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It feels like waking up from one of those amazing dreams that make you want to fall back asleep, pursue whatever fairytale world your brain had created for you. Waking up that morning feels peculiar, hits differently than otherwise always early and routinely embossed rises. Rather than her alarm clock pounding into her ears, prompting her to rise and kick off yet another productive day, this morning she wakes up to the bright sun begging for her eyes to open.
This morning is the exact opposite of everything she knows.
One thing that does seem to be the same though is that she has slept on her right side, something she can safely do within the four walls of her own home without being bothered. But this morning this seems to be the reason why she’s been awakened by sunlight rather than her many planned alarms.
Amy squints her eyes open just enough to see the sunlight peeking through poorly drawn window blinds - window blinds that definitely aren’t her flowery curtains and a sun that rises in the east and usually doesn’t affect her through her west-bound bedroom window.
Every sensation is brand new. Especially the subtle presence of warmth before her: a pile of blanket and duvet, which could’ve potentially hidden her from the sun but alas is just too flat to do so. Even though they’re mid-May the air around her feels cool, and what she discovers is an open window seems very unnecessary. It’s chilly enough as it is in this estranged bedroom. Plus, she can very clearly hear every sound Brooklyn has to offer - everything from people yelling and honking cars to dogs barking and children laughing. All at once very life-affirming yet bothersome. She tries to form a reality of these new surroundings that she’s seen before but never like this - not from the bed’s point of view.
A tired, miffed feeling creeps over her and the only solution seems to be shutting her eyes in hopes of hiding, sleeping just a bit longer. But the sun rays are much stronger and stubborn, and half-awake she flips over, fleeing, to her opposite shoulder and a position that hides her from the day breaking outside. For a second she almost slips back asleep, into oblivion where she can forget the sudden, uncomfortable waking up.
It’s not as though the presence of another body’s presence has been consigned to oblivion. Flashes of the night’s event still bubble in the back of her consciousness. The mattress shifts beneath her, the duvet shifts against her bare skin, and arms wrapping themselves around the curve of her waist arouse goosebumps and tiny hairs, thousands of them, all at once. When a surprise, an unfamiliar rush of warmth, collides with her skin and floods her veins, she’s drawn out of her before fleeting consciousness and back into a wide awaken state of alert and attentiveness.
As if on purpose, a quiet sigh, one of content, prompts the arms to tighten just a bit more around her and pull her in closer to the warmth of the body behind her. It’s not clear whether it’s caused by the colliding of the skin or her finally being fully awake, but Amy suddenly remembers the evening and night before in its entirety.
Everything. Bouche Manger , brown eyes lighting up when he first saw her walking towards him, strong hands pulling out her chair for her, awkwardness, Kamikaze-shots, talking and laughing for hours with curious eyes raking over each other, him following her home, her offering him to come up… Then the door being kicked shut behind them as their hands were too busy touching the other and then, lastly, naked bodies colliding in a climax that’s been accumulating for so long - months, maybe even years.
Every single detail seems to come rushing back, every sense, almost as if she’s reliving every touch, word and sound exchanged between the two of them - everything from hisses of pleasure and moans of surrender to sweet sighs and happy giggles.
The duvet that was once a wall between the two vessels, wrapping them in each their own little cocoon, has vanished and Amy quickly, though slightly overwhelmed, feels at home against the skin she’s dreamed of touching for so long. She allows herself to enjoy this, for once not overthinking every aspect of it, and melts into the arms she can feel herself fit into so perfectly that it has her silently regretting they didn’t give in to their stubborn pining sooner. Here… She could definitely get used to sleeping here.
Immediately after finally closing her eyes and chasing another round of sleep in this newfound position, the young detective feels the soft pressure of warm lips against the back of her head. The pressure relocates multiple times, each time lower than the previous, and by the time it reaches her neck Amy is back to being more awake than ever before. Fingers and soft palms, ones that aren’t her own, make their lazy way across her exposed ribs, almost as if they’re trying to count them, and even though she doesn’t mind that kind of touch either, at all, Amy appreciates the fact that said touch stays beneath her chest. A chest that holds a galloping heart.
See, it’s not because Amy feels insecure about last night’s events . She knows her partner. He might be cocky and somewhat annoying, but not that deep down he’s selfless and would never use her, especially not for his own randy benefits. Then again, she’s been with the wrong people before, people who didn’t have the right intentions, and so she needs to remind herself that Jake likes her .
