Distance, Part Eight
*looks up* Love that new banner for the comm, dear mods! Very pretty! :)
Title: Distance, Part Eight
Author: pinkdoom
Summary: Sometimes it takes a little distance to understand how precious what you have truly is; let the flirting begin! ;)
Rating R for Part Eight
Word Count: 3,280
Disclaimer: Not mine!! All is property of Jim Butcher, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: serious h/c (and will be for a while!); pre-slash flirting and a Bob confession; realizations of the life-changing kind; sexual suggestions and tension; language; corporeal Bob, no explanation.
Beta'd by: edana_ni_emer and moonchildetoo
Previous parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Three and a Half by weslyn, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven
As hard as I tried, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't get to sleep. I'd reach that point just before actual slumber, when you're still technically awake because you can hear everything going on around you, but your eyes are closed and your body is relaxed. I was on my back, snuggled into several blankets, and I was completely relaxed. But not asleep, not by a long shot.
I was aware of Mister walking on the end of bed, and when he settled near my feet. I heard the wind outside whip around the building; a storm was brewing, the third in just as many days. It was the height of summer, and with the heat being wiped out by a cold front that had moved in, storms were no surprise.
And I was entirely aware of the sound of footsteps coming near me, and when the bed dipped as Bob sat down beside me, I thought he was just checking on me and my numerous injuries.
His hand ghosting over my arm was a different matter. Fingertips traced down my skin and then back up, the touch no heavier than the gentlest of caresses. Whispered words reached my ears, and the pain they held made me want to "wake up" and take him in my arms. But I couldn't. He obviously felt he needed to do this.
"Harry, how did we get like this?" Bob sighed and I fought not to shift uncomfortably at the agony I sensed coming from him. "I know that I'm largely responsible, I know that I let my feelings for you get in the way of better judgment. If I'd been more willing to talk to you, to be completely honest with you, we might not be here. But then again..." His voice broke a bit before he found some kind of inner strength to carry on. "If I'd been more sturdier of will, I would have been able to not allow my feelings for you to get in the way of us. To break us apart and scatter us on the wind like so much worthless humanity." Bob's fingers gripped my wrist gently, his thumb tracing over my pulse, and he brought my hand up to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand then put my arm back down, as gently has he had picked it up.
A moment of silence passed, and then I felt the back of his hand brush over my unbruised cheek. "I wonder, if I had approached you and told you everything, told you how much I love you and want to--" He growled under his breath and what I mistook for frustration at our situation was actually....frustration at our situation, but while I was thinking it was the fact that we had been fighting, it was actually something else entirely.
"Gods, you have no idea how many times I've watched you, dreamt about you, wanted you under my hands," Bob purred softly while he stroked my cheek. "You cannot fathom how many times I've come so close to trapping you against a wall and kissing you senseless, capturing you under me while you slept and warming your body with my touch, rousing you to the point where you cannot take anymore sensual torture and you beg for me." His voice became a little louder and I felt his breath on my neck. Bob inhaled deeply and it took all I had not to shiver when he said, "Do you know how many times I've wanted to keep you in bed all day long, the sounds of our pleasure bouncing off these walls with passion fierce enough to affect anyone within earshot?"
Fuck me sideways. All I could do was pretend to stir, and Bob quickly scooted off the bed and I heard him walk back to his own. I fought back the giggles as his heated words wrapped my brain in velvet and made my body tense. I felt myself start to get too warm, but kicking off some blankets right now might key him into the fact that I wasn't really asleep, so I stayed still.
I heard the rustle of sheets across the way, and then the groan of the mattress as he settled back into bed. I waited until I was sweating more than I could stand before quietly drawing back the covers and letting the cool air waft over me. Bob wanted me, loved me, and that was the main reason for him pulling away from me, getting defensive about even the tiniest things, and just about everything else that was more than just the usual Bob-sarcasm and wit.
Bob felt the same way I did. It seemed that all our fighting and yelling, with the exception of me being an idiot and taking the Harley out and getting myself made into a blacktop pancake...all our fighting was the result of the two of us being unwilling to express our feelings in the way we should have.
