Fic: Breaking Records

[vegawriters]

Title: Breaking Records
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Murphy Brown
Series: Come Rain, Come Shine
Pairing: Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt
Rating: It’s Murphy and Peter. Come on, people.
Timeframe: Reporters Make Strange Bedfellows (season 7)
A/N: Okay, this should be one of your favorite episodes, whether or not you like the Murphy and Peter ship, and let me explain why. First, it shows Murphy breaking out of her comfort zone. She listens to Corky, she takes Peter on a romantic vacation. She lets that bit of vulnerability show and she does it in front of her friends, which means she trusts them enough to see this part of her. Secondly, she and Peter spend the entire episode fighting over the different aspects of their relationship and their determination to get the story. By the end of the episode, but through the entire thing, they keep coming back to each other until the end when they lay out ground rules about what to expect for each other, and yet how crazy they still are about each other. When they split up at the end of the episode to keep chasing their own leads, they do it with a kiss and a promise they will see each other soon. This shows serious growth for Murphy, and shows how much she trusts Peter. Also? Come on, it’s fucking hot. Have you seen how they look at each other? Finally, I meant to just write after-episode fic. But then they kept getting romantic on me.
Disclaimer: Diane, please, please, please, have them be married. We don’t need to see him. We’ve got fic for that … but okay. I don’t make any money off of this. And I am dedicated to correcting the terribleness that John Bowman dumped upon our sweet baby by you know … doing what he did.

Summary: Peter was surprisingly old fashioned. For years, she’d been the one to buy roses for her office, but now he sent a weekly bouquet. He liked to pick her up from work, liked to open the door for her, liked to guide her by the small of her back when he wasn’t holding her hand or walking with his arm around her. In the past, a partner who held to her like he did would have driven her insane, but she loved how his hand was never far from hers, how whenever they were together, he leaned in to her space. He liked to choose where they ate - though it wasn’t a problem because they liked the same places, dinners were spent sitting next to each other, not across the table, and he always helped her into her chair, and made sure she ordered first. All of it was perfectly romantic, and Murphy would never admit it to the people in her life, but she was thoroughly enchanted with how he made her feel like a lady.



What Murphy didn’t admit to Corky was that the instant the story had fallen through, her thoughts had drifted to Peter, who was finally home. For a lead anchor on a magazine show, they were spending a lot of time sending him to dangerous places. Anything to compete with the hunks at CNN she supposed. But the last couple of months, it had been hard to grab time and here he was, home, while she was jetting off after a story. She hadn’t even told him where she was headed for the weekend. She’d just done her best to not grin like a schoolgirl with a crush when he asked if he could help keep an eye on Avery. Eldin needed a break at some point, he’d said, and what was the use in having a bedroom set up for him if he never used it.

“Of course …” she’d chuckled. Just how serious were they getting? No, she knew the answer to that one.

A weekend in the Cayman Islands with Peter? Oh, it was tempting. But she’d have to ask him and see if he wanted to go and what if he was working on a story or got called out of town suddenly and really was it fair to go and not take Avery when she wasn’t working? No, it was just too much work, too many issues to work out. It was just easier to stay home.

So when Corky suggested the idea in front of everyone, she felt a little bit like an idiot. After all, why was it so hard for her to bring it up? Well, she hated being lectured on relationships by her friends. Yes, she sucked at them, but did they have to remind her all the damn time? It wasn’t like Frank was any better and Miles’ relationship had fallen apart because he worked too much (and really, wasn’t he gay?) so she wasn’t thrilled with those two giving her advice. While she knew it was all in good fun - and true - she was getting tired of it. She’d been with Peter almost for a year, which was a record for her, and quite frankly, sleeping alone was getting harder and harder. But she didn’t want to admit that to them.

No, she needed a refund. She and Peter could spend the weekend with Avery and once the whirlwind went down for the night, the two of them had plenty of ways to amuse each other.

On the other hand, Corky, who had been married for longer than five minutes, was making sense. She and Peter hadn’t had a weekend to themselves in months - since she’d covered the economic summit in France and he’d grabbed a flight to Paris. For a couple of days, they’d been completely lost in each other, and she’d almost missed her interviews, sandwiched as they were between the moments when Peter had her naked and gasping his name. Diane Sawyer was never going to forgive her but it wasn’t Murphy’s fault the walls in that hotel were so paper thin.

But there were Frank and Miles making fun of her inability to be “spontaneous” and even though they were right - she was about as spontaneous as taxes - suddenly she just wanted to say “hey, no, I thought about this like twenty minutes ago!” Instead, she told them to all back off and stormed back into her office for her coat. She might not be spontaneous, but she did have a date with Peter that would end with her gasping his name. After all, he’d expected her to be leaving town in the morning.

