Some notes: I wrote this fic in thirty minutes about two weeks ago. The idea came to me randomly, and afraid that it would disappear on me, I set out to write it immediately. This is the results. It's is set sometime in the future, though really I wouldn't think too hard about when, and is shameless post-coital fun (but it's not dirty really by any means).
Five Questions at Dawn
By Duckie Nicks
The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows over their moving bodies. She'd appeared on his doorstep the night before with a bottle of Champagne in her hands. It was New Year's Eve – that was her only explanation, and he couldn't argue with that.
Nor could he dissuade her from drinking the bubbly beverage, despite the fact that she hated it. Yelina had a thing about holidays – that was the best way he could put it. She wore green on St. Patrick's Day, bulky Christmas sweaters in ninety-degree weather, and, yes, drank Champagne on New Year's. And he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or her insistent nature, but when she'd wanted a kiss at midnight, Horatio hadn't been able to argue with that either.
Hours after it had begun, Horatio still had yet to see her naked in all of her glory. Not that he trusted himself to look – afraid she would disappear. He had, instead, operated mainly on feel – the way she pulled him closer and closer or kissed him with urgency. But even then, every so often, the moonlight had (just as the rays of the sun were doing now) flitted across her body, highlighting a small expanse of skin as though it were a glistening treasure.
He hovered over her now, close enough to feel her labored breathing tickle his cheek. Sliding up his back, her thin fingers carded through his hair, pushed the sweaty red strands away from his face. And one last time, he kissed her before rolling away, finally satisfied she'd still be next to him.
His eyes closed, though he knew sleep was never going to come – not with Yelina naked by his side, anyway.
Feeling the bed shift, the redhead looked at her. Her hair was an unruly mess, and the thin sheets precariously tangled around her body. They said nothing to one another at first, only exchanging looks, and she laid down on her side, propping her head up with one of her hands.
"Are you all right?" she finally asked, her accented voice husky.
Preoccupied with the way her throat moved with each word, he could only mutter a dry, "Yeah."
She moved closer to him then until her warm body pressed against his side. Immediately, without any hesitation, Horatio moved a hand towards her, allowed his calloused fingertips to travel the length of collarbone. She was soft, he thought. So soft.
"Do you want to stop?"
It was such a silly question to his ears, and his chuckle escaped before he even had a chance to stop it. Grinning at her, he said, "We've been together all night. You're asking me that now?"
One of her hands playfully, lightly, slapped him on the chest. "Horatio." Her voice was forceful, but held no anger. "I meant -"
"I know what you meant." His words were soft, an admittance. "I know" – this time a whisper.
"No." It was a simple response, but there was no other answer to her question. No, he did not want to stop this and probably couldn't, Horatio thought, even if he tried.
And it seemed to be enough for her, as he felt her lay her head down in the small crook between his shoulder and head.
She whispered a "good" that was barely audible. But even if he hadn't heard, it wouldn't have mattered; Horatio could feel her upturned lips on his neck. And though he couldn't see it, he knew she was smiling. And that said it all.