Work Text:
Morning came quietly in Nathan's house.
Elizabeth let herself in with the spare key he'd pressed into her palm months ago. She moved through the kitchen, smoothing her hands down the skirt of the blue and white dress she'd chosen for a very particular reason.
Upstairs, Nathan's razor scraped against his skin as he tried to wake up.
Elizabeth smiled to herself as she began to make coffee. Allie and LJ were still asleep at her house. "The cavalry" of two had fallen asleep shortly after his bedtime story. They saw no reason to wake them. Nathan would want to see their children before the day's business began, but she suspected (or rather she hoped) that he might be craving alone time.
Craving her as she was him.
The scent of coffee began to fill the kitchen. Elizabeth retrieved two mugs, the skirt of her dress shifting against her legs as she bent to check the lower pantry. She knew perfectly well the cinnamon rolls would be gone. Nathan could never let sweets rest in peace for long, yet she lingered in her stance.
Meanwhile, he'd now finished shaving, rinsed his razor and paused.
Coffee.
He didn't need to look at the clock. He didn't need to call out. He knew it was her.
He smiled at his reflection, dabbing at his jaw with a towel. Elizabeth was downstairs. He could picture her without trying, moving easily through his kitchen, as if she had always belonged there…which of course she had.
He reached for his white shirt. He would change into his Henley and serge before work, but not just yet. He buttoned it slowly, deliberately leaving the top few undone, sliding the leather-braided suspenders over his shoulders.
"Just a little experiment," he told himself.
He descended the stairs quietly, pausing halfway down when he saw her. She was bent at the waist, searching the pantry beneath the sink.
His breath stalled.
The blue and white dress. The one that deepened the color of her eyes and curved along her breasts and hips in a way that had haunted him more than once in the quiet of his lonely bedroom.
He rested his hand on the banister, watching her move, feeling something low and warm settle in his chest.
Seven years.
Seven years of wanting her. And now she stood in his kitchen before dawn, making his coffee.
He continued down the stairs, slower than necessary. Elizabeth heard him, but she didn't turn, intent on running her own experiment. Instead, she shifted slightly, reaching further into the pantry than needed. He came up behind her without a word, arms sliding around her waist. She gave a soft gasp that fooled neither of them, straightening to let her back rest against his chest.
"Good morning, Mrs. Thornton," he murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep.
Her hands covered his where they rested at her waist. Her thumbs brushed across his knuckles in slow, idle strokes.
"Good morning, Constable."
He bent his head, nuzzling just beneath her ear, pressing a warm kiss there.
"You've made coffee."
"Yes, I was also searching for the cinnamon rolls I left to go with it, but I can't seem to find them."
"I ate them."
She twisted in his arms just enough to look up at him. "All six, huh? In two days?"
"Yep, and I regret nothing. They're my favorite."
She narrowed her eyes. "I've heard that before."
He chuckled, thinking about the lemon curd that stole an entire night's sleep from him, his chest vibrating against her back. She tapped his hands, a signal to release her, and he did so immediately.
She turned to face him and a gasp, too quick to reel in, escaped her.
The white shirt.
The suspenders.
The top buttons undone just enough to tease what lay beneath.
His lips curved into a knowing, victorious smile.
"Something wrong?" he asked, feigning innocence.
She swallowed.
"No, I'm fine."
She reached for the coffee pot, grateful for something to do with her hands.
"No kiss?" he prompted.
Her pulse skipped.
She wanted to kiss him. Not polite. Not restrained. Not the soft peck that had become a habit. She wanted her mouth on his neck, wanted to trace the open collar of his shirt with her lips and see how far she could go before propriety won out. But instead, she answered, "Our coffee will get cold. Perhaps tonight."
His brows lifted. He had not expected retreat, not after the way her eyes had dragged over his chest and arms. Nevertheless, he sat down.
Across from each other at the table, steam was rising between them...and not just from the hot coffee. Yet, they made a show of it having no effect as they discussed the day's agenda in casual tones: Allie's fossil hunting until five, the infirmary at six for LJ's evening dose of insulin, and dinner at seven.
Ordinary things.
Extraordinary awareness.
Elizabeth's gaze betrayed her more than once, drifting to the stretch of white linen across his chest, the suspenders in place over his broad shoulders.
He caught her gaze, but she did not look away this time.
