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Dolce
She cracks one eye open, offended by the bright light that is streaming directly through the crack in the blinds and onto her face. Rarely has she slept in this late, even on the weekend, but after last night she’s damn worn out. Closing her eyes again and inhaling through the first stretch of the day, she hears his soft snores behind her and grins into her pillow. He still won’t admit that he does that.
They’ve been doing this- whatever this is, because they haven’t made promises but they do regularly say ‘I love you’- for about a month now, and so far it’s been surprisingly easy. Keeping the secret at work was not the challenge she anticipated, what with constant death being an effective distraction, and there’s never any tension when they come home to one another at the end of the day. She’s not sure what she expected, back when she was in complete denial about her feelings, but it wasn’t this.
Provenza has yet to make comment about what he overheard at the stake-out, or the fact that he insisted they pull their heads out of their asses and they obviously have; she thinks his silence must be his own form of approval, but then perhaps he’s just waiting for an opportunity to catch them off guard. Still, she thinks there’s enough trust between the three of them for that to not be the case. If he does notice that it’s starting to affect their performance of the job, or their judgement, she trusts that he would not hesitate to say something. In fact she’s counting on it. She has no idea anymore.
Even Rusty, for all his insecurities about belonging and being wanted, has been surprisingly welcoming towards the relationship. He never seems put out to see Andy in their space, and affords them time alone, which surprises her, because she honestly expected him to act as chaperone and sit between them on the couch and all the rest. But the three of them have found their own little balance between friendship and family, and she likes to think that she and Andy are giving Rusty what he’s never had before.
She doesn’t usually stay at his place, but when Rusty is at a friend’s house she always takes the opportunity, because she likes the thrill of stepping out of her realm and going to see him. When he sleeps at her place it’s always discrete, and he’s usually out of the house and off to work before she can rouse Rusty out of bed anyway, so there’s never been much opportunity to linger around and become awkward with one another.
But this morning it’s a Saturday, and as far as she can tell from the sun that is still stubbornly in her face, it is mid-morning, and they have yet to catch a case, and she thinks this might just be their first lazy morning together.
She stretches, a moan catching in her throat as she rolls over, and his snoring has stopped and his breathing is becoming deeper. She settles on her pillow to watch him wake; he says it’s a creepy habit of hers, but he’s just so damn cute she can’t bring herself to stop.
“I can feel you staring” he mumbles, a few minutes later, his voice croaky with sleep.
She smiles softly and leans over him to plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips. He doesn’t quite return it in his semi-conscious state but that’s okay, because they apparently have all morning, and he kissed her plenty last night.
“Good morning” she whispers, right next to his ear.
He hums, low in his still-croaky throat, his hand finding her thigh under the blankets even as his eyes stay closed. His fingertips caress her skin, sensually but not to arouse. She spots his bullet-wound scar on his arm, just under her chin, and ducks her head to kiss it lightly. She rests her chin on his shoulder as he quirks his eyebrow and finally cracks one eye open in her direction.
“Agh” he yelps, squinting it shut again.
“Your blinds don’t close properly. You might want to fix that” she drawls. Her fingertips trace his chest as he brings his other hand up to shelter his eyes. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, and then looks her in the eye and grins.
“Hi” he says.
“Hi yourself’ she replies with a little smirk that is anything but innocent.
The hand on her thigh flattens and squeezes just a little as he shifts his head to give her a proper morning kiss. It’s a closed-mouth kiss, because as much as she loves his tongue she is conscious of morning breath, but it’s sweet just the same.
“What time is it?” he asks.
She rolls back a little to look over her shoulder, and then turns back to face him, her head propped on her hand, her elbow digging into her pillow. “Just after ten” she answers, noticing that he’s not paying much attention to the time anymore.
Her movements have caused the sheet to shift down a bit, allowing access to (though not fully exposing) her breasts, and she watches with open amusement as the hand that is not on her thigh snakes over his chest and comically lifts the edge of the sheet just a fraction more. His head is at just the right angle to cop an eyeful.
“Are you alright there?” she asks, making no move to stop him, obviously not offended by his one-track mind.
“I’m fine” he replies. “Just enjoying the morning” he adds, letting the sheet fall below her breasts and leaning over to kiss them. She giggles (which she notices she does a lot with him, and that’s a bit disarming) and lies flat on her back as he continues to playfully nip at her skin. She runs her fingers through his hair as he stops his antics and rests his chin on her breastbone, lying on his stomach, looking up at her. “And what a lovely morning it is” he finishes with a grin.
She smiles down at him softly, one hand running over his back and shoulders, the other spiking up his hair as she runs it from front to back. He kisses her breastbone once more, and then rests his chin there again, as content to linger as she is, and she wonders how many people have seen this side of him. She doesn’t care that he’s been a bit of a womaniser, or that he’s enjoyed a very active sex life (in fact, if anything it has served their relationship very well indeed). But she wonders just how many women have been able to see him like this- playful, and sweet, and completely smitten, happy to linger in bed with his hands running smoothly up and down her sides, and a warm grin on his face, like he has every intention of spending the whole day in this very moment.