Now, if we had just fucked each other silly between bouts of yelling, a lot of this mess probably wouldn't have happened. And even if we had kept on fighting about something else...well, the make-up sex would have been fantastic, that much I knew. Bob might be a bit of a pervert, but there was no way--with that lithe body, large hands, and know-it-all attitude--that Bob didn't know a thing or two about sex and pleasure.
I groaned inwardly as the image of a naked Bob crawling over me scrambled more than a few neurons in my brain. And now that I knew, for a fact, that Bob wanted me like I wanted him...well, maybe I'd find an excuse to give him an opportunity to trap me against the wall. That's awful, I know, since he and I had a lot of unresolved issues, but dammit...
I tried to roll over on my side and was rewarded with enough pain to make tears come to my eyes, so I flopped back and stared at the ceiling. Mister flipped over on the bed, all fours in the air, and grumbled softly in his sleep, and from across the room, I could hear Bob moving a little. He was as restless as I was, and just as awake.
Scenarios played out in my mind...one where I got up from bed, as painful as that sounded, and pulled him to me, soothed away his fears with kisses and words I've always wanted to say to him, but hadn't yet. In another, I caught him by the arm as he came in the front door, damp from the rain, and peeled his clothes off, one layer at a time. His hands helped me as pieces of clothing hit the floor in a sodden heap, and when he was naked and shivering and looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive, I bent him over the desk, undid my pants, and thrust into him again and again until he was hoarse from crying my name.
I blinked a few times after that particular image flashed in front of me, my body heating up even more than it already was. A glance down at my pants told me my cock was more than appreciative of my little dreams, and I ran my hand over it. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning as that little bit of friction made a deep ache light up every inch of my skin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Here I was, bandaged, bruised, cast on my arm, and I had a hard-on.
I thought about drawing up the covers and jerking off underneath the limited protection of the blankets, then dealing with the mess in the morning, but I didn't trust myself. My luck, I'd wind up saying Bob's name as I came, and...would my face be red. I gave myself a mental headslap, trying to rationalize with my libido.
It was a hard-fought battle, but eventually I managed to drift off into something that resembled sleep, my now-ignored cock silently threatening me with nonperformance the next time I chose to get aroused.
Fuck.
* * *
The rich, heavy scent of coffee hit my nose and my eyes snapped open. The sun was just starting to rise, and muted shades of orange, red, and pink started to creep into the windows. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told me it was just after 6 a.m., and I laid there, really wanting to get up but not sure if I was ready for the pain that would surely come the moment I tried to move.
Severe caffeine deprivation and a rumbling hunger won out, and I rolled onto my side, remembering how it felt when I tried to do that earlier. I steeled myself for the pain, and when it came, I took a few deep breaths and hauled my battered body out of bed in one swift move. Well, as swift as a battered body can move, anyways.
I took a few jarring steps toward the stairs, then looked down over the railing. Bob was below, in my line of sight, and he was taking the rubber band off today's newspaper and smoothing it down. He looked like he normally did, dressed like he normally did, but you can believe me when I say I was looking at him in a different light. I'd harbored all kinds of fantasies about Bob, from the sweet and cuddly to the insanely kinky (and those made me question my own sexual appetites more than a few times), and now that I knew he felt the same way...I couldn't help but notice how well his slacks fit, or how the light from the candles around him made his skin glow almost iridescently.
I closed my eyes and took a few more deep breaths. The last thing I needed now was another hard-on. Bracing myself on the railing, I took the stairs one incredibly painful step at a time, and by the time I reached the bottom, I was breathing hard and making small noises of discomfort.
"Harry!"
Bob rushed to my side, his hands everywhere as he tried to help me over to the couch, but I shook my head. "Nuh uh. I'm doing this on my own, Bob."
He made an exasperated sound and said softly, "Thick-skulled wizard," but he let me go where I wanted to. But his hands never left me as we shuffled to the kitchen. Mister dashed by us, probably as hungry as I was. Bob clucked his tongue at the cat, but it wasn't like Mister was going to pay him any mind. I'm pretty sure his thought pattern was something along the lines of, "Stupid humans, get outta my way!"
We reached the kitchen and Bob tried to steer me toward a chair, but I shook him off and made my own, painful way to the coffee maker. "Don't you think you should sit?" he asked gently.
