Chapter Text
“Let’s get some ice cream.”
It was a request made nearly every day since the weather turned warm. At first, Crane readily agreed, but he quickly learned that the sight of his beautiful partner eating ice cream was nearly too much for him to bear.
Licking. Sucking. Licking. Sucking.
Her lips are art. Her tongue, an instrument of sin.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” is his answer today. Today, when it is 90 degrees Fahrenheit and almost oppressively humid. Today, when he actually chose not to wear his coat and even rolled up his sleeves when they were out.
“Seriously, Crane?” Abbie stops and looks at him. “What happened to your sweet tooth?”
“I am merely… exercising restraint,” he answers, squaring his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. “There is no need for us to indulge in ice cream every day.”
“Pssh,” she scoffs. “Since when is ice cream about need?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m going to get some, even if you don’t want any.” Thankfully, she strides away from him, towards the ice cream cart, before his gaze could get drawn into her cleavage, drawn prominently together and up from the pressure of her crossed arms.
Helpless, he follows her to the cart.
“Hi, I’ll take… ooh, Fat Elvis. That looks good. In a waffle cone, please,” Abbie says to the vendor, ordering up the delicious concoction of banana ice cream with chocolate chunks and peanut butter ripple.
Crane closes his eyes, steeling himself. Of course she would get a cone instead of eating her ice cream out of a civilized, demure bowl, with a spoon.
“Sure you don’t want anything, Crane? I’m buying,” she offers.
“Very well,” he answers. “I will have—”
“He needs that Spicy Whiskey Truffle. In a waffle cone,” Abbie says, pointing to the one that had, in fact, caught his eye.
He smiles a little at how well she knows him. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he says. “And thank you, Miss… Kendra,” he says, reading the ice cream vendor’s nametag, who shyly smiles at his attention.
Abbie chuckles to herself and pays. “You don’t even realize it, do you?” she asks.
“What?” he returns, then takes a taste of his ice cream. “Oh my, this is decadent,” he says, looking at his cone. “Chocolate with a ribbon of whiskey sauce and… something spicy,” he declares.
“The label said chipotle,” she replies. “Can I try?”
“Um, oh, yes. Of course,” he replies, then stands helpless, holding his cone down for her to sample.
“Wow,” she assesses. “And you don’t realize how the young ladies practically swoon when you talk to them,” she adds, returning to the original topic at hand.
“Oh, that,” he dismissively says. “I have learned to pay it no mind. Apparently things like courtesy and eye contact are no longer commonplace. That is all it is.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she says, looking up at him as she licks her ice cream, then plucks a chunk of chocolate from it with her teeth.
He averts his gaze, nostrils flaring with the sharp intake of breath he tries to hide. As they walk through the doors to the Archives, he mutters, “Glass houses.”
“What was that?” Abbie asks, looking back at him. She heard him perfectly well, but wants to know both if he means what she thinks he means and if he is brave enough to repeat it.
“What was what?” Crane innocently returns, biting into the edge of his cone.
“I thought I heard you say something,” she says, sticking her tongue out flat and swirling the ice cream cone across it.
He stands in front of her, pondering her, watching the sensual things her mouth does with the ice cream. “You don’t even realize it, do you?” he asks, his voice low, repeating her own question back to her.
“Realize what?” she asks in return, slowly extending her tongue and swiping just the tip through her ice cream. Her voice has a soft, innocent tone, but her actions are completely contradictory.
“How utterly enchanting you are.” The words come spilling out of him almost without his consent. “You are the very picture of beauty. Breathtaking.” He moves closer, ice cream in his hand nearly forgotten. “Your face is ethereal, divine, yet your body…” he pauses, his gaze raking slowly over her curves, “seems to be designed for decadence.”
“Is that so?” she asks, holding his gaze. She has eaten her cone down to the point where she is able to wrap her lips around the whole thing. So she does.
“God’s wounds,” he murmurs. He reaches out for her with his free hand, but hesitates, unsure. His fingers twitch, then he drops his hand and absently takes a bite of his cone.
“You really think I don’t realize what I do to you?” Abbie asks, her voice husky and seductive. She swipes her tongue through her ice cream once more, then moves even closer to him, so close they are nearly touching. “Ichabod, I am an FBI profiler. You think I can’t read you?” Her hand comes up to rest on his bicep, and she can feel the muscles jump under her touch. She slides her hand down his arm to his wrist, then lifts it to place on her back.
He immediately pulls her flush against him. “Seductress,” he rumbles, unsure if he’s angry or impressed. Perhaps it’s some of both. Angry that he was so busy being worried about hiding his feelings for her because there was no way she would feel the same when she apparently does. Impressed at how fearless and forward she is being with him and how much it turns him on.
“I’m just eating my ice cream, Ichabod,” she purrs, gently pushing him backwards until he is pressed against the door they just came through. She reaches out with her free hand and locks the door. “It’s all perfectly inno—”
Unable to take any more of her torture, he cuts off her words with his lips, tightening his arm around her to pull her closer, higher, so he can lean into her and plunder her mouth with his tongue.