She heard the elevator ding as she shrugged into her coat and, as it always did right as her thoughts turned to time alone with him, her stomach flipped. All these months later, she expected to be bored, to wonder why they were still doing this, to have started burning his photos and cursing his name. Instead, she called him at least once a day when he was in town - especially when they couldn’t get together. She reveled in lunch dates and rendezvous in each other’s offices. She enjoyed watching his show, and often slipped down to the studio when he was on the set, hanging in the shadows to watch. He did the same. Spontaneous no, and really crappy at romance, but definitely comfortable with him in ways she never had been with anyone else.

“Hey,” he met her at the door of her office, a kiss ready, and her toes curled just slightly. He made her feel so treasured. “You ready?”

His arm was around her as they walked and she could feel the eyes of the group on them - including Frank’s death glare - and gave in to the peer pressure. While Corky had been rambling about tidal ebbs and flows, she’d made the decision to see if he wanted to sneak away, but she’d planned to ask him while feeding him french fries in a little booth in the back of Phil’s, while Peter’s hand moved up her leg. She took a breath and forged ahead, whisking him away to the Cayman Islands for the weekend.

He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling, and she knew she was in trouble. “Murphy! I didn’t know you had it in you. Spontaneous. Romantic!” They stepped onto the elevator. “Thanks, Corky!” He threw out into the bullpen as the doors closed.

With a laugh, Murphy pulled him against her, pressing her hips to his. “It could have been me, you know.”

“Was it?” He taunted.

She growled. “Hush.” He didn’t need to know she’d been too scared to push forward with the idea on her own. Change was scary. It usually didn’t go well for her.

Well, it hadn’t, at least until Peter had come into her life. Whatever it was that he sparked in her made her so much more free than she ever had been before. Still, he didn’t have to torture her by thanking Corky.

“So the Cayman Islands, hmmm? Money laundering?” He asked, snooping.

“None of that matters. My work plans changed for the weekend and we’re taking advantage of my hotel reservation and not seeing the beach of a beautiful island paradise.” She linked their fingers as they crossed the street toward the bar. “No more work talk. At least for five minutes.”

He laughed and moved ahead to open the door for her. Murphy just smiled at him as she stepped into the familiar space.

Peter was surprisingly old fashioned. For years, she’d been the one to buy roses for her office, but now he sent a weekly bouquet. He liked to pick her up from work, liked to open the door for her, liked to guide her by the small of her back when he wasn’t holding her hand or walking with his arm around her. In the past, a partner who held to her like he did would have driven her insane, but she loved how his hand was never far from hers, how whenever they were together, he leaned in to her space. He liked to choose where they ate - though it wasn’t a problem because they liked the same places, dinners were spent sitting next to each other, not across the table, and he always helped her into her chair, and made sure she ordered first. All of it was perfectly romantic, and Murphy would never admit it to the people in her life, but she was thoroughly enchanted with how he made her feel like a lady. She might be the most “sophisticated” woman he’d ever dated, but if she hadn’t known better, she’d have assumed he’d spent a life in tuxes at boring fundraising dinners, charming sweet little old ladies with his stories about life in the field.

They talked stories and news and what was happening in the day to day. Murphy had to admit it was a lot more fun to debate politics with someone who mostly agreed with her, but had different ways of getting there, and different concepts on structure. They had the same background, and many of the same war zones. She didn’t need to describe in detail what it was like to duck from gunfire or how it felt to shake off the effects of a nearby bomb. So many of her past lovers were hung up on the adventure in reporting and didn’t care that really, she loved her bed and her designer suits and a nice meal at a quiet restaurant. Although, they did compare prison escape stories. And, thankfully, Peter was far more in favor of the Road Runner than foreign films.

He also liked to talk dirty, and loved bending her over tables and chairs whenever he had the chance, which was why as soon as they finished dinner and made it back to his condo, Murphy found herself biting the pillow on his bed while he thrust into her from behind. She screamed out her climax and gasped for breath as he followed her over the edge, collapsing on top of her. She grunted, accepting his weight, and he moaned, kissed her neck and rolled to the side.

“I wasn’t expecting to do that,” he confessed, his hand still tangled posessively in her hair. “But you look amazing in that sweater.”

“And I felt you up on the drive over here?” Murphy added with a laugh. He’d almost rear ended someone when she’d leaned over and dragged her nails up his thigh before her hand pushed against his crotch. Sitting up, she adjusted slightly, grabbed her underwear from the floor and dug in her drawer in the dresser for a pair of jeans. How was it they had drawers and spaces at each other’s places now? That he had a room for Avery? How was this as serious as it was?

