A/N: Hello! Here's a bit of a smutty chapter for you guys based off their "burgers and bowling" comments they made in the series.
Hope you enjoy!
"Hope you can keep up," Elizabeth murmurs, a smirk drizzling across her face like warm caramel drips. Her tongue grazes along her lower lip before her teeth gently scrape there instead, and she moves only her eyes to look up at him, "I know it's been a while," she reminds, shrugging one shoulder innocently before dropping her eyes downward, then back up at him, "But my technique is still there. It's all about the wrist action, you know." She says, flicking her eyebrow up and cocking her jaw to the side, trying to fight off a smile.
She has to bite her lip a bit harder this time to keep from giggling, feeling like a giddy teenager again when she knows perfectly well that neither of them have been teens for years, and their eldest daughter is a teen now, herself. But tonight, as she watches him ready himself, she feels nineteen again.
"And here I thought it was all about rhythm." He points out coyly, also seemingly having to fight off a smile. "Don't worry about me, I'll hit all the right spots."
She flicks her brow up and nonchalantly looks away, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, "I'm counting on it." She says, drawing her eyes upward and away from him, though all she wants to do is look at him while he preps. She takes a deep breath and sucks in on her top lip, itching to look over, and she finally gives in when she thinks of something to add, "You know when you find that sweet spot, it's so explosive." She points out.
He looks over, flicking his brow up and letting out a low, rumbly laugh from his belly, "You know I love the explosion." He teases, and then he reaches a hand out to her to get her to sit back up. She takes it, yanking a little too stand to her feet inches away from him.
Her hands rest on his shoulders, just above his chest, and she leans into his lips, "Just remember," she whispers, feeling her own hot breath reverberate against his lips, "It's not just about the thrill of the strike, it's how gracefully you handle everything leading up to it." Her eyes drop down to his lips briefly, but he closes the minute gap between them in no time. Smiling, she pushes her palms into his shoulders a little and flicks her brow up, "Let's play ball."
"That's a baseball reference, babe."
It was too late, though, because she was already at the ball return, sliding her fingers into the three holes of her bowling ball that they'd managed to bring out of retirement.
Though it's only been a few years since they'd had a burgers and bowling night, they had moved in between those years, and they had stopped bowling regularly for date nights. Really, they'd hardly had date nights. With a needy thirteen-year-old, a sweet eight-year-old, and a rambunctious five-year-old, their lives stayed busy aside from their work. Stevie was playing softball this year and it took any of their free time they accidentally had before that, and Ali has just started playing rec-league soccer once a week. Jason…he's just…a lot. He started kindergarten in August, but Elizabeth realized that's only made him curiouser, leading to Jason always asking so many questions and needing to be doing something at all times. She supposed, in a way, that was a good thing. But it was tiring, nonetheless.
When she'd quit the CIA, they moved into a home closer to UVA so that their morning commute, in particular, was shorter and for a better school for the kids. It seemed like a great decision at the time, but prior to this move, they hadn't moved since before Ali was born and they found out they'd accumulated so much stuff that they didn't know what to do with it all.
After two yard sales and what felt like a thousand moving boxes later, they'd made it comfortably into the farm house in the summer. But now it's March, and they're still unpacking boxes in their "free time," aka over school breaks, which happens to be this week. When Henry brought their bowling bags into their bedroom last night, Elizabeth had smiled and said, "Oh," like it was a challenge, "You're so on."
She takes a deep breath as her fingers find their comfort zone in the holes, wriggling a little as she studies the arrows down the glossy lane. The smell of wax fills her head and she wrinkles her nose a little—wax and feet, actually.
Like riding a bike, she takes her steps and glides the ball down the lane, the ball knocking all the pins down but one. When she turns, she presses her lips together and raises her brows at him while extending her arms proudly, "Not bad for not having bowled since…" she thinks for a moment, making a face when she reaches the end of the lane before putting her hands on her hips. "When was the last time?" She asks him.
He folds his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes at her as he thinks, "After Jason was born, right?" He asks her.
