"Birthday" by Krissy Mae Anderson

Summary: A little smutty vignette about the morning after Abby's birthday…
T for smutty implications and sexual innuendoes.
None really.
If Luka and Abby were mine they'd have a child or two by now.
Author's note:
This one's for all of my Luby and liberal Carby buddies, especially Noa, Christy and Kendra. It takes place in January 2001 or so, when I assume Abby turned thirty…

"Good morning."

Lips touching my hand, kissing my fingers. God, now I know how chocolate ice cream feels when it is being eaten.


Although chocolate ice cream is probably more articulate then yours truly. Let's face it, I am just definitely not a morning person. The lips move to my belly and I realize I am naked. Just where did my overtly expensive flimsy Victoria's Secret nightgown go?

The owner of the lips starts kissing my belly. The bed creaks and my stomach agrees with it by making a sad churning sound. The lips disappear and a somewhat unmanly giggle is heard from somewhere down on the bed. I peel one eye open and lift my head slightly. What the hell is he doing down there under the covers?


No reply, but he gives away his position when I feel his breath on my thigh, so I stick a hand under the sheet and flip him a bird. He catches the hand and nibbles on my middle finger. I manage to save my hand and pull it back out, but the bundle of covers pounces, and soon I'm pinned down and staring at Luka, who is peeking out from under the blanket with a big grin on his face and my toes curl involuntarily.

Damn men. They always got to look perfect in the morning after a night of wild sex. While we get pillow lines on our faces, tangles in our hair and feel like we've been sitting on a baseball bat half of the night, they're cheerful, wide awake and ready to go. And he is definitely ready to go. If I wasn't so fucked out, I'd be more then happy, but I don't think I can feel my legs. I want to be pampered – and then perhaps, maybe perhaps.

Luka looks at me with my favorite dangerously sexy smile and traces invisible patterns on my chest with a finger. I just smile and stare at him, probably looking like I have no brain cells left in my head.

"Are you okay?" he asks, looking concerned. I continue to smile stupidly, imagining my picture in the dictionary next to the definition of "fucked out." I definitely fit the description. Luka was very thorough last night. Somewhere between the bubble bath and Luka playing the birthday cake with one candle I decided that this was perhaps the best birthday night I've had in a while. Anyway, if I don't answer soon he'll start to worry, so I finally elicit enough energy to respond.

"Yeah, I'm fine... Just a bit... wow."

He laughs and my smile gets even bigger. Damn it, he looks great early in the morning – I should take pictures and sell them on eBay. I'll get a fortune for the X-rated ones…

"Moja ljepotica," he says, kissing me lightly on the cheek, and I blush a little bit. I secretly love it when he speaks Croatian to me. His voice changes – when he speaks English, it's softer and quieter, but when he slips into Croatian he sounds mysterious and a little bit dangerous, his voice deeper and throatier. He taught me some swear words, but I once tried to talk dirty to him in his native language and he fell off the bed laughing. Evidently, I managed to call him a feathered whore… Oh well, I've never been good at languages.

"That was some birthday present," I mumble distractedly. Luka sits up against the headboard, discreetly pulling a sheet over himself and helps me to sit up and lean against him. I gratefully lean back against his chest, and despite his efforts feel what he was trying to cover by the sheet. He realizes that at about at the same time as me and clears his throat nervously.

"It's okay. It's a good thing at your age."

He laughs again and puts his arms around me, continuing to trace the invisible patterns.

"You make it sound like I need Viagra," he says and starts kissing my neck.

I shudder to think what he would be like on Viagra. I'd definitely die then, if he can screw the brains out of me unassisted by a chemical substance.

I reach down and find his right hand. He lets me hold on to it and I intertwine my fingers with his. My hand almost drowns in his hand, and I feel small and vulnerable yet secure at the same time. His other hand finds its way to my face and I kiss it. He laughs and I moan slightly as I feel his laughter echo through me. I feel so infatuated right now. We have our share of problems, but there are many good moments like this in the relationship. A hurried kiss and a somewhat unforgettable first date have given away to some sort of calm, and despite the doubts I sometimes have, I feel that this relationship has the potential to become serious. The "love yous" have not yet been exchanged, but the potential is there.

It's been quite a while since I have been so smitten with someone. I loved Richard once, but that love has long turned into mutual hatred, and it feels so fresh to be in love, to be held at night and feel someone else next to you on the bed, especially if it's the kind of life you dream about when you're a blushing teenage girl - the guy who will do anything for you, even singing along with your well-worn "Grease" tape while wearing nothing but socks and crawling under the couch to locate your escaped birth control pill.

Luka blows lightly in my ear to attract my attention and I jump a little, bumping into something hard that is not a bundle of covers. He hisses slightly and I stick out my tongue at him. Serves him right for startling me.

"What is it that you are hiding under the covers, Dr. Kovac?" I say, assuming my best naughty female patient look.

He glares at me, but then the glare changes into a mischievous smile.

"I think you've seen enough of it yesterday to know what it is, Miss Lockhart, but if you'd like I can arrange another demonstration on how it works – a hands-on demonstration with audience participation-"

At this moment I can no longer contain my laughter and snicker rather loudly. Luka raises an eyebrow and I have to clasp a hand over my mouth to prevent further outbursts of laughter.

"Maybe there won't be another demonstration after all. First you imply that I'm old, then you nearly damage it, and now you find it funny-"

"-I'd love another demonstration, Dr. Kovac. I'm just a little tired from participation in the previous demonstrations, and as soon as I rest up a little bit you are welcome to show me what it does and what things the audience can do with mmph-"

Luka shuts me up with a kiss, and things progress to a point where another "demonstration" is likely to take place, but my stomach growls again, this time sounding like a hungry tiger. Now it's Luka's turn to laugh.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?" he says, separating himself from a tangle of me and covers.

"I didn't want to interrupt the d- moment." Damn it. Luka's "demonstrations" are now all I can think about.

"What do you want to eat? I'll go out and get it for you. I'm hungry too, so I'll just eat whatever's left." He definitely will – he's like a garbage disposal, since he eats everything I don't finish.

"Can you get me some cinnamon rolls from the shop on the corner of Washington and watchamacallit… Kosciusko?"

"Will do. The demonstration will be continued later." I roll my eyes and flop back on the pillow as Luka gets out of bed. He makes an attempt to brush his hair, gives up, pulls on his jeans (giving me another glimpse of his ass – damn it, where's my camera when I need it?) and barrels out of the apartment while trying to struggle into his coat and shoes at the same time. I lay back and smile, looking forward to the food and the continuation of the demonstration – damn Luka with his weird imagination…

He is back ten minutes later with a bag of cinnamon rolls. I adore this man. The jeans are ripped off and fly out of my field of vision and the hot cinnamon rolls are followed by a cold Luka. Since he has brought me food, I gather my strength and sacrifice my warm body to warm Luka up. Unfortunately for the cinnamon rolls, I warm him up too much and the "demonstration" continues, with the "audience" participating with great enthusiasm. Soon, the bed is sounding like it's about to fall apart and the neighbors are probably about to call the police – and I'm calling in sick tomorrow and staying home with my private physician…

The End…?