When she emerged with her jeans on and her hair up off her face, Peter had his bag out and was packing for the weekend. She stretched out on the bed, her feet up against the wall and watched him. “Really, honey, all you need is a toothbrush,” she teased. “And maybe those bikini trunks ….”

He grinned and tossed his trunks and a t-shirt into the bag. “And you just enough to get you to the beach, really. I mean, there’s that nightgown I was planning on giving to you for my birthday, but I can just bring it.”

She laughed. “Really, you expect me to wear it for very long?”

“I didn’t buy it for its strength and durability, you know.” He zipped his bag and leaned over the bed. Murphy rolled so he could settle on top of her. The kiss built, slowly, until his hands were pushing her sweater up and she was tugging again at the button on his pants.

Since he’d taken the magazine show, they got to see each other so much more. Murphy had worried it would change how she felt, but being able to see him for weeks at a time, knowing date nights and stolen moments were so much more a thing in her life, only made her care for him more. Dear god, this no pressure relationship was working out.

“Do we need to get back?” He murmured, his hands behind her, working the clasp of her bra.

Oh she wanted to say no, they were fine. Eldin had it all in hand. And he did. But she also wanted to see Avery before their flight in the morning. “We should …” she groaned, pressing her hips against his.

He laughed and pushed off of her, slowly. “As soon as he goes down, Murphy, we’re starting the weekend.”

“I thought we already did,” she smirked, letting him pull her to her feet. He kissed her again, his arms around her, his hands cradling her. She lost herself every time, drowning in his natural musk and the smell of Old Spice. If she’d known kissing him would feel like this, she’d have fallen into his arms sooner.

“Let’s go,” he murmured. “Before I push you back on the bed.”

She grinned, touched his chin, and led him out of the bedroom, where she pushed her skirt and hose into her purse. As she waited for Peter to gather the last things he needed, her eyes fell on the photos on his mantle. There was the one of his mother - there weren’t really any of his father - and the one of his sister and her kids. A photo of him and his crew in the desert. But the ones her eyes always gravitated to were the ones of them. The one of her, Avery, and Peter in the backyard, taken by Eldin, the one Peter had snapped of her and Avery sitting on the front step of the townhouse, one he’d snuck of her perched on the anchor desk during a run through for the show, and one of Avery at the park on the slide. His was a space much like hers - crammed full of books and knick knacks picked up as he travelled. But the mantle was a space for family, and there she and Avery were, and it always took her breath away.

“You good?” He asked, his keys finally in his hand.

“Waiting on you,” she said, kissing him softly. “Let’s go.”

***

They made it back to Murphy’s in time to ruin Eldin’s bedtime preparation. Any sense of normalcy was destroyed as Avery tore down the stairs in his footie race car pjs and held his *arms up for his mother’s attention.

Seeing her with him always put a lump in Peter’s throat.

She was the human version of artillery fire and yet she was so tender and gentle with her son. Avery smoothed her out in ways Peter hadn’t expected to see. He’d never once heard her raise her voice to Avery, even when she was frustrated because he refused to get his shoes on or settle in the backseat.

This woman who was all buttoned up and professional, who strolled through the halls of congress like she owned them, her heels clacking on the floor, she was the same woman who wore tic tac toe pjs and had pillow fights with her kid and held up her arms while he climbed trees because she didn’t want Avery to ever be scared of the world, but she also needed him to know she would always catch him if he fell.

He understood her desire to just scale it back a little bit, to be more than a parent on the phone. Alone in bunks on the other side of the world, Peter would let his mind wander just a bit - was it wrong to have some small part of him wish that he’d known Murphy four years ago and that Avery was his?

Avery was tired, Peter could tell, but he clearly didn’t want to be put to bed because that meant he wouldn’t see mommy again. Peter made himself useful and hung up Murphy’s coat and purse and let Eldin off the hook so that he could have dinner with his girlfriend before the weekend was lost to babysitting.

Finally he sat down and caught the tail end of Avery’s day. There had been painting at the park and Avery hugged a big dog. He wanted a dog.

“Well, maybe when you’re a bit older,” Murphy chuckled, stroking his hair. “Now, I think it’s bedtime.”

“No … Mommy. You won’t be here when I wake up.”

Peter held his breath as he watched Murphy soothe down Avery’s hair. He could see all of her reasons for not being one to just take off for a weekend dance across her face. “No, I won’t be. But you and Eldin are going to have so much fun. And when you wake up on Monday, I’ll be here.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she sighed.

“I wan Peter …” Avery pouted and held out his arms.