She thinks for a moment, shifting her weight to one leg as she tries to rake through all her memories—compartmentalizing family memories and then work memories. A hard task sometimes. Finally she shakes her head and makes an "mm-mm" sound, "I don't think so," she replies, "The last time I remember bowling, I was pregnant." She points out, snorting after a moment, "Because I kept ordering onion rings from the bar."
"You and those damned onion rings." Henry says as she's turning around, grabbing for her ball. "Are you sure that's when it was? That seems like a long time."
She nods without looking back at him, studying the arrows and moving her feet over just a little in order to get the right angle, "It's been a long time." She says before taking her steps, swinging back, and releasing. Pop. Down goes the last pin.
Turning around, she looks at him and tilts her head proudly, her chest literally poking out as she walks off the lane. "Your turn, pal." She says as she pats him on the tricep.
He just watches her, lifting one brow and hanging his mouth open.
"You got something to say?" She eggs on.
"Oh, I've got lots to say." He replies, but moves along and grabs his ball from the return.
As he prepares his stance, she sits down and watches the way he wriggles his fingers in the holes, too. Her mouth feels suddenly parched and she pushes her back into the chair, her toes curling up in one shoe as she pushes the bottom of her foot into the floor, fighting the urge to groan. What the hell has gotten into her?
She shakes it off and makes herself inhale, her teeth gritted together in the front and back as he releases the ball and sends it flying down the lane. And fly, it did. So did the pins. All ten. She pushes her lips to the side in a pouting manner as he turns and puts his hands on his hips, clearly mocking her. "Not bad for not having bowled since before Jason was born."
Her immediate response is to mock his voice and move her neck around like a chicken, putting her hands on her hips, too, and dancing around in her seat like he'd just said the most sarcastic line ever. When she hears him laughing, she stands up and looks at him. "It's on now." She determines, brushing past him by hitting his shoulder with hers a little too hard and hearing a protest of "hey," but completely ignoring it as she grabs her own ball.
By the tenth frame, Elizabeth was feeling her sweaty forehead and noticing that Henry's head was glistening, too. They'd stayed pretty close in score, but he pulled forward with a few strikes starting in the seventh frame. She glances up at the screen above them, looking at her 144 scores—not too bad at all for not having bowled in years. But then when she hears the pins falling and sees Henry hit nine pins on his bonus throw, she looks back up at the screen and winces. Her 144 felt very bad paired with his 188.
She sighs, blowing a piece of hair from her face as she lays her hands on her hips. "Best two out of three?" She asks him.
He laughs a little and stares at her for a moment, and she feels her legs wobble. She sits down in the chair behind her—something she should've been doing anyway because, well, this is more physical than she remembered it being. Or maybe she's just out of shape. Regardless, she's bordering on the edge of being tired.
"I have a better idea." He says, walking up to her chair and putting one of his legs between hers.
Immediately, she locks eyes with him and feels her toes curl again in her shoes, watching as he leans over and rests his hands on her chairback. Her breath becomes unsteady, and she clears her throat before deciding to play it cool. "What's your idea?" She asks quietly.
He moves closer to her after doing a quick sweep of the mostly-empty bowling alley, making sure no one was looking too closely, surely. Before she realizes what he's doing, he's bending his knee and resting it on the little piece of chair between her legs, pushing it inward where she's already literally hot, and also happens to be metaphorically hot. Her eyes shut as her chin drops down, a gasp filling her lungs quickly.
"Do you like the idea?" His voice feels like it's vibrating her ears, and she has to steady her breathing again.
But she simply shrugs, playing coy, "I mean…it's not burgers and bowling…" she murmurs, then opens her eyes and locks with his, smirking a little.
When they get into the house, their kids all away at Patrick and Eileen's for a few days for their spring break, she doesn't give in immediately to the anticipation she's felt building ever since they started bowling tonight. She tries to push it to the side as he walks in behind her, tries to not think about it as she hangs her coat up on the rack, and tries to ignore eye contact with him when he's doing the same. But then his hand slides around her waist and pulls her into his body, and damn the gasp that comes out again. What are you, nineteen again, Elizabeth? The thought only briefly resides in her mind because his kiss brings new thoughts into her head.
