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The late afternoon sun was streaming through the large windows of their single-story home, casting long, golden shadows across the living room floor. The sliding doors leading out to the backyard were cracked open, letting in a warm breeze, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with a very specific, stubborn kind of domestic tension.
It was their shared day off. No uniforms, no locker rooms, no matching black silicone bands. Just soft clothes, bare feet, and the heavy, glittering weight of the silver and gold rings that meant the world to them.
The plan had been a lazy Saturday. But Tim had discovered a new co-op tactical shooter, and the former army and police sergeant in him simply couldn't let a digital hostage situation go unresolved.
Lucy, however, had a different agenda. She was currently operating at maximum cling capacity.
She hadn't just sat next to him. She had climbed into his space like it was hers—which it was. She was straddling his lap sideways, her legs thrown over his thighs, her chest pressed flush against his side. Her left arm was looped around his neck, and her right hand was busy mapping the broad expanse of his chest through his soft grey t-shirt. She was a living, breathing weighted blanket, and usually, Tim would have already abandoned whatever he was doing to drag her off to the bedroom.
But right now, his thumbs were flying across the controller, his jaw clenched in absolute concentration, his blue eyes locked on the television screen.
"Honey," she murmured, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point just below his ear.
"Mmhmm," Tim hummed, tilting his head just a fraction to give her better access, but his eyes didn't waver.
"Don’t you miss me?"
"I saw you ten minutes ago."
"That’s too long."
There was no hesitation in her tone, no room for argument. Tim huffed quietly, something amused slipping through even as his eyes didn't waver. "Watch the left flank, they're pushing."
Lucy didn't like that. Not enough.
She shifted even closer, sliding her hand up to his neck, her fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape.
"Babe," Lucy tried again, her fingers sliding up to trace the shell of his ear, then tangling in the short hair at the nape of his neck.
"Hang on, Luce," Tim grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against her chest. "I’m almost at the extraction point. Just need two more minutes to clear this hallway."
Lucy huffed, a warm puff of air against his skin. She wasn't just bored; she was experiencing an acute deficit of physical attention. For a couple who spent their entire workdays maintaining professional distance, their home was the one place they didn't have to hold back. They were suckers for physical affection, practically magnetically drawn to each other at all times.
"Tim."
"Lucy."
"You’re ignoring me."
"I’m not ignoring you."
"You haven’t looked at me."
"I know you’re here."
"That’s not the same thing."
She leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw, then another closer to his lips.
Tim exhaled slowly through his nose, his grip on the controller tightening just slightly. "You’re doing that on purpose."
"Yes," she whispered, her lips brushing his skin. "Come play with me instead. I’m cold. And neglected. And I haven't been kissed in at least an hour."
"Forty minutes," Tim corrected automatically, a tactical error of massive proportions. "I kissed you when we sat down after lunch."
It wasn't the game that bothered her. It was the fact that he was cataloging their affection like a patrol log while simultaneously ignoring the very present, very willing wife currently draped over him.
Lucy stiffened.
“You love me, right?”
“You know I do.”
“Then act like it!”
“I am.”
“You’re playing a game.”
“I can do both.”
Lucy pulled back just enough to look at him, unimpressed.
“You’re choosing the game.”
“I am not choosing the game.”
“You are literally choosing the game over me.”
He didn’t answer that.
"Fine," Lucy said, her voice dropping into a clipped, unimpressed tone. She pushed off his chest, untangling her legs from his in one smooth movement. "If my husband is too busy with his digital perimeter checks, I’ll find somewhere else to be cold."
Tim barely registered the shift. "Just two minutes, baby, I promise—"
But Lucy was already up.
She marched to the absolute furthest end of the long sectional sofa. She grabbed a throw blanket, wrapped it around herself like a defensive shield, and pulled her knees to her chest. She grabbed a book off the end table, opening it with a sharp, dramatic snap, and pointedly turned her body away from him.
Silence fell over the living room, save for the electronic gunfire from the TV.
Tim lasted exactly six seconds.
His eyes flicked to the side. Then again.
On the screen, his character successfully breached the final door. The extraction chopper was waiting. All he had to do was walk forward.
But Tim didn't walk forward.
The second Lucy’s weight left his lap, a cold draft seemed to hit his chest. The absence of her body heat was immediate and jarring. He was a highly trained LAPD Sergeant; his situational awareness was second nature. And right now, every alarm bell in his head was screaming that the most important thing in the room was no longer within arm's reach.
He tried to look at the screen, but his eyes kept flicking to the far end of the sofa. He could see the rigid line of her shoulders. She was pouting. A fierce, silent, beautiful pout.