Peter willingly took Dad Duty and took Avery. His secret was that he loved this, he loved that Murphy trusted him with her baby boy, and that Avery trusted him too. In these flashes, he never understood why Avery’s father was so absent. How could Jake not want to be right here? Doing all of this?

Of course, Dad Duty meant explaining to the precocious and very cranky little boy why Eldin was taking care of him this weekend.

“Well, see, I’m going with your mom on her trip. That’s all.”

“Why can’t I go?” Avery pouted as he hugged one of his bears.

“Well,” Peter took a deep breath to keep the laughter at bay, “cause sometimes, there’s just too much going on for kids.” Avery muttered, a trait he was picking up from his mother, and kicked his feet. “We’ll bring you back something though.” Peter winced. It wasn’t a good thing to bribe Avery like that. The promise of something kind of did the trick, but Peter still had to get through The Monster at the End of This Book four times before Avery finally dropped off. Peter tiptoed out, not quite trusting the quiet, and made his way back to Murphy’s bedroom. She zipped her bag shut as he came in, and he didn’t miss the grin on her face. “What?”

“Oh, something you’ll see when we get there,” she teased. Peter shut the door. “Avery asleep?”

“Yep.”

“You tired?” Her hands were on his hips.

“Nope.” He pushed her sweater up, groaning as he realized she’d already removed her bra.

“Feel like getting the weekend started early?”

He kissed her. “I thought we did that at my place.”

She raised her arms, letting him pull the sweater completely off, and he dropped to his knees to undo the button on her jeans. He looped his thumbs around the fabric of both her jeans and underwear and pulled them down her legs, helping her step free. She stepped back, scooting onto the bed, and he watched as she trailed one hand up her body.

God, he was a lucky man.

Peter tugged his shirt free and wiggled out of his pants, pressing her body down under his. Her hand tangled in his chest hair, his mouth descended on her collarbone, and it wasn’t until he groaned her name as she rolled them, straddling him, that he spoke again.

“God, Murphy …” he looked up into her eyes. She just smiled and leaned down to kiss him before slowly, intentionally, beginning to ride him.

He didn’t last long. Not after their escapades at his place. He actually felt a little bad as he caught his breath and opened her eyes to see her judging him, a smirk on her face. “Hi there, Petey,” she teased. He laughed and flipped them, his hand moving between her legs to stroke and tease until she was gasping his name.

“Shit ….” she moaned as he slowly removed his fingers from her body. “A weekend of this? I won’t be able to walk on Monday.”

“Good,” he smirked, leaning in for another kiss. She wrapped herself around him and the moment fell to one of touch and play without any rush to the finish. He loved this about her, loved that she was as ready to go, passionate and full of drive as she was ready to simply make out with him.

Until of course he wrapped her legs around her hips and slid into her again, watching her as she moved below him until she cried out, her back arched, her fingers grasping anything to hold on to. He loved watching her climax, watching the control shake from her body.

Finally sated - at least until morning - he resettled the bed while she ran to pee, and when she came back, he wrapped her in his arms and watched her fingers tangle through his chest hair.

Murphy was everything he’d never dated before. Yes, he’d had older girlfriends, but beforehand it had been about the mystique, the scandal. She was as comfortable in a floor length evening gown as a baseball jersey, could quote Nietzsche correctly, was friends with Kissinger, and one week could do a hard hitting interview exposing scandal in the justice department and the next sit down with music and film legends and get them to cry faster than Barbara Walters. This firebrand wanted him. It still blew his mind, and he wasn’t taking a single second of it for granted.

“Peter?” She murmured, sleep starting to intrude.

“Yeah, Murphy?”

“I’m really glad we’re going away this weekend.”

He tightened his grip on her and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Me too, Murphy. Me too.”

***

Really, it had been an invitation. Only one other person in first class, sitting in the row ahead, one blanket, the armrest up so she could snuggle against him. She’d given in, given him the window seat, but only because it gave her the excuse to lean against him. He didn’t seem to mind. Nor did he mind when her hand moved up his thigh, toyed with his zipper.

He looked at her, raised an eyebrow, and she only grinned. This was what he brought out in her. Well, part of what he brought out. Some of what he brought out was in her suitcase, tucked in the compartment above them. Something from his last letter. A confession of sorts that led her to a discrete store catalog, the same one she purchased her vibrators through. With Peter, she was far more willing to venture outside of her usual vanilla range and add a touch of cinnamon. This potential experience was new though, and she wondered how exactly he’d discovered it but that wasn’t a place her mind wanted to wander today.

The flight attendant walked by, admonishing them with a look. Murphy moved her hands out of the blanket and curled up against Peter. She could wait. But he smirked at her and toyed with the scarf around her neck, the look in his eyes letting her know exactly what he had in mind for them once they reached the privacy of the hotel.