Oh.
Oh wow.
God, he smells good. How does he not smell like feet and wax?
Oh, his tongue.
God, I love this tongue.
His hands—oh!
Don't fall, Elizabeth. Don't fall.
Oh, hell with falling.
Henry's catching you anyway.
His deep, rumbly laugh brings her back to earth. "Legs a little wobbly?" He teases her.
She looks up at him while leaning into his chest, biting her lip, "They've been wobbly for a while now." She admits.
"Well," he says, "Hope you can keep up."
It's clear that he's mocking her words from the bowling alley, but she can't think clearly enough to do anything back to him, not even smack him across the chest playfully. So she just stares, fighting back a laugh as she smirks at him.
"I know your technique is still there," he says, flicking his brow up like a flame dancing across his face, "Isn't it…" he presses a kiss just underneath her jaw and she leans her head back, taking a deep breath and pushing her chest upwards against his, holding onto his collar in a tight grip, "All…" another hot word against her neck before a kiss, "In the wrist?"
When his lips are on her neck just above her collarbone, she pulls him deeper into her body, feeling the need to be crushed by this man. Her mouth opens to say something, she's not even sure what, but he's interrupting her by sliding his hands around from her waist to the small of her back, his fingers toying downward and inching toward her ass. They sink lower and lower until finally his hands make a perfect cupping underneath, and she resists a moan escaping her lips.
"The lead up is good so far, Professor." She manages to get out of her mouth, partially a whisper, partially a stumbling murmur falling from her lips. When she opens her eyes, she melts under his gaze and pulls her body up to kiss his lips while unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his torso. "The only difference here is I know the last time we've done this." She teases.
He brushes his tongue across his lower lip before leaning into her, tapping that tongue against her lip before sliding it across her teeth and into her mouth for a moment, pressing another hungry kiss to her. "If we go that long without this…" his voice trails off, and he doesn't need to finish that. Elizabeth fills in the blank.
If they go that long without this, they're either divorced or dead or incarcerated.
A moan escapes when she feels him sucking on the skin over her collarbone, and her hips fall into his, the entire weight of her body basically resting on him now. "I'm ready for the explosion, Henry." She breathes, opening her eyes lazily, gently pushing on his chest to get him to look at her. When she locks eyes with him, she can't help but smile a little, "You're up, batter batter."
He lets out a snort and raises a brow. "I get to go to second base?"
"You can have the home run as long as you swing."
The way it comes out of her mouth so effortlessly surprises her, but he's now taking her tee off over her head and throwing it over on the couch, so she can't think about how crazy her baseball and bowling references have gotten. When his hand cups her breast, the tip of his tongue trailing along her breastbone, her head hits the wall with a quick shot of pain, but she's already forgetting about it when he's pulling her bra down and circling his tongue around her nipple.
Her back arches off the wall and pushes her chest into his mouth, needing all of him, and wanting him to ravage her. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him that much closer, her hands fingering up into his hair. The sudden inhale feels like a shock to her throat, but his teeth scraping her skin is even more of a shock, and she lets a guttural moan release. "Oh…Henry…" she mumbles, trying to not fall apart in his arms.
He releases her breast from his mouth with a popping noise, and it makes her feel like she's panting—and maybe she is panting, but she doesn't have much time to think about it before he unclasps her bra and throws it somewhere in the same direction as the shirt. At some point, he must have undone the button on her pants, because now they're being slid down her legs. She steps out of them just in time for him to scoop her up and rest her body on his hips, pinned between him and the wall. She looks down and bites her lips, "Sixth frame." She states simply, answering his unsaid question.
The unsaid question? Has she not been wearing underwear all day?
And the answer is no, she took them off during her sixth-frame-bathroom trip because she was going to tease him about it and throw him off his game, but got distracted by her own competitiveness before it ever got brought up.
He looks at her like he's going to take a bite out of her, and God, she hopes he does.