Jake. The name alone is enough to make her smile and knowing that the caresses and pecks are from him only makes it even more impossible to not smile. The soft momentum of strokes across her midsection diminishes to a point where only the very tips of his fingers can be felt tiptoeing across her skin and Amy, even though she hates to admit it, has already grown stupidly addicted to the touch. There’s an urge to chase it, seek it out, which she can’t deny but here, even though Amy Santiago will usually just go for whatever she wants but right here and now under the warm covers with her partner of many years, she feels herself hesitate. Not because she’s unsure of him. On the contrary, after so much back and forth, pining and wrong timing, she couldn’t be happier to be where she is. Right now. In bed. With Jake Peralta. But allowing herself to feel like this, about him, will take some courage and kicking down doors.
She reaches for the hand that’s come to a halt on her stomach, placing hers on his. For a second Amy feels like she’s imagining things when Jake’s hand seems to automatically, prompted by her simple touch, entangle his fingers with hers. How can they respond to each other so naturally, so mean to be, when all they’ve known is dodging each other’s romantic advances? Peacefully, and as though it were something they’d done forever when in reality it’s been a couple of hours at most, his fingers fiddle around with hers. It’s light, it’s easy but it somehow means so much. Amy feels the butterflies in her belly break free, as if letting go and giving in to him equals letting in the faith and happiness she’s been longing for but at the same time also been scared of.
Her emotions are all over the place, back and forth, up and down, although she does have one thing she holds on to. Something clear as day even in the fogginess of new emotions and confusion...
I really like you .
The scene plays over and over in her head, brings a smile into existence and Amy feels like she’s back in the copy room or, even better, the evidence locker. The bare arms around her now do feel a lot softer than Jake’s blue flannel, although nothing will be able to beat the feeling of kissing Jake, running her hands up said flannel, in the dim lights of their precinct’s evidence locker. The most inappropriate yet best thing she’s ever done in a professional setting and if she ever gets the chance to do it again, she will.
She wants this. Him. Them.
When making up her mind, deciding that staying reluctant will get her nowhere and there’s a very good reason as to why they’re here, in bed in the AM, Amy manages to switch back to lying on her other shoulder. It brings her face to face with none less than Jake Peralta himself. Obviously, she already knew it was him the soft hands, strong arms and warm chest belonged to. Although there’s something special about facing him, seeing him like this for the first time with tussled hair and skin glowing in the early morning gleam, resting in such a peaceful state, that takes her breath away all over again. Not for long but just for the tiny period of time it takes to fully wrap her usually very sharp, cut to the chase mind around his presence. She persuades herself of the fact that she’s where she’s supposed to be, tries her best, kicks down her barricades, and succumbs to the ever-growing urge to cuddle into his chest. Hopefully to be held just a bit tighter, and tell him just how much she likes him by painting his neck with kisses.
So she does it.
Surrounded by the coziness of their shared duvet, a warmth that somehow still isn’t enough when the window is open, Amy scoots in as close as physically possible. Her arms are pressed to her chest, sandwiched between their chests, but luckily not to a point where she can’t have her hands explore and caress the delicate skin of her partner’s collarbone and chest. Partner - feels weird to call him that now that they’re here.
On his left shoulder is a beauty mark, prominent but not enough for her to have noticed before - then again, before last night, what would’ve been the occasion for her to see it? Said discovery immediately sparks a stronger connection to the young detective before her. She pecks the mark, an act of affection and familiarizing herself with his body, something they’ll get to do now, and the fluttering eyelids she receives in return are enough to keep her going. With a few seconds in-between, enough time to take in the feeling and taste of his skin, musky, a bit salty from last night, she switches between pecks with lips and strokes with her nose. Just about anything that will keep them in touch. At some point, after having showered him with affection for some time, it provokes a muffled grunt, a clearing of his throat, and even though it has no literal meaning Amy feels as if he’s been the first to break the silence. His eyes are still closed though and she doesn’t want to risk waking him up so she waits; she waits even though all she wants to do is talk to him, look into his eyes, make him smile. Everything. Him, him, him.
“Why’d’ya stop?” He mumbles, voice laced with fatigue and hoarseness to it, not quite comparable to anything she’s experienced before and it’s… nice. This raspy voice is not just another simple detail, a sound he murmurs into the top of her head, sending vibration throughout her entire vessel. No, to Amy, it’s the fact that that he’s been asleep for hours, next to her; he’s just woken up and she just so happens to be the lucky one who gets to be a part of his first moments of rising from his sleep - something oddly intimate and heartwarming.
