"We don't have to go," Tim insists.
"It'll be fun," Lucy counters. "It's an ugly sweater party."
Tim groans, the vision of the tacky, itchy sweaters almost too much for him. "All the more reason not to go," he says and she rolls her eyes.
"Come on!" Lucy says. "It's cool that they invited you."
"They had to invite me," Tim retorts. "It wouldn't look right if the first Christmas the metro-liaison gets left out of the invite. It's just a formality, really, no one cares."
"They do care," Lucy insists with a little shove to his shoulder. "They like you. That's why they go for drinks with you." She can see she's not convincing him, so she decides to change tactics, leaning forward to play with the collar of his shirt and grinning at him, just teasingly shy of his lips. "Please? I want to go."
"Ugh," Tim gives in with a grumble. "You've got to stop doing that."
"Doing what?" Lucy laughs as she leans in for the kiss, soft and gentle. "Being me?"
"Exactly," Tim mutters.
"You have an ugly sweater?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow because she already knows the answer to this with every fiber of her being.
"No. And I'm not -" Lucy's already grinning at him. "No. Lucy, I'm not wearing one."
"Mmhmm," she says as she tugs the collar of his shirt. "We'll talk in the morning. I think I can convince you tonight."
He watches her, mesmerized, as her fingers trail down his arms, drumming lightly across them and causing goosebumps.
And that's how, on Saturday night, Tim finds himself in an ugly Christmas sweater at the doorstep of Mad Dog's house.
Lucy, of course, had done the shopping. He'd honestly expected something way more off the wall and ridiculous than what she'd come up with – maybe she'd actually taken a little bit of pity on him. It's a stitched design, several red and green patterns, has a few pine trees on the center with the classic Christmas scene of a pick-up truck with a tree in the back in the middle. He can live with it. At least it's not the one with Santa riding a unicorn that she had pulled up to show him as she threatened to exchange his for it when he gave one last attempt at resistance.
He's more interested in her sweater. It's designed to look like one big present, complete with an actual, large bow in the middle. The way it makes her look like a present he wants to unwrap and explore…
How it pulls just right over her form.
He can't think about that right now.
"They're not going to take me serious in this sweater," Tim grouses, instead, as Lucy rings the doorbell.
"Oh, hush. Everyone's going to be wearing a sweater."
"I swear to you, Lucy, they're not."
"It's an ugly sweater party!"
"I know, but… I know these guys."
"I like your sweater," she states as she looks up at him and smiles, biting her lip for full effect. "It's hot."
"Hot?" he looks at her as if she's crazy because yes, her sweater is tantalizing, but his he would definitely not classify as hot but then the door opens and their conversation is interrupted.
Lucy may have underestimated the hotness factor when talking to Tim earlier.
Actually, the sweater is driving her wild.
She can see that Tim is having a good time at the party, actually – just like she knew he would. He's laughing with some of the guys, a beer in his hand, waving it around as he gestures about his story.
But why… does he have to have the sleeves of his sweater pushed up his forearms like that?
He may have been right, though, about the amount of people wearing ugly sweaters. While not everyone is wearing one, a good handful of the Metro team is, and it pleases her to see him looking like a good sport.
It also pleases her to watch him in the sweater.
God, he looks good.
And the way he holds his beer bottle with his fingers wrapped around –
"Hi, Lucy."
She startles, pulled from her Tim fantasies and turns to the voice. It's different for her, hanging out socially with the Metro team and their families. She and Tim hang out all the time with their Mid-Wilshire clique, a couple within their group of colleagues – a group she had been a part of before she was even with Tim, a group she'd still belong to even if they weren't together. Here, at this event, her presence is simply because she's Tim's girlfriend. She hasn't really experienced this with him, attending his social events.
She likes it.
She smiles at the woman – Mad Dog's wife, Sarah. "Hey, thanks for having us."
"Oh, of course. Peter was glad to hear Tim was going to be coming today. He really respects him."
Peter, Lucy thinks to herself. Quite a departure from Mad Dog.
Lucy nods, her own suspicion confirmed that his team actually likes him and actually cares about him.
"Yeah, Tim talks a lot about him. Ever since the unicorn sticker incident."
Sarah laughs. "God, he pulls that on everyone."
"Hey."
She grins when she hears Tim's voice, feels his hand slide around her waist. It's the hand with the beer bottle and she startles a little when the cool edge of it grazes her skin in the spot where her sweater meets her hip, and she's pretty sure he did it on purpose.
"I was just telling Lucy how Metro's glad to have you on the team," she says with a smile. "What made you make the leap, anyway?"
"Just a change in priorities," Tim says casually, as if it's the easiest, simplest thing and to him it probably is. But Lucy thrills a little bit, a reminder of how he'd so easily given up his love of patrol for his love of… her.
It's funny because it sounds so backwards – most people would probably step down from the long hours of Metro, the intense calls, to do something more simple, like patrol work, if they needed to change priorities.