She really wasn’t going to be able to walk come Monday.

First though, they had to get to altitude. Murphy’s little secret was that since she’d almost died in that plane crash a few years ago, she did pay attention to the safety demonstration now. Even though she had it memorized. She took notes on the flight attendants though and could pinpoint the ones who wanted people to die and the ones who took their job seriously. Peter however, had different pursuits, and she did not dissuade how his hands rearranged the blanket over them, or how his hand moved up her thigh. After the flight attendant moved on to do whatever next part of her job was important, Murphy adjusted her legs to give him better access.

“How quiet can you be?” He teased, whispering in her ear.

Oh, it was on. Murphy just wished she’d worn a skirt to give him better access. Peter just pressed his fingers against her core, stroking through the fabric of her pants, and she dug her nails into his knee.

For five hours, they teased each other. Light kisses peppered slow dragging along inner thighs. If this was what it meant to whisk someone away, she’d do it more often. By the time the plane taxied to the gate in the islands, they were both panting with need and she wasn’t sure she could survive the trip to the hotel. Given the way Peter was holding her in front of him, he couldn’t either.

But they made it to the car, somehow kept their clothes on, and she somehow survived checking in, despite how the light played in his hair. He kept his arms around her throughout check in, and they waved off the bellhop offering to take their bags. One more minute and they were both going to explode.

Murphy unlocked the door and walked in, turning as she did, looking into Peter’s eyes. “Nice room,” she taunted.

He just took the bag from her shoulder and dropped it to the floor. She put the do not disturb sign on the door and closed it behind them. He was already at the patio doors, looking at her, a quirk to his lips. “Nice view.” They closed the blinds.

Together, they moved to the bed. She kicked off her sandals as she leaned down, picking up the piece of candy on the pillow. “Mints on the pillows …” they both tossed them to the side and crawled to meet each other halfway. He pulled his shirt loose and tugged her scarf from around her neck. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and losing herself in a kiss she hadn’t indulged in for quite some time. It was slow, but built, promising that they wouldn’t be needing anything they’d brought with them. Well, save for the vibrator she’d hidden in her suitcase.

She could feel his hips pressed against hers, the erection he’d been sporting since the plane pushing for freedom. Considering just how damp she was, it was a fair trade.

Later, she’d wonder why the hell she opened her eyes when she did. If she’d just let Peter push her down onto the bed, the story could have waited. Instead, she found herself staring at the envelope and knew, in her gut, that it was about the story.

“What’s that?” She asked, regretting opening her mouth.

Peter just grinned at her and pushed their hips even closer together. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”

Passion wanted to win, but she’d been working on this story for five weeks. Five long, frustrating, sources broken weeks. If this was something, she was jumping on it.

She really hoped it wasn’t anything.

Peter was going at her neck and he knew that perfect spot that turned her into complete mush and she just wanted him to put his hand between her legs and make her forget and why the hell was she opening this thing again?

Fuck.

She pushed him away. “My story might not be as dead as I thought.”

Later, she’d remember he tried to woo her back into bed. He tried to seduce her using every single trick she loved. His bare chest, her hands running over him, his taking control. In the moment, all she cared about was what Miles was telling her.

Later, when she looked up and realized hours had gone by and Peter was still not back, she knew she had work to do to make up for this. But they were both journalists. He’d totally understand.

Right?

***

Peter was pissed. But, he wasn’t sure who he was more pissed at. Murphy could have been more upfront about the story, but he also knew they were here because something had fallen through. Miles could have just waited to fax her and actually given her a day off, but then he wouldn’t be Miles. Mostly though, he was mad that he was mad. He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing to her if the tables were turned.

Well, right now, the tables were turned. He had a lead and if she had a story, he had a story. They could make this a working weekend.

Hours had gone by and he’d spent time on the beach, fended off the affections of a beautiful brunette, and now he was writing on napkins because god forbid he walk over to the gift shop and buy a notebook. Nothing was stopping him from going back to the room, except he wanted her to find him. He wanted her to come looking. Damnit, this was why relationships always blew up.

He sensed her before he heard her - the wafting perfume, the change in energy she always created in a room. She was there, and he actually appreciated the effort she was putting in to make up for the past few hours. But, he had a story he was working on. He had a story thanks to an old buddy of his. He had …

Oh, apparently he had working on her story.

Peter met her gaze, the tension and anger rising to the surface. This was the woman he’d fallen for - ruthless in her pursuit of a lead, demanding not just to be the first, but to be right. He knew full well she had more on this than he did, but he’d had plans to have her naked and screaming five minutes after they’d locked the door to the room. Four hours later, this was not the vacation he’d planned.