She thinks it must not be many.
“Sleep well?” she asks with a smirk.
“Like the dead” he counters, and by the look on his face they are thinking the exact same thing.
“Me too”
“Worked up a bit of an appetite though” he adds.
“Hmm, I know what you mean”
On cue her stomach gurgles under his chest, loud and obnoxious in the quiet air around them. He can’t help himself, breaking out in a fit of laughter as he plants his forehead on her stomach, and she joins in, throwing one arm over her eyes in mild embarrassment.
“Breakfast?” he asks, still smiling widely at her as he pushes himself up and then leans back on his haunches into a kneel.
“Oh yes please” she answers.
She holds out her hands and he helps hoist her into a sitting position, her legs stretched out next to where he’s kneeling on the bed. Her lips find his immediately, the sheet sliding completely down to gather in her lap as he runs his hands up into her unruly hair and holds her to the kiss. They break with smiles, her hands on his sides.
“Can I just say, I could get used to this” he says.
She hums, and grins at him, and then slides her feet over the side of the bed because she really is hungry. She finds his shirt and her underwear, and she won’t deny that she deliberately wears them- and only them- just to tease him. She’s always had a thing for wearing her lover’s shirts, and apparently he has a thing for seeing her wear his shirts, and so she thinks to herself, why deny either of them the pleasure. She swaggers from the room, openly grinning at the leery look he gives her, and leaves him to find something to put on. She’s just gathering the milk out of the fridge when he rounds the hallway door wearing sweatpants and a tee-shirt. He walks straight up to her, her bum still hanging out of the fridge as she searches for the mangos on a lower shelf. He slides his hands up the back of her thighs and around to her stomach, pressing himself along her back as he splays his hands on her flesh and buries his nose in the back of her neck.
She gasps a little bit at the sudden and intimate contact. He was never one for playing fair. Then again, she thinks it was partially her fault, sauntering around in her underwear thinking she could get away with it.
“Have I told you I have a thing for your legs wearing nothing but the tails of my shirt?” he whispers in her ear. She grins, fruit successfully in hand, and stands straight, causing the back of the shirt to once again fall down over her bum as she spins in the circle of his arms.
“You might have mentioned it, yes”
She pecks him on the lips once, lightly, before ducking out of his arms and over to the kitchen bench. He smiles after her, shaking his head at her blatant and frankly unfair flirting. Since becoming intimate, he has learned that she is far from shy in bed and enjoys a good flirt as much as the next woman. He wonders how he never saw this playfulness before, and thinks the observation might have got lost somewhere between hating her and pretending not to love her.
He gathers the eggs from the fridge in her wake, and steps up beside her again, depositing them on the bench next to the stove. He knows she loves fried eggs on toast for breakfast, though she’d never admit it, because she always eats so well and works hard to stay in good shape. Still, he has caught her enough times making breakfast, and so he only pushes the eggs closer to her in silent encouragement to indulge.
“I’ll go grab the papers” he says, stepping back as she expertly lights the stove and flicks the button on the kettle for her tea.
“How domestic” she teases over her shoulder.
He quickly pads outside and collects the newspaper, opening it as he walks into the kitchen again just as she’s cracking an egg into the pan.
It is positively homely, he thinks, as he leaves the papers on the bench and walks over to finish making her tea and his coffee. It’s almost sickening, really, given they don’t even live together and their relationship is barely a month old. He steals a corner of the egg white from the pan that has already cooked, and she slaps his hand away in light reproach.
“If you want one, just tell me and I’ll make you one” she says.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll stick to the fruit”
“You sure?”
He just hums, and then walks to the cupboard and gets the cereal, and then to the fridge again to get the yoghurt. She puts two pieces of toast in the toaster, and he cuts the mangos onto a plate, leaving it in the centre of the bench.
She serves up her eggs on toast, and he takes the second piece of toast and settles on a bench stool with his cereal bowl and his coffee. She chooses to stand on the opposite side of the bench, balanced on one foot as she picks up a piece of mango and slips it into her mouth. He watches, curious but innocent enough, content to just enjoy the fact of them. She moans around her mouthful, nodding her head.
“I love mango season” she croons, picking up a second piece.
He just grins again, and unfolds the paper, and then folds it back on itself to read. She collects some cutlery and enthusiastically munches on her breakfast as he absently eats his cereal and holds the paper in his other hand. She spins the second paper around, flicking through it absently between mouthfuls. They are both quiet, comfortable enough to linger in the sounds of morning, reading their papers and eating their breakfasts. It’s not that they take this time for granted; it’s that it has been so long since domesticity was a reality for either of them that this is as novel as anything else they do together. He likes how easy she is in his space, and how comfortable he feels to sit with her in silence. He likes that she seems the same.