But Sarah nods, gives him a smile. "Excuse me," she says, stepping around them as she looks at something over their heads. "The dog's about to get into the cooler."
Lucy turns and smiles at Tim. "Having fun?" He gets that look on his face, the one she knows well – the one that says she's right and was right all along, but he's loath to admit it. "Don't lie to me."
Instead, he decides to change the topic. "Why'd you have to wear these jeans?" he wants to know, this time letting his fingers sneak into the space beneath her sweater and tickle her skin.
"What's wrong with these jeans?" she asks with a grin, because she knows he loves these jeans.
Maybe that's why she'd worn them.
They fit her like a glove, there's a hole in the knee with little strings covering the bare skin, and the ends are frayed just enough to expose a hint of skin at her ankles.
"Nothing," he says. "Absolutely nothing. That's the problem."
"Stop," she says with a little laugh.
"Come with me." She can see the look in his eyes, knows where his brain is. Since she met him, she's been met with a lot of looks she's come to understand – the one she knows means is time for her to stop talking and quit while she's ahead, the one that says she's driving him crazy but he secretly enjoys it, the one of fond amusement, the one of concern and worry, the stubborn look of refusal to admit she's right.
In the past year, though, she's gotten well acquainted with this look and it may just be her favorite Tim expression of all.
"Tim," she says with a tone that she means to be a warning but turns out to be a laugh.
He puts the beer bottle down on the counter and pulls her around the corner to the quite alcove between the kitchen and the garage, backing her up to the wall and kissing her.
"You better hope Santa's not watching," Lucy teases, keeping her eyes watching over his shoulder in case someone comes.
He moves away then, grabbing the belt loop on her jeans and tugging her away from the wall. "Come here."
She feels like she should protest, but his eyes are, well… his eyes. And she can see the muscles of his back move under the sweater, his forearms still on display. There's nothing wrong with his jeans, either. And she can't really resist him when he wants her like this and can't resist her, because sometimes she still can't believe that all those years that she had to fight off these desires, and now he wants her in the same way. Probably did then, too.
He pulls her to the bathroom at the back, one nobody's really using because it's in a less centralized, convenient location and glances over his shoulder as he slams the door and locks it behind them, then he has her up against it in a split second.
"We shouldn't do this here," Lucy says breathlessly, even though she really wants to.
"But, I want to," he tells her as he kisses beneath her ear, stopping to gently bite at the spot he knows can probably convince her of anything.
"You want to?" she gasps sarcastically. "I want to," she admits. "I've been watching you all evening."
"I know," he says smugly, moving his trail of kisses towards her mouth. Cupping her chin with his hand he deepens the kiss, sucking her lip into his mouth and tugging on it gently causing her to let out a low moan. "I've been watching you, too. This sweater," he grumbles as he reaches for the bow. "It's like a package I want to open."
She giggles as she takes the opportunity to slip her hand under his own sweater, rake her fingernails lightly against his back. "As if you don't already know what's in it."
"I know what's in it and I want it," he informs her, his voice dropping several octaves and she feels the heat coursing through her and then he's coming at her for a kiss again.
"Well," she mutters with a chuckle as he pulls away momentarily to tug at the waistband of her jeans in question. "Skip Santa. We're both on the naughty list, anyway."
"On the naughty list?" he asks, momentarily stopping his motions and looking offended like a child and she can't help but bite her lip to keep from laughing at his expression. "For what?!"
"Oh, please. I've seen a side of you this year, Tim Bradford, that I never would have imagined."
He gives her an evil, wolfish smirk as he looms closer. "Like what?"
"Like what we're doing right now!" she exclaims, and he lets out a laugh into her collarbone. "It has to be fast," she hisses and he grins as his hands immediately move to pop open the button on her jeans. "And I don't ever want to hear you complain about your ugly sweater ever again because if that thing hadn't gotten me so worked up…"
He pulls back to gape at her smugly. "My sweater?" he asks, surprised, despite the fact he's just admitted to being enamored with hers. "Really?"
"It's sexy," she reiterates her earlier point with a laugh. "You're hot."
"Yours is," he says. "You are," he adds as his hands slide up from what they were doing at her jeans to under the hem of her sweater, ghosting the skin, and she pushes them away.
"We don't have time for that."
"But-" he whines. "I wanted to…"
"… see what's in it. I know. You will. Later," she promises him with a grin. They're working with an awkward space, but that's never stopped them before – they've gotten plenty of experience in laundry rooms and showers and other various places. The whole thing would've been made easier If she'd worn that skirt she'd been contemplating, but Tim makes the fact they're crowded in a tight space and he has to manipulate her out of her jeans seem easy.
"Jesus," he says with a hiss when he reaches down to find her soaking and she chuckles.
"I told you I've been watching you," she hums and he groans into her shoulder. She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to unbutton his own jeans, push them down just far enough and reach her hand inside to free him.