I turned around, almost to my destination, and grinned. "I will, once I've got a big, steaming mug of coffee in front of me."
Bob strode toward me, reached around me for a mug, and then made a grab for the pot, but I beat him to it. "Harry, really, you should let me do this."
"And you should realize," I said with a playful growl in my voice, "that I'm too damn stubborn to let people wait on me for too long. Besides, I couldn't take another day in bed without going nuts."
Bob scoffed at me and crossed his arms over his chest, but I saw the brief smile that flitted over his face. "You do seem to be getting better with every passing moment."
I poured two mugs of coffee, feeling the movement pull on my injured ribs a little, but I ignored it. I handed him one mug and fixed my own the way I liked it. Bob took his black, and I dumped a bunch of sugar and a little cream into mine, like always. I turned and made my way to the table, Bob hovering behind me in case I fell.
Once I was seated, with Bob at my right elbow, I faced him and said quietly, "We need to talk, Bob."
He looked down into his coffee and said just as quietly, "I know."
We sat in silence for a few moments, and I opened my mouth to apologize, again, when he cut me off. "Don't, Harry. You've apologized, I've forgiven, but you haven't given me the chance to apologize for the many wrongs I've done you."
I recalled his words from last night and wondered if he was really going to fess up, but I was disappointed when he simply said, "I am sorry, Harry, for allowing this to go so far, and for making you believe that I didn't want to be a part of your life. It pains me every minute, the things I said to you, about how you weren't deserving of my affections. That was entirely false, and I should have never said that, or done any of the other hurtful things I did."
His words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding all that back for a while, and when he was done, I reached over and grabbed his hand. "Apology accepted. I shouldn't have done what I did...I fucked up. We'll work on this, our relationship, but I know that I can't lose you, Bob. I just can't."
I was handing him a prime opportunity to talk, to actually tell me how he felt about me...but then again, I didn't blame him. It's not like I was really ready to confess to my end, either. So I just let him grab my hand in turn and squeeze it. There wasn't anything else to be said, not right now. We'd made our apologies, but there were still unresolved issues.
There was more than one way to bring those to the surface. Bob nodded, gave me a small, hopeful smile, and got up. "Are you hungry for anything in particular?"
Bob, you have no idea. I watched him turn to the cabinets and start poking through them before answering, "I think there's some bread up there. Toast sounds pretty good right now. I don't think I'll throw that back up."
Bob chuckled softly. He pulled the bread down and moved to the toaster, then filled the four slots with bread and pushed them down. He didn't see it, since his back was to me, but the idea I'd just gotten in my head was making me smile like a fiend.
I stood as silently as possible and scooted over to him, then passed behind him as I made my way to the refrigerator. I was going to get out the butter and jam, but I made damn sure that I rubbed up against his backside as I passed by. I heard him stifle a gasp, and I pretended not to hear as I opened the refrigerator door.
"Really, Harry, I'll get that," he protested in a choked voice. I ignored him and grabbed what I wanted, then plunked the butter tub and the jam jar down on the counter.
"Taken care of, Bob. No big deal. It's got to be good for me to move, get the blood flowing."
His mouth turned down in disapproval, but there wasn't much he could do, so he turned back to the cabinets and brought down two plates. I caught sight of the slightest hint of red creeping up his neck, and I wanted to laugh so badly that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out into unfettered giggles. Instead of going back to the table, I stood to his left and did one of the things he's rather good at...hovering.
Bob must have felt my eyes on him because he shifted his weight and looked at me. "Was there something else, Harry?"
I shrugged, doing my best to just toe the line of being annoying. "Nope."
He pondered that and my face for a moment, then turned back to the toaster. "I presume you want yours like always?"
"You bet. Nice and black and nearly burnt."
Bob pulled a face and I laughed at that. "Do you have any idea how disgusting burnt toast is?"
"Obviously, I don't think it's disgusting."
"Ugh," Bob replied, and he shuddered. "Would you like some raw meat off the bone with that, perhaps?"
I snorted. "You're in a mood today."