“Didn’t wanna wake you up, ” she whispers as if he was still asleep, maybe, in a twisted, self-contradictory way, wishing he was so that she could live on in the hazy, daydream-like bubble of a reality that had seemed to surround them when he was still asleep and she didn’t have to worry about being weird, too much, too little, or whatever. Can’t they just in bed like this - limbs all tangled up, lips melting onto each other’s skin at random intervals - and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist? A stupid world where Holt is gone, Captain Dozermann is watching them like a hawk, and everyone they know wants to meddle.
“Don’t mind waking up…” He huffs, lazy as ever, before dragging his lips from her hairline down to peck her lips in a way that’s so careful and soft that has Amy surrender on the spot. The attentive touch of his lips is imitated by his fingers which initiate a delicate tracing of small nonsense patterns on her bare back that somewhat makes up for the loss of his lips seconds later “... when you’re here.”
Amy is at a loss for words. Obviously, hidden behind competitive and childish behavior, she knows her partner is the most genuine kind of person with a heart of gold and good intentions. Although, experiencing this whole other side of him - toned down, calm, affectionate, romantic even - has Amy questioning all past decisions she’s ever made. How come he hasn’t been one of them sooner? How come she’s kept this, the subject of them, off-limits for so long when right now it feels like everything she could ever ask for?
A breeze travels in through the window, automatically resummoning her goosebumps and a small shiver, but Jake is quick to catch on, there’s a problem he needs to fix, so he pulls her in even closer in hopes of keeping her warm and shielded. “Hey, you feeling okay?”
Her silence, lack of words, perhaps, must’ve worried him and even though her silence is nothing but a good sign, meaning that she feels at home with him, appreciates, she realizes that she can’t allow that his worry lasts. She’s happy, more than, to be here with him and he needs to hear that.
“Yeah, I’m… good.”
After tilting her head back just enough for him to be able to see her face she draws her lips into a smile, tired but of the most genuine and charming kind, and allows her frigid-feeling fingers to palpate his chest. Now it’s his turn to feel goosebumps diffuse across his skin, not quite sure if it’s her cold fingers’ work or simply the fact that Amy Santiago is blessing him with chaste touches of affection that he’s been dreaming about for so long. He wonders if the pattern of her strokes is meant to follow the rhythm of her soft breathing or if he’s just imagining things. Analyzing how her hands dance back and forth across him to the lulling sway of her lungs.
“Is this okay?” He asks again and Amy never thought she’d get to see Jake Peralta careful and lowkey vulnerable like this.
He’s well aware of the fact that it perhaps is a bit late to ask so, after many hours of kisses and touching, but better late than never, especially if it concerns her comfort. Even though he’ll, of course, accept her retraction, with no hesitation, he hopes this won’t be the last time she’ll be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
“Yeah. I thought the kissing and touching would communicate that?” she says with just enough confidence in her whisper and glint in her eyes to persuade him.
“Of course, I just-” he halts, the sounds and words in his throat somehow not making sense, even before they’re out of his mouth. How does he know? He just does… That’s how it works, in his brain, when she’s looking at him like the whole world revolves around him. Though, at least to him, the truth is that it revolves around her. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t regret anything?”
She curls her eyebrows into a confused frown, nose wrinkling along, instantly making Jake feel bad. Did he say something wrong?
“I mean, do you regret anything?” The confusion on her face quickly melts away, transitioning into a new nervous character that lets Jake know that the only reason why she’s been so silent and careful all morning is probably that she’s just as nervous as he is. No need to make her feel like she should regret anything when he certainly isn’t.
“No, Ames, no!” He hopes the sentimental squeeze from his hand on her back can pull her confidence back in from the sea of doubt flooding her mind. “I- I’m just rambling because you’re here, with me, and I can’t believe it because it’s so... good.”
With minimal stuttering he makes it through the closest thing he can come to a grand emotional confession, one that won’t chase her away this early on, and watching her expression loosen up, lips lightly parted in surprise, he prays to God he hasn’t overstepped.