A small part of his mind kicked him. When they’d first decided they wanted this to be a relationship, a “thing” so to speak, he’d listed those hurdles they still had to get through and “first vacation together” was here and now and right now, it didn’t look like it was going to be a success.

He wanted it to be a success. Under how pissed he was, he wanted this to work. Really, a vacation together was going to screw them up? Time off, relaxing was going to screw them up? Well, probably. He could put his notes away and reason with himself and her. Or he could … well. She’d stormed off. Maybe he could get some work done in the room.

Murphy came in a few moments later, still hot. Peter stared at her, she stared back, and something told him this moment, more than anything else, was going to define how they moved forward.

He was pouting. She was taunting. In the center of the bed was still the scarf he’d tugged her from her and he sat down, half-unpacking, half-staring at her ass. His anger was cooling to a simmer now that the story - which they’d both had to wait for more developments to manage - was simply percolating. Yeah, this was silly. He was pissed, but this was silly. Especially since she clearly wanted to get past it too. Why else would she be tossing that damned pink nightgown onto the bed, the one that made her skin so rosy? Or the CDs (and the video!) she’d tucked away. God.

“And I’m really not going to need that,” she said, interrupting his stream of self-pity. He followed her gaze into the suitcase but she quickly closed it. Goddamnit.

If he kissed her right now, the makeup sex would be amazing.

A knock on the door startled both of them. As Peter opened it, he remembered the order he’d placed, before he got mad, before his arms merchant friend had shown up to give him the same story that Murphy was detailing. In rolled a hotel employee with a tray of chocolate and strawberries, who didn’t speak a word of English, but was determined to make the room romantic. He lit candles, opened the side doors, dimmed the lights.

Alone, in the moment, Peter looked at Murphy and everything vanished. This was stupid. Luckily, she seemed to be agreeing with him.

“Murphy …” he said, stepping closer, “I don’t think we should let a little thing like the Islamic Jihad get between us. What do you say we forget about the story for tonight?”

“Story?” She chuckled, pressing against him, “What story?”

He kissed her and they were on vacation again, just them and strawberries, and that thing in her suitcase. He held her as he kissed her, bringing her closer into his arms, lost in the smell of her hair and the sense of adrenaline that he now realized was specific to her and the power of a story. Oh, it was heady and powerful and he wanted to get those damn clothes off of her and bury his face between her legs.

Oh, he could spend an eternity tasting her.

“Peter?” She groaned. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you are gritty and greasy and you smell like Flipper.”

He laughed and pulled back, willing his erection to behave. “I was lying on the beach. I’ll be right back.”

It was the fastest shower he’d ever taken, and even though something felt just barely off when he emerged, he willed his paranoia to behave. Murphy could be cagey sometimes, especially when she felt guilty, and he knew she wasn’t feeling great about this having turned into a working weekend. She had energy, and wanted to play, and he was more than willing. There was, after all, something in her suitcase.

He also was desperately glad when she disappeared into the bathroom because it gave him a chance to call on his source.

“Now?!”

He stared at the bathroom door. Oh fuck his life. Why couldn’t this have waited until Monday?

But sex - as long as Murphy didn’t kill him - could wait. This was the story of a career.

Anyway, it wasn’t like she didn’t have Frank (Frank?!) calling back with source information.

It wasn’t like …

He had to do this. This was who he was, dumb blue hotel robe and all.

Unfortunately, it was who she was as well.

Fuck.

***

It was a moment of truth, really. One they both had to endure as they realized they’d blown the story with their bickering. It would have been smarter to share notes, really.

No. It wouldn’t have.

But, everything about their relationship hinged on this moment and she had no idea what she wanted to do. Except. No, she did.

“I think we should set some ground rules,” she ventured, ready for him to argue. Instead, he pulled a chair to face her and she could only look into his eyes. Did she tell him now she loved him? Or did she wait?

She laid it out. Her life was the story and it always had been and she would crush him like a bug to get the story first because she was the best in the business and they both knew it. But, she dared, watching the wounds cross his face, “It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.” Yeah, that was romantic, Murphy.

He held his ground, laying out identical ground rules. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about you.”

God. It was a good first step, anyway.

His arm around her meant everything. As did the promise of strawberries back in the room. But, if she could fend off Donaldson at the Hilton …

***
She wasn’t as late getting back to the room as she suspected she’d be. Peter was up still, writing, and as she came in, he closed his notes off and stood up. Murphy double checked the Do Not Disturb sign and closed the door.

“Can we try this again?” She asked, smiling as he took her hand and drew her closer.