He gave his own shrug in response, grabbing the toast as it nearly flew out of the toaster. "I'm pleased with how well you're healing, and I'm even more pleased that, despite everything that's happened, we can still do this and know that we're on our way to repairing our relationship."
Bob passed me a plate with three very crisp, nearly burnt pieces of toast on it and I set about buttering them. "We can still do what?"
"Banter like this, return to some sort of normalcy until we get matters settled." He didn't look my way when he said this; in fact, his eyes were fixed on his plate.
I peered at him, hoping he'd look up, but of course he didn't, so I reached out and lifted his head up with a finger underneath his chin. "Spit it out, Bob," I said gently. "You were never very good at being anything but blunt when you talk."
What little resistance there was melted in that moment, and he said in a whisper, "I miss the way we were, Harry. More than I can express."
I licked my lips, opened my mouth a few times...but couldn't come up with anything to say. So I just nodded and went back to spreading an ungodly amount of butter on my toast.
The rest of breakfast was fairly quiet, at least until Mister jumped up on the table and hissed at Bob for trying to shoo him away. Thoroughly chastised--and by a cat nonetheless--Bob gave me a look and finished off his breakfast. I was laughing so hard I nearly choked, and that's when Mister decided to jump into my lap and paw at me for scraps.
Somewhere between the choking and the cat-holding and the laughing, I realized that it felt fantastic to not have so much tension swarming around us all the time. I think that was the first time either one of us had laughed like that in quite a while, and I had forgotten how much I missed it.
When I finally calmed down, Bob was looking at me over the rim of his coffee cup, a tiny smile on his face. "What?" I asked, scratching Mister behind the ears, the little drama queen.
"I would have given just about anything to see you happy again, Harry."
"Not to downplay what you just said but...I've got breakfast, coffee, and Mister just told you off. I'm good."
Bob shook his head at me and smiled wider. "You are incorrigible, Harry Dresden."
"Just the way you like me."
The look I got for that comment nearly knocked me out of my chair, and I understood that if I was going to try to covertly seduce Bob, I was going to have to be more than just a little quick and tap out my quota of luck for about a year...cause the way he was looking at me right now, my insides were smoldering. I'd hit a hidden Bob-button.
Yay for me.
Title: Distance, Part Eight
Author: pinkdoom
Summary: Sometimes it takes a little distance to understand how precious what you have truly is; let the flirting begin! ;)
Rating R for Part Eight
Word Count: 3,280
Disclaimer: Not mine!! All is property of Jim Butcher, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: serious h/c (and will be for a while!); pre-slash flirting and a Bob confession; realizations of the life-changing kind; sexual suggestions and tension; language; corporeal Bob, no explanation.
Beta'd by: edana_ni_emer and moonchildetoo
Previous parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Three and a Half by weslyn, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven
As hard as I tried, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't get to sleep. I'd reach that point just before actual slumber, when you're still technically awake because you can hear everything going on around you, but your eyes are closed and your body is relaxed. I was on my back, snuggled into several blankets, and I was completely relaxed. But not asleep, not by a long shot.
I was aware of Mister walking on the end of bed, and when he settled near my feet. I heard the wind outside whip around the building; a storm was brewing, the third in just as many days. It was the height of summer, and with the heat being wiped out by a cold front that had moved in, storms were no surprise.
And I was entirely aware of the sound of footsteps coming near me, and when the bed dipped as Bob sat down beside me, I thought he was just checking on me and my numerous injuries.
His hand ghosting over my arm was a different matter. Fingertips traced down my skin and then back up, the touch no heavier than the gentlest of caresses. Whispered words reached my ears, and the pain they held made me want to "wake up" and take him in my arms. But I couldn't. He obviously felt he needed to do this.
"Harry, how did we get like this?" Bob sighed and I fought not to shift uncomfortably at the agony I sensed coming from him. "I know that I'm largely responsible, I know that I let my feelings for you get in the way of better judgment. If I'd been more willing to talk to you, to be completely honest with you, we might not be here. But then again..." His voice broke a bit before he found some kind of inner strength to carry on. "If I'd been more sturdier of will, I would have been able to not allow my feelings for you to get in the way of us. To break us apart and scatter us on the wind like so much worthless humanity." Bob's fingers gripped my wrist gently, his thumb tracing over my pulse, and he brought my hand up to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand then put my arm back down, as gently has he had picked it up.
