In Kind, Ch. 3-An "As Usual" Sequel (Caskett 3-shot, post-Cuffed)
Title: In Kind-An "As Usual" Sequel
Rating: T
Summary: "She stays"
A/N: Unwelcome epilogue to a sequel I didn't intend to write.
She stays.
It's stilted at first. An expanding universe of space they keep between them by mutual, unspoken agreement.
"Hungry?" he asks, and she nods twice. Once because it seems like she should. Once because it's true. The cold and still-buzzing want have left her starving.
"Yeah," she adds, because it's ridiculous. The silence is ridiculous, and then she blushes bright when he smiles like a single, inane word from her is some kind of gift.
He disappears and reappears, in and out of cabinets and the refrigerator and from underneath the island. He holds things up and out to her. She wrinkles her nose or nods eagerly. He makes her laugh in fits and starts, and it's easier.
"Let me," she says sliding from her perch on a stool to knock his hands out of the way. The nearness is electric. The pull of her body to his and vice versa.
"Bossy," he rumbles, letting his lips graze her cheek as he hands off the knife and leaves her to it. Slicing cheese and arranging crackers and fruit and other odds and ends on a plate while he makes a vast bowl of popcorn in a kettle on the stovetop.
They carry their feast to his office in stages. Plates and glasses and bowls and a bottle of wine she's not sure is a good idea. He spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the leather chairs and loots the living room for pillows. For another blanket, because she's still shivering.
He puts on a stupid movie. They eat too much. They barter over the last of things. Grapes for the last of the blue cheese. Chocolate-covered almonds for popcorn. Her fingers creep out and tangle through his. He shoves the plates and bowls aside and curls his arm around her. He kisses her forehead. She presses her lips to the underside of his jaw.
They laugh and don't laugh. Ignore the movie entirely and rewind when he swears it's a good part. She throws the blanket over his legs, too, and scoots closer. They fall asleep with his head tipped back against the chair arm and hers resting on his chest.
She doesn't drool.
"Kate." He wakes her gently. The TV screen is blue and the traffic outside has leveled off as much as it ever does.
"How late?" She stretches out her toes and her fingers, pushing at the warm, tired feeling that runs all through her.
"To Catch a Thief late." He covers the face of her dad's watch with his hand. He murmurs against her ear. "There's the couch." He kisses her neck. "Guest room . . ." Another kiss, lingering this time. Dangerous and heavy with the next logical stop on that particular tour.
"I should go," she says, but she turns her body into his, one arm tucked against her chest, the other slung loosely over his hip.
"Should." He manhandles her almost into his lap. "Not should. But if you want to . . ."
"Don't want to." She laughs into his shoulder. "But should."
He wraps her up in a coat. One of his, and she doesn't argue, even though it's ridiculous with half a dozen others right there that would fit better. He winds a scarf around her neck, and she's only just barely draws the line at a hat and gloves.
"You're stalling," she says, batting his hands away.
"I'm concerned for your well being. Someone should be." He gives a theatrical sniff, then breaks. "I'm absolutely stalling."
But the phone rings, then. The night doorman has a cab waiting.
"I'm glad you came," he says gruffly. He busies himself tucking the ends of the scarf into the coat. "This was . . ." He trails off. Her eyes and his snag. A heated glance, and she's kissing him. "That," he finishes breathlessly.
"That." She agrees, laughing and stealing one more kiss. "Definitely that."
A/N: OMGWTFBBQEPILOGUE? Thank you for reading.
Rating: T
Summary: "She stays"
A/N: Unwelcome epilogue to a sequel I didn't intend to write.
She stays.
It's stilted at first. An expanding universe of space they keep between them by mutual, unspoken agreement.
"Hungry?" he asks, and she nods twice. Once because it seems like she should. Once because it's true. The cold and still-buzzing want have left her starving.
"Yeah," she adds, because it's ridiculous. The silence is ridiculous, and then she blushes bright when he smiles like a single, inane word from her is some kind of gift.
He disappears and reappears, in and out of cabinets and the refrigerator and from underneath the island. He holds things up and out to her. She wrinkles her nose or nods eagerly. He makes her laugh in fits and starts, and it's easier.
"Let me," she says sliding from her perch on a stool to knock his hands out of the way. The nearness is electric. The pull of her body to his and vice versa.
"Bossy," he rumbles, letting his lips graze her cheek as he hands off the knife and leaves her to it. Slicing cheese and arranging crackers and fruit and other odds and ends on a plate while he makes a vast bowl of popcorn in a kettle on the stovetop.
They carry their feast to his office in stages. Plates and glasses and bowls and a bottle of wine she's not sure is a good idea. He spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the leather chairs and loots the living room for pillows. For another blanket, because she's still shivering.
He puts on a stupid movie. They eat too much. They barter over the last of things. Grapes for the last of the blue cheese. Chocolate-covered almonds for popcorn. Her fingers creep out and tangle through his. He shoves the plates and bowls aside and curls his arm around her. He kisses her forehead. She presses her lips to the underside of his jaw.
They laugh and don't laugh. Ignore the movie entirely and rewind when he swears it's a good part. She throws the blanket over his legs, too, and scoots closer. They fall asleep with his head tipped back against the chair arm and hers resting on his chest.
She doesn't drool.
"Kate." He wakes her gently. The TV screen is blue and the traffic outside has leveled off as much as it ever does.
"How late?" She stretches out her toes and her fingers, pushing at the warm, tired feeling that runs all through her.
"To Catch a Thief late." He covers the face of her dad's watch with his hand. He murmurs against her ear. "There's the couch." He kisses her neck. "Guest room . . ." Another kiss, lingering this time. Dangerous and heavy with the next logical stop on that particular tour.
"I should go," she says, but she turns her body into his, one arm tucked against her chest, the other slung loosely over his hip.
"Should." He manhandles her almost into his lap. "Not should. But if you want to . . ."
"Don't want to." She laughs into his shoulder. "But should."
He wraps her up in a coat. One of his, and she doesn't argue, even though it's ridiculous with half a dozen others right there that would fit better. He winds a scarf around her neck, and she's only just barely draws the line at a hat and gloves.
"You're stalling," she says, batting his hands away.
"I'm concerned for your well being. Someone should be." He gives a theatrical sniff, then breaks. "I'm absolutely stalling."
But the phone rings, then. The night doorman has a cab waiting.
"I'm glad you came," he says gruffly. He busies himself tucking the ends of the scarf into the coat. "This was . . ." He trails off. Her eyes and his snag. A heated glance, and she's kissing him. "That," he finishes breathlessly.
"That." She agrees, laughing and stealing one more kiss. "Definitely that."
A/N: OMGWTFBBQEPILOGUE? Thank you for reading.