“You get what you need?” The double entendre was thick in his voice. He’d put his shorts back on and they hung loose on his hips. She just wanted them off again. Part of her wanted to go back to when they walked in the room and she wanted to yell at Miles for faxing her the information. But this was who she and Peter were and they’d fallen in love because of who they were. It was a heady realization to come to.

“You know what I was thinking about, on the moonlit walk back here?” Murphy said, wrapping her arms around his neck. He nudged his hands to the dress she’d picked up at a stand that was selling them, lest the robe give her away. The fabric was bunching in his hands and she really just wanted him to rip it off of her.

“What’s that?”

“The middle east story we did. Your take and mine.” She paused. “That was some damn good reporting, Peter. When we aren’t stepping all over each other to get the story, we work well together.”

The fabric smoothed just a bit and he met her gaze, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, it was.”

“I’m …”

He chuckled. “Don’t. I’m not in this relationship to change anyone. Maybe next time though, you’re right. Just lock me in the bathroom. It’s easier than taunting me with the treats in your suitcase.”

“Did you peek?”

He groaned. “Murphy …”

“I love it when you say my name like that.”

“I like it more when I do it while I’m buried inside of you.” His hands lifted the thin fabric of the skirt up as they moved back toward the bed. The water was lapping outside the room, the moon still shining. Once, she’d been so scared of even moonlight shining on them, sure he’d take a look at her softer breasts, her stretch marks, the belly that would never again be a size six, and walk away. Now she revelled in how he touched her, how he looked at her. How his mouth followed his fingers. This man, who looked for all intents and purposes like he was carved from stone, wanted her.

She stepped away, moving to the suitcase to retrieve the vibrator she’d picked up a couple of weeks ago after one of his letters had come.

He was inventive, this lover of hers. He liked to play, loved to bring out the side of her that had always lingered, tied up in some false sense of mannerisms that she assumed was thrown out the window in the heat of passion. Sex was fun, and she trusted him to bind her hands over her head with his favorite scarves while he made love to her with his mouth, she laughed and fell into role play moments - the harsh teacher, the adoring groupie. He showed up at her door as the pizza guy (actually bearing pizza) and they’d stumble over each other to get to the couch - leaving the pizza in the foyer. And together they’d broken two chairs in her office and the night they’d christened his was one to remember. He talked dirty in the best ways, and knew just when to pull back, when her own line was coming up fast.

He made her feel young again. She enjoyed her body again - even late nights by herself she enjoyed far more than before. Getting herself off wasn’t just a means to an end, she fantasized about him in every possible way. And she had to admit, chasing a story opposite him was a heady turn on.

Peter came up behind her, taking the vibrator out of her hand and placing a kiss to her neck. “You know, watching you work … I can’t help it. It’s a turn on. It’s who you are. I spent the whole day wavering between wanting to kill you and wanting to just press you against the nearest flat surface.” His hand moved between her thighs, up, tracing her edges before slipping between her folds. Murphy sighed and opened her legs a bit more, reaching behind her to hold onto him for support.

“I feel the same way about you.” She groaned and felt him press more against her.

“I took the magazine show,” his hand was stroking her now, one long finger sliding into her, “so I could be closer to you.”

“Sure,” she gasped. “You’re still …. God …”

“Thank you,” he teased, his mouth on her neck. Her knees buckled and he steadied her, an arm around her waist. “Come for me, Murphy.”

She was close. The whole day had been one long game of foreplay and now they were in it. His thumb was on her clit and his fingers inside of her and she could barely breathe. One last press against her core and she caught her breath, the smallest tremors building until she was clenched around his hand, on her feet only because he had control of the moment and an arm around her waist. He held her, steadying her against his body, his hand right where she kept it trapped between her thighs.

Gentle hands nudged her forward and she braced herself against the bed as he tugged her skirt up over her hips. She looked over her shoulder to see him loosen his shorts and their eyes met as he braced himself against her hips and slid inside her body.

They used protection less and less.

He gripped her so hard she knew she’d have bruises in the morning, but she’d come down here with the intention of not being able to walk on Monday. She moved slightly, bracing herself against the bed better, and let him work. She wasn’t going to come this time, but God it felt good.

He shouted her name and collapsed over her, and she welcomed his weight on top of her. He made her feel safe.

It took a minute, but he moved and she slipped completely out of the dress and crawled onto the bed. He followed, reclaiming the vibrator and flipping it on.

“This is new,” he teased.

“Your last letter, from Iran … I couldn’t help myself. You have a way in your writing that reminds me of why you’ve won that Peabody.”

“Oh, so now you want to compliment my Peabody,” he teased, handing the vibrator to her. He leaned in, slipping an arm around her, “Show me how you … responded … to that letter.”