A moment of silence passed, and then I felt the back of his hand brush over my unbruised cheek. "I wonder, if I had approached you and told you everything, told you how much I love you and want to--" He growled under his breath and what I mistook for frustration at our situation was actually....frustration at our situation, but while I was thinking it was the fact that we had been fighting, it was actually something else entirely.
"Gods, you have no idea how many times I've watched you, dreamt about you, wanted you under my hands," Bob purred softly while he stroked my cheek. "You cannot fathom how many times I've come so close to trapping you against a wall and kissing you senseless, capturing you under me while you slept and warming your body with my touch, rousing you to the point where you cannot take anymore sensual torture and you beg for me." His voice became a little louder and I felt his breath on my neck. Bob inhaled deeply and it took all I had not to shiver when he said, "Do you know how many times I've wanted to keep you in bed all day long, the sounds of our pleasure bouncing off these walls with passion fierce enough to affect anyone within earshot?"
Fuck me sideways. All I could do was pretend to stir, and Bob quickly scooted off the bed and I heard him walk back to his own. I fought back the giggles as his heated words wrapped my brain in velvet and made my body tense. I felt myself start to get too warm, but kicking off some blankets right now might key him into the fact that I wasn't really asleep, so I stayed still.
I heard the rustle of sheets across the way, and then the groan of the mattress as he settled back into bed. I waited until I was sweating more than I could stand before quietly drawing back the covers and letting the cool air waft over me. Bob wanted me, loved me, and that was the main reason for him pulling away from me, getting defensive about even the tiniest things, and just about everything else that was more than just the usual Bob-sarcasm and wit.
Bob felt the same way I did. It seemed that all our fighting and yelling, with the exception of me being an idiot and taking the Harley out and getting myself made into a blacktop pancake...all our fighting was the result of the two of us being unwilling to express our feelings in the way we should have.
Now, if we had just fucked each other silly between bouts of yelling, a lot of this mess probably wouldn't have happened. And even if we had kept on fighting about something else...well, the make-up sex would have been fantastic, that much I knew. Bob might be a bit of a pervert, but there was no way--with that lithe body, large hands, and know-it-all attitude--that Bob didn't know a thing or two about sex and pleasure.
I groaned inwardly as the image of a naked Bob crawling over me scrambled more than a few neurons in my brain. And now that I knew, for a fact, that Bob wanted me like I wanted him...well, maybe I'd find an excuse to give him an opportunity to trap me against the wall. That's awful, I know, since he and I had a lot of unresolved issues, but dammit...
I tried to roll over on my side and was rewarded with enough pain to make tears come to my eyes, so I flopped back and stared at the ceiling. Mister flipped over on the bed, all fours in the air, and grumbled softly in his sleep, and from across the room, I could hear Bob moving a little. He was as restless as I was, and just as awake.
Scenarios played out in my mind...one where I got up from bed, as painful as that sounded, and pulled him to me, soothed away his fears with kisses and words I've always wanted to say to him, but hadn't yet. In another, I caught him by the arm as he came in the front door, damp from the rain, and peeled his clothes off, one layer at a time. His hands helped me as pieces of clothing hit the floor in a sodden heap, and when he was naked and shivering and looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive, I bent him over the desk, undid my pants, and thrust into him again and again until he was hoarse from crying my name.
I blinked a few times after that particular image flashed in front of me, my body heating up even more than it already was. A glance down at my pants told me my cock was more than appreciative of my little dreams, and I ran my hand over it. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning as that little bit of friction made a deep ache light up every inch of my skin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Here I was, bandaged, bruised, cast on my arm, and I had a hard-on.
I thought about drawing up the covers and jerking off underneath the limited protection of the blankets, then dealing with the mess in the morning, but I didn't trust myself. My luck, I'd wind up saying Bob's name as I came, and...would my face be red. I gave myself a mental headslap, trying to rationalize with my libido.
It was a hard-fought battle, but eventually I managed to drift off into something that resembled sleep, my now-ignored cock silently threatening me with nonperformance the next time I chose to get aroused.