But instead, he hoists her up further, and in one, smooth motion, he's putting one of her legs on his shoulder, and she helps put the other on his shoulder, too. Her back is pinned tightly against the wall to not fall forward, but he has his hands on her ribcage to keep her from doing so, too. She doesn't even get a chance to take a breath after she sees him lick his lips—a telltale sign he's about to dive in, and she feels the slight scruff of his beard in the place she's so desperately wanted it all evening.
Another guttural moan releases from her body before it tries to betray her by falling forward, but his sturdy hands keep her in place. She wraps her arms around the back of his head and scratches at his shoulders, her toes curling behind his neck, "Oh, Henry!" She rarely screams—rarely gets the chance to scream. Typically, the kids are at home and have to be kept unknowing, but tonight she gets to scream to the whole house that Henry James McCord is fucking her in all the perfect, beautiful ways.
Her fingernails slide up his skin and into the base of his hair, grabbing at anything she can when his tongue slides into her, curling upwards and causing her to scream out again. "Yes!" She cries, gasping for a breath as she feels the coil tightening in her belly. "Please…keep doing that…"
In that moment, his mouth suctions to her center and he breathes in, his tongue still curling, and she feels that explosion—a real, true explosion. Her body shudders against the wall and fights to keep from falling forward onto his head, and she's grabbing at everything she can to express the out-of-body experience she's feeling. When she looks down at him, she sees the wetness all over his face, and her body shivers yet again as she simply moans.
"That was hot." He murmurs, peppering kisses from the inside of her mid-thigh and upwards. Her body shakes once, like aftershocks of an earthquake, and she can't think clearly enough to answer him. There's been few times in her life when she's experienced that, but Henry McCord never ceases to amaze her.
She groans once more when she feels another heat wave rolling through her entire body, causing her toes to curl again, "I need you, Henry." She mumbles, bringing her hands down to hold his jaw, "I know you need me."
It's an assumption, but she's almost sure she's right. And when he lets her body slide down the front of his, the friction causing her to whimper, she feels the hardness underneath his pants just before setting her feet down on the floor and falling forward into him on shaky legs.
"I knew it." She whispers, sliding her upper body downwards against his wet and sweaty body, stopping when she's squatted. She slides to her knees and undoes his belt, shimmying his pants and boxers down, "It's all in the wrist," she remembers to tease, looking up at him and flicking her brow up.
He slides his hand over her head and to the back of it, gently tugging on her hair to make her head look up at him. He smiles, "I've seen you handle balls," he rumbles, "It's more than just the wrist."
"We'll just have to see about that, Professor." She murmurs.
Her breath is just steadying as she stares up at the ceiling above the couch, then drops her head tiredly to look over at him. "Perfect game," she teases, "For the second time."
The first time had her leaned forward on the wall in a position she's probably going to regret tomorrow, and one that will probably have Henry's arm sore from holding her leg up the way he did. She knew when she uttered those terrible, terrible words that he wouldn't be able to resist, though: "Take me right here, Henry, fuck me hard."
And he couldn't resist. She'd planned this so perfectly, and that wall has now seen more action than it probably has in its entire lifetime. When they finished, neither of them were ready to be done, and they moved themselves to the couch. Elizabeth sat on top of him, doing the honors of emitting most of the hard work this time since Henry had done a lot of it last time. Now as she lays tucked between his body and the back of the couch, her knees are throbbing a little, and she knows her legs will be sore from at least this little maneuver tonight.
But she pushes her face to his and kisses his lips sloppily, dragging her tongue across his lips first to taste the remnants of herself on it. Her sweaty body shivers against his as she tucks her leg between his, "You definitely haven't forgotten how to do that." She whispers, taking a deep breath and looking at him, "And for beating me at bowling, you can carry me upstairs." She teases.
He smirks a little and even though she's fairly exhausted, that spot in her belly tightens again as she falls under the gaze of Henry McCord yet again. "What do I get to do with you once you're up there?" He asks, lifting a brow.
She bites her lip and studies him for a moment, not allowing herself much time to think, "Anything you want."