The feeling of her hand on him seems to bring him back to reality and he maneuvers her effortlessly until he's got her at the sink and he prays it's sturdy enough as he hoists her up on top of it, then steps between her legs.
"Oh, god," she mutters her legs come up to bracket his hips, feeling the heat of him against her suddenly and she feels like if she doesn't have him now she might lose her mind.
"You have to be quiet, baby," he whispers into her ear and she nods her understanding, bites her lip to fight the sounds that threaten to escape as he aligns himself and gently pushes his way in.
"You okay?" he asks gently, checking on her, knowing this is rushed and the angle is awkward and she feels her heart burst with love for this man.
"Yes," she tells him with a nod. "Yes. Just…" she shifts a little bit and he adjusts the position of her hips and she feels him sink into her deeper, stretching her and hitting her in just the right spot.
He pulls almost all the way out before pushing in again, one hand on her hip and the other hand disappearing between her legs to bring her expertly bring her closer to the edge, knowing they have to be quick.
"Fuck," she whispers, making sure to keep her voice low and he lets out a discernable sound that she somehow understands is his agreement.
She knows she has to be quiet, so she focuses on the feel of him inside her, of his hand between her legs, of the cool contrast of the bathroom counter. When she feels her release building, she leans forward and buries her face into his shoulder, into the damn sweater, biting her lip and muffling her groan as he pulls out and pushes his way back into her several more times before she feels herself topple right over the edge.
He's not far behind her, she feels him fight his own battle of silence as he finds his own release and she strokes at his back, forehead to forehead, as they both come down from their high.
She realizes they can't stay here long but she mutters a protest as he pulls away from her and starts to adjust his clothing. He reaches behind him to the sink to grab for her discarded clothing, handing it to her.
Gathering herself together, she extends her arm to take her pants, when suddenly he retracts her panties and grins. "I'm keeping these."
"Tim."
"You can have them back later."
For some reason, the idea that he's folding her underwear and putting it in his pocket and intending to keep it there for the rest of the party makes her want to grab him and drag him home right now.
She's shaken from her vision as she buttons her jeans just when there's a knock at the door.
"Just a second!" Lucy yells.
Tim looks around in a panic. "Okay. You leave, and I'll hide in the shower."
"What? No, you can't-" she shakes her head, imagining him getting caught hiding in the shower while someone uses the bathroom. "Umm sorry," she calls out to the person who knocked. "Sorry, I'm just having a bit of a… wardrobe malfunction, I needed some help to fix it. Just a sec."
"Wardrobe malfunction?" he hisses and she just chuckles, tugging at her clothes to make sure everything is in place.
"Do I look like I just had sex?"
Tim looks her up and down and she flushes. He takes in her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, her swollen lips. "A little bit, yeah." He smirks at her as he wipes a bit of smudged lipstick from the corner of her lip. "I'll do better tonight."
She grumbles, does a double take and shoves at him.
She opens the door and he sees Ditka standing outside, waiting.
"Sorry," Lucy says smoothly. "This damn sweater. The bow, you know. All fixed." She knows none of it makes any sense, but she commits to the bit confidently and breezes by, taking Tim's hand to pull him along with her. "Undercover training," she reminds him. "Always be prepared."
"Can we leave?"
"No. Behave," she instructs as she slaps at his hands that are already playing at the back pockets of her jeans.
"It's your fault, you know."
"What?"
"I've never been like this with anyone else," he admits. "I never would have… ever."
She just grins.
"What else got us on the naughty list?"
Lucy's jostled from her thoughts on the drive home, looks over at Tim to see him smirk at her and then turn his eyes back to the road.
"Oh, besides the general filth you talk on a regular basis?"
He laughs that deep, throaty laugh that she loves so much and she feels heat rush through her when his hand lands on her knee, finding the hole in her jeans like it's magnetic and inserting his fingers to rub her skin. "You like it," he says huskily.
"I'm not disputing that," she returns instantly, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows.
"And you're not so innocent either."
"Still. Not getting either of us on any nice lists." She hums as his fingers rub little circles on her knee. "Your office."
"You started that."
"You went along very willingly."
"Okay, Angela and Wesley's bathroom?"
She laughs, crinkles her nose. "Are we having too much sex in other people's bathrooms?"
"There is absolutely no such thing."
"Your hand under the table at the bar," she recalls.
"Laundry room!" he shoots back. "On the clock."
She snorts her agreement. "Your truck, in a parking lot."
"The beach late at night."
She bursts out a laugh. "The more shocking part of that is you, on the beach."
"Yeah, well," he says softly. "You make me do all kinds of ridiculous things."
She laughs, reaches over to grab the hand that's on his knee and hold it within her own. "This has been the best year," she tells him.
"I agree."
"I have a feeling… we're never going to be on the nice list again."
He lets out a little snort of laughter. "God, I hope not."