Word Count: 500
Summary: An evening at home.
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She pours wine – white – into two glasses. She places the bottle onto the counter before carefully hefting the filled glasses in one hand.
She lifts the bowl of strawberries and grapes into her other hand, and uses her elbow to flick off the kitchen light.
Her footsteps are muted, faint, but somehow, he still senses her presence, and he looks up from his spot on the couch.
She's continually surprised that he finds her sexy in outfits like the one she's currently wearing; she's sporting one of his t-shirts and an oversized, white pair of his socks. It's comfortable, but sexy?
His grin, and his possessive eyes, suggest: definitely yes.
She hands him the glasses, then kneels next to his thighs.
"I brought treats."
"They look delicious."
His eyes aren't on the fruit.
Leaning forward he places the wine on the coffee table… next to his boot clad feet. If they were at her place, she would admonish him for scuffing the table. But they aren't at her place, they're at his hideaway. And the table his boots rest upon has most definitely seen better days.
So she says nothing, although, she does give him a look. A look that says 'naughty boy'.
His grin widens and he removes the bowl from her hands, taking it and placing it next to the glasses. As he straightens up, he reaches for her, placing one had under her arm, and the other at her waist.
She knows she isn't the lightest thing in the world. She has curves, and well, she enjoys her wine, and her desserts. But he lifts her - shifting her so that she's sitting on his lap – as if she's made of thin air.
It's just one of the things she likes about him. He makes her feel feminine.
She's already a bit of a girlie girl… skirts, jewelry, make up… all of it makes her happy. And while she's quite capable of taking care of herself, she appreciates his desire… his ability, to take care of her too.
She appreciates a lot about him. The strength of his arms when he holds her close, the firmness of his chest when it's pressed against hers, the way he looks at her. Looks at her as if she's something amazing. Damn amazing.
Yes, she appreciates the 'me tarzan you jane' aspects of Eliot. But, she appreciates, even more, that the muscles and testosterone are little more than lies; facades used to cover the fact that he's gentle.
Not that she'll ever call him that to his face. But it's there, the softness, the tenderness. It's there, lying just beneath the steel and the precision. He's so… sweet and charming sometimes; holding open doors, pulling out chairs.
She smiles down at him from her place upon his lap. Her sweet, gentleman assassin.
She lifts her hands to his jaw as his hands grasp at her hips, pulling her closer.
"Not hungry anymore?"
"Only thing I'm hungry for now, is you."