"You look very handsome in that white shirt and suspenders."
The honesty of it struck him harder than teasing would have.
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
Her eyes darted to his lips.
"Very."
Something shifted, he felt it, and so he pushed back from the table and stepped toward her. She rose to meet him without thinking, her desire overriding her well thought out plan.
He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. It wasn't enough for him, he wanted so much more. But he held to his experiment, applying the faintest pressure, slow and deliberate.
"We'll be late to work if we continue, Mrs. Thornton. It's probably best to stop now."
"But Nathan—"
"Perhaps tonight," he added, using her own words.
Ah. So, he was playing the same game. But his eyes were betraying him, even if his lips had been strong enough to retreat. They were intent, following the lines of her dress, and so she used it to her advantage.
"Do you like this dress?" she asked casually.
He didn't hesitate.
"I do."
"Well, I'm considering getting rid of it."
His expression sharpened, showing high alert.
"Why?"
"I'm not sure it's flattering."
She turned slightly, giving him a slow view of the sides and back, before facing him again.
"What do you think?"
His restraint visibly thinned.
"It's flattering," he said, his voice deeper now.
He stepped closer, but she lifted one finger and pressed it lightly to his lips.
He exhaled in frustration.
"Elizabeth."
"Yes, Constable?"
"I know what you're doing."
"And I know what you're doing."
They stood inches apart, neither yielding.
Finally, he chuckled, victory no longer important.
"You win. Are you satisfied?" he asked, closing the distance between them, slipping his hands around her waist.
"I am," she continued, her tone now sensual. "And because of that, I'm about to make you so much happier."
"I've heard that before."
The last time her seductive tone of promise had only yielded a damn sandwich.
"I made your lunch."
He sighed.
"Thank you," he said, his gratefulness genuine, yet his disappointment clear.
"But," she continued, "I thought you'd like to enjoy a taste of dessert now."
He watches, captivated as she lifts her index finger to her lips, dampens it with her tongue, dips it into the plate of sugar, leaving an imprint of a long stroke.
"This is new," he thinks, invested in whatever happens next.
She lifts the sugar to her mouth, tracing her bottom lip first, then her top.
"Well," she asks?
His hands tighten around her waist, pulling her flush against him. A small laugh escapes her in response to his eager, wordless reply…but is quickly replaced by a whimper. One hand anchors her to him, her spine tingles as the other travels up her back, grasping her neck, pulling her in a gentle tilt to his mouth. Her eyes close in anticipation…and she is rewarded handsomely as he pulls her bottom lip into his mouth, sucking at the sweetness.
"Nathan," she gasps, her enjoyment unable to be hidden.
"Mmm," he answers, but she's too overcome to say anything further, as he pulls her top lip into his mouth, giving it the same reverential treatment.
Once he's satisfied, having fully divested her of sugar, he catches her lower lip with his teeth, gently pulling, drawing a sigh from her that he capitalizes on, deepening the kiss. She feels his tongue lave against hers and she joins him in a slow, sensual tangle and twist.
There is no innocence. It's adult, mostly appropriate, "alone time" at its finest.
She draws back first, but she's not done. Moistening her finger again, she drags it through the sugar twice more. His eyes close as it nears his lips, but open in surprise when he feels the granules trace under his ear, down his neck, ending where his last button is undone. She leans into him, unashamed, owning his eye contact while kneading his pectorals...before she pulls him closer by his suspenders, drawing a road map with her lips and tongue from chest to ear.
A low groan escapes him. He's thrilled to "lose" in this way. He'll be quicker to "lose" on purpose next time.
Every. Single. Time.
His eyes open slowly, dark and stunned; thirsting for more after such a long drought. He exhales loud, uncontrolled, like a man who has just rediscovered something dangerously addictive. He murmurs without words, just an unintelligible sound, having no ability to form coherent speech.
A slow, satisfied smile curves her lips. She'd like more too…but she's already decided how this will end. In fact, she's been planning this sensual "taste test" since the night of the infamous polygraph.
"Well, Constable," she says, "it looks as if the truth has come out. I'm glad I could help you discover your actual favorite dessert."
She grins wickedly and adds, "you're welcome," as she leaves him standing there, his suspenders askew, his coffee forgotten…completely undone before seven in the morning. She walks away, swinging her hips more than necessary... knowing he's watching.