God, he was going to kill her. Kill her and take the story. At least she’d die happy.

Slowly, her hand moved between her legs. She’d long ago shaken the embarrassment of doing this while he watched, knowing that at some point, his hand would join hers, his knee would nudge her legs apart. It had been awkward for her at first, not ready to share this private sense of self, but now knowing how it turned him on to watch her fantasize about him, she loved to play the game. She would drop to her knees while he stroked himself, come up behind him and slide her hand over his, it was her place to enjoy too.

She loved him. She loved his wit, his smile, his hard body, and the brain that went with it. She loved everything about him - even when he was driving her insane.

His hand joined hers on the vibrator, his mouth on her nipple, and she writhed as he took control of the moment, bringing her closer and closer and closer with every moment, until she arched back, gasping, his hand still between her legs.

“I want you inside of me,” she moaned, knowing how sensitive she was and just not caring. He leaned up, moved between her legs, and slid in. She tightened her legs around his hips and cried out with each thrust until he was calling her name and she was a puddle of nothing left on the bed.

“We can chase the same story any time …” she gasped as he pulled out and rolled to his back, taking her with him.

“That was amazing,” he murmured, his hands tangled in her hair.

Oh. They weren’t done yet.

She intended to see the sun rise. Apparently, so did he.

***
She was lost, completely lost, in his mouth on her body. Sweet Jesus, why had she focused on the story all day? Oh, wait, because that was her job, her life, and could he just keep doing that forever. Right there.

“God!” She arched her back, her toes curling to the point of cramping, as his mouth moved to her nipple, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh. “You’re going to kill me …”

“No …” Peter chuckled as he pulled back. “Not until you give me your notes.”

“NEVER!” She kicked at him, laughing. But he was still over her, trailing the scarf she’d worn down to the island over her naked chest.

“You sure?” He taunted her, leaning over, taking her wrists in his and wrapping the silk around them. “Because I’ll bet I can make you give them up …”

She groaned into the movement and met his eyes. “Really?” Her eyes trailed down his body, settling on the erection that could hardly hide his emotion in the moment. “Because I think in this, I will always win.”

***

They passed out shortly after dawn and slept until noon, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms and Peter was glad that he woke first. Despite what he’d teased her about the night before, he didn’t care about the drool. As long as it wasn’t on him, really.

Truth was, he knew she actually didn’t sleep much. He’d shared a bed with her long enough to know that unless she was absolutely exhausted, she tossed and turned until about 4, when she’d wake up to check on Avery and usually, she dozed on the couch until she had to get moving. He’d finally asked her one night, what kept her from sleeping, and he’d missed the tears in her eyes as she shut off the news program and looked up at him.

“Do their screams haunt you?”

Yes. They did.

“The reason it’s hard for me to stay stateside,” he’d said, joining her, “is as much as I know I need to get out, I feel like I’m not doing enough if I stay here.”

She’d thrown her arms around him and they’d settled onto the couch, watching some old movie with Katherine Hepburn.

Since that night, he did his best to exhaust her. It was good for both of their sleep habits.

The story wasn’t dead, for either of them, but it was lying low for a while. She made a couple of calls when she got up. He spent an hour in the bar, tracking down contacts through his sources. By mid-afternoon, he was back in the room watching her. She was settled in a chair on the balcony, writing, and it was one of the sexiest images he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he said, wandering over. She closed the notebook and looked up at him.

“Hey,” she offered a kiss he gladly took. “Dinner out here tonight? We missed sunset yesterday.”

“I missed it?” He teased.

“I’m sure it was lovely,” she rolled her eyes. “Look, Peter. This got out of hand this weekend, but I want to say … honestly, I wasn’t really looking forward to coming down here alone. When the story fell through, I expected we’d spend the weekend hanging out, but I … anyway. Even with the fiasco of yesterday, I’m glad we’re here together.”

“Order dinner,” she suggested, standing up. “I’m … going to go change.”

He groaned and watched her saunter away. If anything came up about this story in the next few hours, he’d let Donaldson have it.

Murphy emerged from the bathroom not in the pink satin thing she’d taunted him with but a translucent cream nightgown that fell to mid thigh and clung in all the right places, showing just how naked she was underneath, but still making his imagination work.

Yes, universe, this woman had chosen him. He’d take whatever punishment was awaiting him after death.

“We still up for breaking records?” She teased as she settled in his lap. He reached behind him for the vibrator and flipped it on. Her eyes lit up and she pushed him down onto the bed.

“I didn’t order dinner …”

“I’m not hungry …”

He grinned and rolled her, pulling down the straps of the barely there nightgown. God damnit.

He was a lucky man.