Fuck.
* * *
The rich, heavy scent of coffee hit my nose and my eyes snapped open. The sun was just starting to rise, and muted shades of orange, red, and pink started to creep into the windows. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told me it was just after 6 a.m., and I laid there, really wanting to get up but not sure if I was ready for the pain that would surely come the moment I tried to move.
Severe caffeine deprivation and a rumbling hunger won out, and I rolled onto my side, remembering how it felt when I tried to do that earlier. I steeled myself for the pain, and when it came, I took a few deep breaths and hauled my battered body out of bed in one swift move. Well, as swift as a battered body can move, anyways.
I took a few jarring steps toward the stairs, then looked down over the railing. Bob was below, in my line of sight, and he was taking the rubber band off today's newspaper and smoothing it down. He looked like he normally did, dressed like he normally did, but you can believe me when I say I was looking at him in a different light. I'd harbored all kinds of fantasies about Bob, from the sweet and cuddly to the insanely kinky (and those made me question my own sexual appetites more than a few times), and now that I knew he felt the same way...I couldn't help but notice how well his slacks fit, or how the light from the candles around him made his skin glow almost iridescently.
I closed my eyes and took a few more deep breaths. The last thing I needed now was another hard-on. Bracing myself on the railing, I took the stairs one incredibly painful step at a time, and by the time I reached the bottom, I was breathing hard and making small noises of discomfort.
"Harry!"
Bob rushed to my side, his hands everywhere as he tried to help me over to the couch, but I shook my head. "Nuh uh. I'm doing this on my own, Bob."
He made an exasperated sound and said softly, "Thick-skulled wizard," but he let me go where I wanted to. But his hands never left me as we shuffled to the kitchen. Mister dashed by us, probably as hungry as I was. Bob clucked his tongue at the cat, but it wasn't like Mister was going to pay him any mind. I'm pretty sure his thought pattern was something along the lines of, "Stupid humans, get outta my way!"
We reached the kitchen and Bob tried to steer me toward a chair, but I shook him off and made my own, painful way to the coffee maker. "Don't you think you should sit?" he asked gently.
I turned around, almost to my destination, and grinned. "I will, once I've got a big, steaming mug of coffee in front of me."
Bob strode toward me, reached around me for a mug, and then made a grab for the pot, but I beat him to it. "Harry, really, you should let me do this."
"And you should realize," I said with a playful growl in my voice, "that I'm too damn stubborn to let people wait on me for too long. Besides, I couldn't take another day in bed without going nuts."
Bob scoffed at me and crossed his arms over his chest, but I saw the brief smile that flitted over his face. "You do seem to be getting better with every passing moment."
I poured two mugs of coffee, feeling the movement pull on my injured ribs a little, but I ignored it. I handed him one mug and fixed my own the way I liked it. Bob took his black, and I dumped a bunch of sugar and a little cream into mine, like always. I turned and made my way to the table, Bob hovering behind me in case I fell.
Once I was seated, with Bob at my right elbow, I faced him and said quietly, "We need to talk, Bob."
He looked down into his coffee and said just as quietly, "I know."
We sat in silence for a few moments, and I opened my mouth to apologize, again, when he cut me off. "Don't, Harry. You've apologized, I've forgiven, but you haven't given me the chance to apologize for the many wrongs I've done you."
I recalled his words from last night and wondered if he was really going to fess up, but I was disappointed when he simply said, "I am sorry, Harry, for allowing this to go so far, and for making you believe that I didn't want to be a part of your life. It pains me every minute, the things I said to you, about how you weren't deserving of my affections. That was entirely false, and I should have never said that, or done any of the other hurtful things I did."
His words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding all that back for a while, and when he was done, I reached over and grabbed his hand. "Apology accepted. I shouldn't have done what I did...I fucked up. We'll work on this, our relationship, but I know that I can't lose you, Bob. I just can't."
I was handing him a prime opportunity to talk, to actually tell me how he felt about me...but then again, I didn't blame him. It's not like I was really ready to confess to my end, either. So I just let him grab my hand in turn and squeeze it. There wasn't anything else to be said, not right now. We'd made our apologies, but there were still unresolved issues.
