Work Text:
She’s known about the library in the historical building of the Psychology department since the orientation week but didn't fully appreciate it until she was neck-deep in books that she needed to read through for her exams this summer and needs to avoid the hazard of bringing them into the restaurant to study when it’s quiet.
There are a few different spots, but she eventually settles on one up in the gallery between two wide and tall shelves that provide her with the peace and quiet she needs to focus on her readings.
She bites her tongue every time her classmates mention the library but raves about it to her coworkers for days. Carisi teases her about it and remarks he'd never actually been in such a library when she's curled into his side while they're watching a movie on his couch on one of their rare mutual days off and she's trying to convey how the atmosphere there propels her into productivity.
"You've never been to a library?"
"I've been to a library, 'Manda. I'm from New York — I'm familiar with a concept of a library," he chuckles, "just never been to a college library on the account of, ya know, not havin' gone ta college."
"Would you wanna go?"
"What'd you mean?"
"You could get a visitor pass; I could take you with me someday…if you wanna."
"And do what, watch you study?"
"As if you don't already do that plenty when I'm working. It'll be a change of scenery."
"Okay, okay. Sold."
---
Next Tuesday, they don't part ways as they leave her apartment — instead, he holds onto her hand, falls a quarter of a step behind her and follows her to the Psychology historical building.
He's surprised how easily she gets him a visitor's pass and before long he's in awe of the high ceiling and the decorative moulding on the walls, and the deep mahogany desks with green lamps — picture-perfect visual of an academic library as if it were cut out from a magazine.
She gives him a tour of the main area, talks trash about her least favourite psychology topics, pulls out books from the shelves and comments in a careful whisper how this book gave her a headache and how that author uses long pretentious sentences where the end contradicts the beginning.
It ignites a spark in his eyes, but she doesn't allow it to evolve into a full blaze yet and tugs him towards the staircase to the upper gallery. She settles in her spot, and he lets her be — she appreciates how he doesn't require her to entertain him and accepts her purpose here today is to study.
She might have intended to muddle through the assigned sections for the next seminar but realizes quickly how distracting her boyfriend can be. She doesn't get to observe him very often and her eyes dart to him every couple of seconds. He's standing in front of the shelves, carefully reading the backs of the books and pulling out those that sound interesting, lists through them reads into a chapter or two.
He's unaware of being a distraction, especially when he rolls up his sleeves and the way his hands wrap around the books as he holds them reminds her of the way he touched her last night, or when he reaches up — bastard can get the books from the top shelf without even needing to push himself off on his tiptoes — his shirt rides up and she gets a view of the skin underneath, the line of hair disappearing into his trousers.
She throws the notion of finishing her assignments out the window and settles into her seat to get the best angle to watch him. His hair is getting quite long and wild and there's a shadow on his jaw that he'll most likely shave in the evening because he's working tomorrow — it's hard to believe she gets to have this relaxed, unkempt version of him that he only lets a select group of people on.
He feels her gaze on him after a while and when he catches her eye, he sees right through her.
"I thought this atmosphere here was supposed ta make you productive, yet…" he reaches out a hand to her and helps her to her feet, "you've barely turned two pages since you sat down."
"It usually is. Today's just — there's this new décor, you know?" she puts her hands on his belly and lets them wander up his chest and into the nape of his head, burying her fingers in his hair, "That is catching my eye and it is much, much nicer to study than this week's seminar readings."
She steps closer, pulls his head down and kisses him. She intended to keep the kiss short and sweet, but then his free hand grabs her by the waist and pulls her into him. He dips her back to improve their angle and the passion and lust in his kiss make her forget about her surroundings. There's a thud of a book landing on the desk and his other hand makes its way up her chest, dancing over her collarbone into her hair and suddenly she’s spun around and pressed against the wall.
The wall’s cold against her back and he’s a raging fire pressed against her front; hands everywhere but nowhere where she wants them, her own desperate to cover every inch of him and pull him even closer.
“You really need to get some studying done, though, ‘Manda,” he breathes out heavily when they break apart for air, “we can continue this later at the apartment.”
His forehead is pressed against hers, hands over her ears against the wall, supporting his weight and she’s not inclined to make it easier for him to control his breathing and extinguish the burning embers she’s sure are a mirror of her own eyes. She scrunches up his shirt over his heart and pulls him down for another kiss.
“Okay, I think I will get back to studying now.”
She slips from under him and goes back to her book that is still open on the first page of the sections she now has 15 minutes less to read. She pretends what transpired hasn’t affected her at all and feels pleased to see him breathe deeply in and out for a few seconds – to see him equally affected as she is – before he sits down opposite her and opens the book that landed on the desk.
---
Carisi leaves less than an hour later after a phone call from Olivia that there’s been an accident in the kitchen, that he needs to come for the rest of the afternoon and dinner service, so Amanda stays for another few hours and to her own surprise actually makes headway with her assignments.
She’s ready to leave and go home so that she and Carisi can continue where they left off after he’ll be back from the restaurant, but the librarian at the front desk pauses with Amanda’s student ID in her hand frozen over the counter. She feels her blood freeze in her veins when she understands the librarian’s words.
“Miss, just so you know, there are security cameras up in the gallery, too.”