in his tone.

He's about to make his way into the kitchen when he hears the stairs creak in the living room, so he backs up a few steps and cranes his neck to see her. When his eyes find her, they widen while his brows shoot up.

"What—" He stutters, unable to say anything else as he grabs the chair beside him to steady himself.

He takes a step to the side to get a better look at her as she continues her way down the stairs, stopping at the middle and holding the banister, "Come upstairs with me, Henry," she coos, her voice every bit as sultry as that song he were just listening to.

"Did you read my mind?" He asks, making his way drunkenly to her, stumbling a bit over the first step since he couldn't take his eyes off her body long enough to look down at where he was going.

She smirks and turns to the side, bringing her shoulder up in a kind of shy way and looking down at him over her bare skin, "Why do you say that?"

He laughs and reaches her on the staircase, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her naked body to him, pressing her breasts against his chest as he leans down and kisses her lips. After a few moments too long, he pulls away and bites his lip, "You'll never believe this," he says with a little chuckle, "But…"

He takes her hand and guides it down to his hips, letting her feel for herself. Her eyes widen momentarily, "I know archives get you excited, but I didn't realize they got you that excited, McCord." She teases in a husky tone.

"Ha ha." He teases back, raising one brow before kissing down her neck in a carnal kind of way, squishing their bodies together as close as he can, "I listened to this song on the way home—Wrecking Ball or something like that." He explains, and he's shocked when she pushes him away by his chest.

She has a wild expression on her face, "You're joking." She says.

"No," he answers, his voice dripping with confusion suddenly.

She laughs and bites her lip, "I had to pull over listening to that song. It made me think about the time when we—"

"Broke the farmhouse in?"

She smirks at him when he interrupts her, and she raises to her tippy toes and grabs him behind his neck, smashing her lips into his. "Let's break this house in, Henry, like we're two young parents with nowhere to be." She whispers.

He leans down and kisses her once more, scooping her up in a quick motion and walking with her up the stairs, "We'll keep going until we knock those pictures off the wall." He murmurs.

The clock reads 4:32 now, and the sun is shining through their bedroom window in all its golden hour glory. They're tangled up somewhere under the sheets, their bodies sticky and tired, but glowy and pleased. A soft, quiet sound of their kisses protrudes the air in the bedroom, the tension no longer so thick and tight after spending most of the day in bed. On Elizabeth's side, the alarm clock is on the floor, the power cord ripped from the wall. Next to her nightstand lies a picture, the frame broken in two and scattered around. To the side of his nightstand, another picture frame rests in the chair that's scooted against the wall, having fallen off some time in the last few hours.

Their phones are downstairs. They have missed calls. She has missed calls from the White House. She has missed calls from her security detail. From Russell. From Jay.

Oblivious to all of it, they rest in each other's arms, nothing able to fit between their bodies as their feet are entangled in some sort of mess underneath the sheets. His hands are in her hair, and her hands are on his stomach, and they're together. And somewhere in their minds, they believe they might have just broken the house in—maybe this is finally home.