Her mouth is cool and tastes faintly of banana. He nearly drops the last of his cone, but won’t risk dripping melted ice cream on her. He slowly draws back and gazes down at her. “Our ice cream is melting,” he says, feeling ridiculous.
She rolls her eyes, but her expression is fond. “Do you want to finish working on your ice cream or start working on me?” she asks.
He plucks the remainder of her cone from her unyielding fingers, strides over to a nearby trash can, and deposits both inside. Then he returns to her, this time reversing their positions so he is pressing her against the door.
She eagerly meets his questing lips, bringing her arms up around his neck as their tongues slide against each other. He reaches down and lifts her under her thighs, encouraging her to wrap them around his waist.
“Better,” he grunts, no longer needing to bend down to kiss her. She hums her agreement as he trails kisses down her neck.
She can feel his long fingers digging into her ass as he grips her. She wants them all over her. Has fantasized about them for years.
She wants to tear his clothes off. And hers. Suspended in the air, pressed between Crane and the door, Abbie is helpless though, and can only give orders.
“Take your clothes off,” she says, her voice breathy. His beard is soft and rough against her skin and his tongue is currently sliding into her cleavage and all she wants is skin. “Take my clothes off.”
“I have no protection,” he mutters, but starts pulling at her shirt nevertheless.
“We’re good,” she says. “Trust me.”
He manages to get her shirt over her head, kisses her deeply, then says, “Always.”
They have to briefly separate to remove boots and pants and underwear, and they take a moment to stare at each other, both breathing heavily, the air around them thick with desire.
“Breathtaking,” he repeats. He licks his lips and takes a step towards her.
“You look pretty good there yourself,” she says. “Pretty damn good.”
He reaches for her, but this time doesn’t hesitate, eager to feel her silken skin under his palms, eager to acquaint himself with all of her.
“There is a sofa,” he suggests, kneeling down to worship her breasts with his mouth.
“I want you right here,” she replies, sliding her fingers into his hair, moaning a little as his tongue swirls around her nipple. “I want you to take me against this wall,” she gasps.
He looks up at her, cocks an eyebrow, then says, “As my lady commands.” He returns his attention to her breasts, now reaching between her legs with his hand.
Abbie moans again, louder this time, as his long fingers slip into her folds, shuddering slightly when he slides two fingers inside her, his thumb circling her clit.
“Fuck,” she gasps, arching her back. Her knees threaten to buckle and she tightens her grip on his head.
“I intend to,” he rumbles, easing his fingers out of her and standing. He licks his fingers, humming pleasurably, then crowds her against the wall. “You want me to take charge, yes?” he asks, his voice still low and rough.
Her eyes widen and she feels herself get impossibly wetter, more turned on. “Yes,” she confirms.
“You want someone else to call the shots, be in command, because you are so strong and in charge in your everyday life,” he continues, sliding his hands down from her shoulders to her thighs and back up again.
“Fuck,” she repeats, a whisper this time. How could he know that?
He smirks – actually smirks – at her, and he looks so smug that she can’t decide if she wants to slap that arrogant look off of his face or fall to her knees and suck his cock.
True to his word, he makes the decision for her, lifting her into his arms once again, guiding her legs around his waist as he presses her back against the wall.
“Take me in your hand,” he orders. She blindly obeys, reaching between them and wrapping her fingers around his thick shaft. “How much do you want me?” he asks, nuzzling her neck, gently nibbling and sucking at her skin.
“More than anything,” she admits. “More than I wanted that ice cream.”
He chuckles, biting the edge of her ear. “Now,” he whispers.
She immediately slots him into place and he thrusts upwards into her, filling her completely.
They groan in unison, then laugh at the fact that they groaned in unison.
Then he begins moving. He is relentless, releasing years of pent-up passion into her. She takes everything he gives her, her legs tight around his waist, her fingers tangled in his hair as she holds his head. She seals her lips over his, kissing him with abandon. She doesn’t even notice the hard wall against her back. She is only aware of him and how he is making her feel.
And he is making her feel good. She is falling fast, their position allowing him to hit just the right spot, and soon she is gasping and panting and whimpering.
“Tell me,” he growls, pressing his forehead against hers. “Tell me now, while I am inside you and we are both on the brink.”
“I love you,” she says, a hoarse whisper. “I love you,” she repeats, louder, before he can demand that she repeat herself. “So much, Lord help me.”
“I love you, my Abbie, my heart, my treasure,” he replies. His voice is ragged and his thrusts are becoming frantic. “You are my soul, my everyth—”
His orgasm robs the words from his mouth, and he is reduced to nothing more than groans and growls. Hers immediately follows, and she cries out and digs her short nails into his scalp and shoulder.
His head falls onto her shoulder and she sags in his arms, still pressed against the wall. He lazily turns his head and kisses the side of her neck.
“Next time, I intend to take my time with you, dear Lieutenant,” he says a short time later, gently letting her back down to the floor.
“And when will that be?” she asks, reaching out to trail a finger over his chest.
“Hmm,” he pretends to ponder. “Perhaps this evening. After dinner.”
“And dessert,” she adds with a smile. “Maybe more ice cream.”