Open window, crisp air, and the stubborn sun are immediately forgotten, replaced by the warmth Jake’s confession contained. He likes her and she him, the last puzzle piece falling into place, and in there is no, not here or in any other parallel universe, a good reason to hold back anymore. A new wave of emotions, clear and virtuous, comes crashing over her, pushing her to an extent where she can’t help herself. Just like the wave of emotions washing over her, she pushes, knocks him onto his back, and washes over him with her body, duvets and sheets quickly becoming disarranged around them. God knows they’ve kissed already. Both a couple of first kisses during their undercover mission and during the long night of discovering this new side of each other, but right then when she kisses him, not just a peck this time, there’s no more worry, no more hesitation nor overanalyzing.
She’s got herself hovered over his chest, hands tangled in his messy curls and starving lips working overtime to let him know that she loves being here and if he’ll have her then she’ll gladly stay. Even through the motion of being pushed over by her he never lets go of her, hands firm on her lower back and holding her as close to him as physics will allow. The kiss deepens, small smiles and whimpers of simple and sincere joy are exchanged between their lips’ rhythmic reunions, and, fully neglecting prior hesitation, Amy ascends, almost drags herself onto his body. She’s got him straddled but this time the agenda isn’t sexual. Sure, their sex was mindblowing but right now all she wants to do is pepper him with kisses that tell the story of how she’s missed him even though he’s never been hers to miss - at least not until now.
Jake probably has a similar calling, an urge to show her how much he cares about this emotional fusion, this brand new intertwining of their lives that’ll create a story they’ve yet to fully experience because he pays her back by pushing back - back to lying on her back.
Even though Amy’s eager to pick up where they left off, hands still in his hair and on his neck, Jake halts in his now hovered position which leaves him as the only thing within her point of view.
“I really like you, Amy.” The words are undoubtedly earnest, even laced with the heavy breathing caused by the kisses, and Amy could happy cry if her eyes weren’t too busy taking in the sight above her. Little did she know that she herself - dark messy hair tousled all around her head on the pillow, pink plump lips agape in awe and deep, sweet chocolate eyes - was the world’s eighth wonder, lying right there between his arms.
“And I know I’m, like, kinda a mess,” he chuckles nervously, his secretly fragile heart on his sleeve because Amy Santiago will do that to a poor guy like him. “But I swear I-I’m not here to mess things up or, like, dumb stuff like that.”
“I know, Jake.” There’s comfort for him to find in her eyes. He can tell she believes him which is more important than anything else. Her smile gives him the confidence he needs to go on, and the sudden calm that comes washing up on the shore of their little, intimate metaphorical island comes as a strong contrast to their little makeout session just seconds ago. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Cool…” He trails off, drowning in her presence and as if she wasn’t perfect enough already, she picks up where he’s left off.
“... cool cool cool.” It’s exactly what he needed to hear - it’s simple, silly but so them . Her grin is wide and proud as she says it, she knows he’ll love it, and if it means she can earn a smile then she’ll gladly do it.
“Wow, you learn so fast.”
“Oh, I’ve been caught up for longer than you think, Peralta.”
Their grins meet but Jake is weak, has to give in, and bend his arms just enough to kiss her, brushing off that perfect grin of hers with a peck before returning to his hovering position.
“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow. If he let her off the hook, passed up the opportunity to challenge his always know-all partner - even post-boinking - they wouldn’t be Jake and Amy, Peralta and Santiago,
The way the dynamic has changed, so effortlessly, from being caught up in a whirlwind of new emotions and confession to their stupid banter has them both persuaded: this feels right. They almost, the key-word being almost , drown in this first page of their new chapter when suddenly reality does catch up to them - or her, at least.
“Shoot, what time is it?” She exclaims ducking out of this box he’s created around her with his arms and torso, knocking him over in the process, before reaching for her phone which she believes (last night is still a bit blurry) is in her handbag on the floor.
“Uhm- I don’t know? Too early? Santiago-stylez.” He’s already back to cuddling the duvet, hiding his face in the pillow, and ignoring the very sudden frantic inclination their moment has taken. Just like how their dynamic hasn’t changed, Amy hasn’t changed either and it would be a lie if Jake said this sudden outburst of hers worried him. After so many years of being colleagues, then friends, he’s seen worse and knows when he can intervene with a joke and when he has to intervene with genuine emotional support - this moment seems to be the former.
Meanwhile, on a mission to see what time it is and how horribly late and busted they will be, Amy has got herself leaned over the edge of the bed to grab her handbag. Her hand has just made it into her bag, hand wrapped around her phone when two, by now pretty well-acquainted, arms wrap themselves around her waist and pull her back into the oh so welcoming comfort of Jake’s bed and embrace.“Ooh- Jake!”