There was more than one way to bring those to the surface. Bob nodded, gave me a small, hopeful smile, and got up. "Are you hungry for anything in particular?"
Bob, you have no idea. I watched him turn to the cabinets and start poking through them before answering, "I think there's some bread up there. Toast sounds pretty good right now. I don't think I'll throw that back up."
Bob chuckled softly. He pulled the bread down and moved to the toaster, then filled the four slots with bread and pushed them down. He didn't see it, since his back was to me, but the idea I'd just gotten in my head was making me smile like a fiend.
I stood as silently as possible and scooted over to him, then passed behind him as I made my way to the refrigerator. I was going to get out the butter and jam, but I made damn sure that I rubbed up against his backside as I passed by. I heard him stifle a gasp, and I pretended not to hear as I opened the refrigerator door.
"Really, Harry, I'll get that," he protested in a choked voice. I ignored him and grabbed what I wanted, then plunked the butter tub and the jam jar down on the counter.
"Taken care of, Bob. No big deal. It's got to be good for me to move, get the blood flowing."
His mouth turned down in disapproval, but there wasn't much he could do, so he turned back to the cabinets and brought down two plates. I caught sight of the slightest hint of red creeping up his neck, and I wanted to laugh so badly that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out into unfettered giggles. Instead of going back to the table, I stood to his left and did one of the things he's rather good at...hovering.
Bob must have felt my eyes on him because he shifted his weight and looked at me. "Was there something else, Harry?"
I shrugged, doing my best to just toe the line of being annoying. "Nope."
He pondered that and my face for a moment, then turned back to the toaster. "I presume you want yours like always?"
"You bet. Nice and black and nearly burnt."
Bob pulled a face and I laughed at that. "Do you have any idea how disgusting burnt toast is?"
"Obviously, I don't think it's disgusting."
"Ugh," Bob replied, and he shuddered. "Would you like some raw meat off the bone with that, perhaps?"
I snorted. "You're in a mood today."
He gave his own shrug in response, grabbing the toast as it nearly flew out of the toaster. "I'm pleased with how well you're healing, and I'm even more pleased that, despite everything that's happened, we can still do this and know that we're on our way to repairing our relationship."
Bob passed me a plate with three very crisp, nearly burnt pieces of toast on it and I set about buttering them. "We can still do what?"
"Banter like this, return to some sort of normalcy until we get matters settled." He didn't look my way when he said this; in fact, his eyes were fixed on his plate.
I peered at him, hoping he'd look up, but of course he didn't, so I reached out and lifted his head up with a finger underneath his chin. "Spit it out, Bob," I said gently. "You were never very good at being anything but blunt when you talk."
What little resistance there was melted in that moment, and he said in a whisper, "I miss the way we were, Harry. More than I can express."
I licked my lips, opened my mouth a few times...but couldn't come up with anything to say. So I just nodded and went back to spreading an ungodly amount of butter on my toast.
The rest of breakfast was fairly quiet, at least until Mister jumped up on the table and hissed at Bob for trying to shoo him away. Thoroughly chastised--and by a cat nonetheless--Bob gave me a look and finished off his breakfast. I was laughing so hard I nearly choked, and that's when Mister decided to jump into my lap and paw at me for scraps.
Somewhere between the choking and the cat-holding and the laughing, I realized that it felt fantastic to not have so much tension swarming around us all the time. I think that was the first time either one of us had laughed like that in quite a while, and I had forgotten how much I missed it.
When I finally calmed down, Bob was looking at me over the rim of his coffee cup, a tiny smile on his face. "What?" I asked, scratching Mister behind the ears, the little drama queen.
"I would have given just about anything to see you happy again, Harry."
"Not to downplay what you just said but...I've got breakfast, coffee, and Mister just told you off. I'm good."
Bob shook his head at me and smiled wider. "You are incorrigible, Harry Dresden."
"Just the way you like me."
The look I got for that comment nearly knocked me out of my chair, and I understood that if I was going to try to covertly seduce Bob, I was going to have to be more than just a little quick and tap out my quota of luck for about a year...cause the way he was looking at me right now, my insides were smoldering. I'd hit a hidden Bob-button.
Yay for me.