Suddenly, the game felt entirely pointless.
He didn't care about the extraction point. He cared that his wife wasn't touching him. He realized, with a sudden, sharp clarity, that he didn't just tolerate her clinginess while he played—he needed it. He liked the distraction. He liked the feeling of her gold band brushing against his skin.
On the screen, an enemy spawned behind him. Tim didn't even twitch.
He let the character die.
Game Over.
Lucy heard the dramatic music signal his failure, followed by the soft thud of the controller being tossed onto the coffee table.
She didn't move. She kept her eyes glued to the same unread sentence in her book. Let him suffer, she thought stubbornly. He can come over here and apologize.
She heard the cushions shift as he stood up. But instead of leaning over the back of the couch to offer a coaxing touch, his heavy footsteps moved around the coffee table, purposeful and completely silent.
Before Lucy could even register his proximity, the book was plucked smoothly from her hands and tossed onto the cushions. In the next second, his hands slid under her knees and around her waist.
"Tim!" she gasped.
"Yeah, no," he muttered.
With the effortless, terrifying strength that always made her heart do a dizzying little flip, Tim scooped her up. He lifted her entirely off the sofa like she weighed nothing at all, carrying her right back to the center cushion where he had been sitting.
"Put me down," she demanded, though the threat was entirely undermined by the way her arms automatically wound around his neck.
"I am," Tim grumbled, his voice a dark, possessive rumble.
He sat down, but he didn't place her next to him. He pulled her directly into his lap, straddling her across his thighs just as she had been before. He locked his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him so tightly that the air was squeezed from her lungs in a soft sigh.
"Stay here," he muttered, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Lucy blinked, caught off guard by how immediate it was. "You died," she pointed out, trying to maintain her pout.
"I don't care about the game, Luce," he muttered against her skin.
"You cared a minute ago. You were ignoring me. When you were timing our kisses."
"I wasn't ignoring you," he said, tightening his hold just slightly when she shifted. "You just left."
"I left because you didn't notice me."
Tim huffed quietly, his chin brushing against her shoulder as he adjusted her closer, like even now she wasn’t quite close enough. "I noticed."
Lucy frowned slightly, turning her head just enough to look at him over her shoulder. "You didn't even look at me."
"I don't need to look at you to know you're here with me," he said. His hand slid up from her waist to her side, his thumb brushing slowly, grounding her. "You were literally all over me. And then you weren't. That's what I noticed."
That landed.
Lucy’s shoulders dropped just slightly, her body relaxing back into him without thinking. "You could’ve said something," she murmured.
"You could’ve stayed," he replied, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. His blue gaze was intense, stripped of all teasing. "I was an idiot. The second you moved, the whole room felt empty. I couldn't even look at the screen. I missed your hands on me."
Lucy’s pout softened entirely, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You want me clinging to you while you play your game?"
Tim didn't hesitate. "Yes," he rasped, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek. "I want you touching me, baby. Even when I’m playing. Even when I’m reading. I can be busy and still want you exactly right here."
"I was being very distracting," she whispered, her heart swelling.
"Be distracting," he urged, leaning in until their noses brushed. "Distract me all you want. Climb all over me. I’m yours. I just got stupidly focused, and I forgot that the only mission I actually care about is keeping you happy."
Lucy couldn't hold back her smile anymore. Her hand slid over his, her fingers lacing loosely with his as she pressed closer. "You are very lucky you're so strong, honey. Scooping me up like that is cheating."
"It's a tactical advantage," Tim corrected, a slow, wicked smirk finally breaking through his serious expression. "I saw a high-value asset retreating, and I secured it."
"Oh, I'm an asset now?"
"The most important one." he gleamed.
"You're the Mid-Wilshire Field Supervisor," he whispered, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, his voice dropping into that dark, heavy register that meant the teasing was over. "And right now, Sergeant Chen, I need you to supervise me."
"Is that a request, Sergeant Bradford?" she breathed, her eyes darkening as she felt the shift in his energy.
"It's a plea," he murmured, before closing the final distance between them.
The kiss was hungry and consuming, erasing the last forty minutes of distance in a single, breathless second. Lucy arched into him, her hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him as close as physically possible. They were freaks for each other, entirely addicted to the contact, the friction, the shared heat.
When Tim finally pulled back, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. The television screen behind them was dark, the game completely forgotten.
"Don't go to the other end of the couch again," Tim ordered softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip.
"I won't," Lucy promised, her eyes shining with love. "But only if you promise to keep scooping me up if I do."
Tim laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and pulled her down for another kiss. "Always, my love."
Always.