“Stay here,” he whines playfully, attacking her neck and shoulders with short pecks that, if they were perceptible on her skin, paint her skin like a starry sky, and he recognizes her scent as being his new favorite: a pleasant mix of her perfume and his own cologne. Even though the way he’s acting reminds her of the comportment of a silly kid, Amy, after recovering from the small shock, has to laugh. She can’t be mad at him, not when all she feels like doing, in all honesty, is to stay in bed all day. In bed where she can kiss and touch him, perhaps repeat the night’s racy activities, without interruption or worries from the outside world.
“We can’t.”
Oh, how she wants to. Especially when she wiggles around in his arms to face his goofy grin and messy hair, feeling like there is nowhere else in the world that’s more important to attend - even work. She’s home.
“We have work.”
From the way a disappointed pout upon realization replaces his before carefree grin, two expressions as different as night and day, Amy can tell he’d already happily given in to their new rose colored reality: a place where time and duties aren’t genuine in existence. A place where there were no eight to four shifts. Four to eight shifts under the command of Captain Dozermann and his awful Dozerpads.
“I have an idea…”
“Uhuh?” she cocks an eyebrow prompting him to go on.
“Okay, so, we quit our jobs-”
“Jake…”
For every word he adds to his farfetched story of a plan he keeps peppering her face, everywhere but her lips - to her dismay - but once again she can’t help but laugh with him. After all, it is what he does the best: he makes her laugh.
“-forget the precinct, no, the entire world , exists-”
“ Jake … ”
“-and instead we just stay here, all day, all night, forever, and hang out, make out, instead.”
“Jake,” she shuts him up, her index finger firmly placed against his finally hushed lips, and Jake can’t tell if it’s the cutest or hottest thing she’s ever blessed him with - probably both. On her part, Amy is wondering if she’s ever seen anything more adorable than the surprise on his face, bright, childish, and playful eyes when he is shut up and waits for her to talk.
“We have to go, Jake.”
He seizes the situation and pecks her commanding index finger which very quickly drops, slides down his lips before she lets the entire hand fall to his chest.
“But I wanna stay here and… kiss.” The whining tone is back though this time much less dramatic and, more than anything else, pleading. “We never just stay in and kiss.”
She rolls her eyes, still smiling, and it might just be his favorite combination.
“Kissing has never been an option before, dummy.” For good measures, and a million other things and reasons she can’t begin to list because she’ll never finish, she grabs his chin in-between her thumb and the same index finger that moments ago silenced him, pulling his face down for a long, delicate kiss that has his toes curl and fingers dig into the curve of her waist. One, two, three, four, five… he loses track of how long the kiss lasts, rather focusing on running his hands up and down the arch of her back as if it were the last time he ever gets to when in reality, a reality he still needs to learn to fully believe, it’s not. It’s far from the last time. A tiny bump on her lower back, a beauty mark, lets its presence be known under the stroke of his palm, and Jake, already devoted to getting to know every inch of her, makes a mental note of it, promising himself he will come back to kiss it whenever the occasion arises.
“What a mistake that is…” he whispers once she’s pulled back, not farther than the tips of their noses still touching as a constant touch of affection.
“A mistake we can make up for...” Her lips, grinning, peck the tip of his nose. They’re on the verge of falling back in, drowning in their craving for something they’ve been missing for so long and now finally have, like a kid getting something from their wishlist, when Amy decides, for the both of them, that she has to be the bigger person and get them out of bed. “... after work. Okay?”
“Okay…” he nods and it’s impossible not to grin like an idiot.
Eventually, after a few more pecks and loving touches that just can’t be fought off, they get out of bed. As new and unusual as it seems when she slips on a flannel of his that hung on a nearby chair, it very simply also seems equally amazing, incredible, and normal. Even when she catches him gazing at her with admiring eyes, causing blush rises to the apples of her cheeks before she tries to justify her actions with an “I’ll just take it home with me and wash it for you. Then you can have it back when I come over again.”
But she doesn’t have to justify a thing. She can wear any flannel of his she desires, give it back to him whenever or if she pleases, clean or dirty. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is the fact that there will be an again . He’s been promised more - later, tomorrow, next week, after work, before work, again and again, all the time, the next morning - with Amy Santiago.