“So what did you have planned for this lovely morning?” he asks, just as he’s finishing the last mouthful of his toast. She looks up from the paper with a small smile.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead”
He grins at her, his eyes playful. She just smirks, and stands up straight, collecting their finished plates and taking them to the sink, popping the last piece of fruit in her mouth as she goes. He turns back to his paper, and is just turning the page as she goes to walk past him when he snakes a hand out and catches her hip. He tilts his head up as she stops next to him. With a grin and a roll of her eyes she leans in and indulges him with a kiss, and then disappears into the bedroom to get dressed. He hears the running of the shower in the ensuite, and knows that she won’t wash her hair, so gives himself only a couple of minutes to read the last of the paper. He hears the water shut off, finishes the paragraph he’s reading, though he isn’t really paying it much attention, and then follows her. She usually takes enough time getting ready to make herself presentable, but not half a day, and so he’s surprised when he walks in and she’s only in her underwear and bra; he was expecting her to be at least half dressed.
She’s bent at the waist, her knees bent too, looking around the edges of the base of his dresser and under the chair just next to it, one hand absently holding her ear, her glasses perched on her nose.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’ve lost… an earring...” she replies distractedly, moving to look under the edge of the bed. “I know I took it off last night and put it on the dresser”
He watches her for a moment, amused at the sight of her with her ass in the air, dressed only in her underwear, looking around under his bed. After appreciating the view for just a second, he kneels down and looks further under the bed, snaking a hand out to pat the carpet, hoping to feel the spikes of the diamond. He doesn’t doubt they’re real either, as he eyeballs the one safely in her other ear.
“They were my grandmothers’” she says, and though she doesn’t seem particularly distressed, he knows they must mean a great deal to her. “My mother will kill me if she finds out I lost one”
“I’m going to have to meet this mother of yours one day” he says softly with mirth, recalling the few stories she has let slip about her elegant but eccentric parents.
“One day you just might” she fires back, and he ignores the smirk he knows is directed at his back. He continues his search under the bed, patting the carpet lightly.
“Ah-ha” he cries.
She spins around, straightening, and he stands up with the prize pinched between two fingers, grinning madly at himself, handing her the lost item.
“My hero” she mumbles at him, her eyes fixed on the earring as she takes it from him and slips it on. “How can I ever repay you?”
He leers at her half-naked form, waggling an eyebrow. “I can think of a few ways”
She only grins, and gives him a single kiss, before moving towards the neat pile of clothes she’s gathered for herself. She had packed a bag to come over, and he watches appreciatively as she slides her legs into jeans, and throws a casual cream sweater over the top, the material thick enough to not clearly show the outline of her bra. He moves past her, touching her hip as he goes, and a moment later she hears the shower running. She walks to the door once her shoes are on and her jewellery in place, and leans against the doorframe, watching as Andy runs the soap suds out of his hair. The water flicks off his elbow against the glass wall of the shower, and she watches it run, her eyes unfocused.
“I was thinking we could have lunch out” he calls over the spray, wiping his eyes and turning under the water to face her.
“We just had breakfast” she answers, smirking at him, meeting his look.
“We could do something first. Go for a walk. Maybe down to the beach”
“Andy…”
She’s still hesitant to be out in public with him, big as the city is, because she fears they’ll run into someone they know, or worse, someone from work. She revels in this relationship, but is always aware that it’s a secret, and a wave of sadness follows the realisation that until they don’t care about that, they can’t be a couple everywhere they go.
It’s these trains of thought that have made weekends just that much harder.
“I know, I know” he says with a casual wave of his hand. He’s been nothing but understanding about it all, because he doesn’t want to be thrown out on his ass any more than he wants to see her publically humiliated. “But it’s just walking. And hey, I won’t even hold your hand, how’s that?”
She smirks at him as he’s running the soap over his body, a little grin on his face and a hopeful glint in his eye.
“Alright” she says. “A walk and some lunch”
“Beach?”
“Why not. It’s been a while. And I wouldn’t mind going to the shops too”
“Don’t tell me you need a new pair of shoes” he says, rolling his eyes at the memory of her extensive and very expensive shoe collection. She only smirks.
“No shoes” she promises. She swings out of the doorway and over to the counter to pick up the few toiletries she brought with her, packing them in their little bag. She hears him brushing his teeth in the shower behind her just as she’s picking up her own toothbrush. With a pause, and a single contemplative look, she firmly deposits it in the toothbrush holder on his basin; the one that he never seem to use himself. The one that has a half-used toothpaste tube and nothing else. The clang of her toothbrush echoes loud in her ear, and she knows that this small thing is not insignificant. They have yet to make these gestures; so far it’s been all about words, and just finding time to be together outside of work. They have yet to do anything that suggests that this thing between them is in any way permanent.
She doesn’t bother turning around to see if he’s smiling; she can feel it against her back; in her bones. A light tingle runs up her spine. She likes the feeling.