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'But how would they know?'
'I'd say it's part of their job description but who are we fucking kidding here, huh.'
'I told Shirley to put up a couple of decorations, just a garland and some lights in the kitchen, but do you suppose Louisa might have—?'
'You trusted Dandelion not to whip out the fake snow?'
She shot him a look.
'Yeah, yeah, keep your stockings on.'
'Socks.'
'I know for a fact you don't wear those to work.'
He gave her a once-over that made the heat rise in her cheeks.
'You know it's bad luck to ignore traditions. Seven years of terrible sex, if I'm correct…'
'Not much of a change, then.'
He just grinned and took a step towards her, so close that retreat was the only option to avoid immediate collision. She looked up – no need, really. Of course. The crown of her head was now perfectly aligned with the greenery dangling from the doorframe.
'Still wouldn't risk it.' And, his voice suddenly much lower, 'Remember, Süße, schlimmer geht immer…'
His hands had found the tie of her cardigan before she could do anything about it.
'Stop it, Jackson, they just went out to get lunch!'
'I told them to take their sweet time.'
'They know full well you were being ironic!'
It was absurd that panic had made her so hot she wished she could get rid of the cardigan right then and there, but she stopped his hands as he undid the knot on her waist.
'I locked the door,' he murmured, leaning in. His hands kept moving beneath hers, entirely unimpressed.
'They all have their own set of keys!' She knew she sounded desperate now.
'But it'll give us those extra seconds we might need…'
'Seconds?!'
'Unless you wanna go for a second helping, might be stretching it a bit…'
He had freed his hands and was reaching underneath the cardigan. Suddenly, he held her waist with a casualness that almost felt rude.
'We really can't…'
'Come on, Cat,' he whispered with the hint of a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth, but too late now, too close after all, too warm as his lips grazed her cheek first, then her neck, twice, even… She felt herself weakening down to her core. The heat was unbearable, eating her alive. An acrylic wool blend would do that.
He straightened and looked down at her, now holding onto the collar of her dress, just with his fingertips. She knew her eyes must be speaking to him, but, regardless of her best efforts, she couldn't make them shut up. It yielded a smile from him, just as she knew it would.
'Let's not risk those seven years,' he said lowly as the first two buttons of her dress went, 'Old sod like me, I want it to be as fucking good as it gets…' Those last words were muffled by the kiss he pressed into her hair. He lingered there and took a deep breath.
'There. A mistletoe kiss. Well done, Jackson.'
She put her hands on his chest, pushing for a little space and resenting herself for it.
'Nice try.' His fingers were playing with her pendant now, no longer shrouded in gingham. It didn't help against the heat, but instead made something dangerous happen inside of her stomach, or maybe below, and to her heartbeat, and the speed of her breathing— actions needed to be taken. Immediately.
'I know the seven years only apply when you're clinking glasses without looking each other in the eye. And only among Germans, anyway.' A sober voice, no whispers. Good.
But then another button yielded. And another. His fingers traced the skin where they had been, and up again, finding the strap of her bra, casually sliding it over her shoulder with the fabric of her dress and cardigan. A kiss there, another, up her neck, nipping her earlobe, thrilling shivers, and his fingertips against her chest, just where... he was fuelling the fire far too quickly, but no, no—!
Just as she felt like turning to cinders, her cardigan slid to the floor.
He lifted his head, thumb lightly tracing the curve of her bare shoulder.
'I was German once. Und ich wollte dich schon damals.'
He smiled. The slow sort. The utterly destructive kind.
And her hands were still on his chest. Rising and falling with his breaths, the light warmth of exhales barely noticeable on her fingers. But still—
She felt her palms travel across his shoulders, taking hold, nails digging, even, drawing him in, down towards her, and for some reason, just as she reached into his hair, it made him chuckle. She could feel the puff of his breath on her lips. He didn't even try to hide it.
'Jetzt hab' ich dich,' he whispered, grinning.
'Nein.'
Her lips clung to his, so suddenly and with such vigour, it stole his breath away entirely. Her hands cupping his face, too, holding him close as she bit his lip, and again, harder, forcing a little moan that she drowned in another kiss, her tongue tentative at first, caressing, searching, but then—
He broke away, breathless for a moment, but his laughter burst out within seconds.
She looked up at him. Defiant. 'Jetzt hab' ich dich.'
'Fair and square. Damn.' He had calmed down a little, but the twinkle in his eye remained.
Just when she tried to pull the sleeve back over her shoulder, his hands stopped her. He drew her in, held her close, lips softly on her bare shoulder, lingering just a little longer for good measure… And then he kissed her. But his hunger had turned gentle and she no longer wore a cardigan to blame for the consequences. When his hand slid to her back, and lower, pushing the hem of her dress up against her thigh, she raised her knee, leaning into him, dissolving, all of her to all of him, mhh, just where she was wanted, a soft noise escaping her lips, feeling him, closer, much closer, and he held onto her shoulder with a sudden pressure and a breathy murmur into her ear, 'Schlimmer geht—'
Heavy steps. A slump against the door. Another.
'Lamb, are you in there?'
A jangle of keys.
'Catherine? Hello? It's River.'
Scratching on the keyhole.
'Why is the door locked?'
More scratches, and some clicks.
'Immer,' she finished after closing the last button, bending down to lift up her cardigan. 'But touché on those extra seconds. Just what was needed.'
She smirked up at him as she tied the belt around her waist with confident precision.
'For you, maybe,' he grunted, one last regretful look tracing her shape. 'I'll be in there for the foreseeable.'
As he left for the loo, she remained, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips.
'Hi Catherine!' River was out of breath, keys still in hand. 'Why—?'
'Happy Christmas, River,' she said, pecking him on the cheek with a fresh smile. 'And thank you for remembering to put this up here.'
He blushed, eyes shooting up to the doorframe.
'Oh, sorry. That… Must've been Louisa…'
'Of course.'
'Yeah.'
'I'll put the kettle on, then.'