I promise, the multi-chap isn't abandoned, it's just taking me longer than expected to write out the direction of it. I'll update it when I get a chance. In the meantime, enjoy this little (somewhat naughty) gem. No spoilers, really, unless you haven't seen any of season one and then maybe a slightly large one.

Disclaimer: Not mine (insert frowny face here). And oh good lord do I wish Nathan Wurnous was real and mine...

There's this moment, this brief and fluttering moment, when Audrey thinks Nathan's going to lean in and kiss her. He shifts his weight, closing the distance between them, and she feels her stomach drop in anticipation of…something…and he brushes his hand against her shoulder.

Her shoulder, for chrissake.

Oblivious to her reaction, he pulls back and smiles his half-smile. "Spider," he says. "Little one, just hanging out on your shoulder there."

She can barely breathe because of how close he was, can barely think because of how good he smelled, and all he intended to do was rescue her from a small, eight-legged creature hitching a ride on her shoulder?


"Gee," she says, jaw clenched, muscles tense below the waistband of her jeans, "thanks."

"No problem."

It literally takes all her willpower not to grab him by the lapels of his raggedy jacket and pull him in for a kiss neither of them will readily forget. By the time she's finished warding off that particular urge, she's exhausted. She realizes if she stays around him any longer she's going to say – and, more than likely, do – something she'll regret in the long run.

"I'm gonna head home," she says, standing and saving them both. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Do you need a ride?"

Does she need a ride? Seriously? She stares at him, at his structured jaw and clouded eyes and she takes in the mystery that is Nathan Wurnous and she wonders if the man has any idea the effect he has on her. He's the kind of handsome that could make a woman swear off chocolate and hand-held shower heads.

And yes, she most certainly needs a ride, but not in a car and not in public and not with this much clothing on.

"I think I'll walk," she says, hiding a furious blush behind layers of cotton scarf. "Clear my head a little."

He nods, waves. "I'll see you in the morning."

The idea of seeing him in the morning leads her to briefly wonder what he wears to bed, her mind taking that particular route without any guidance from her conscious whatsoever. She considers her rugged partner outfitted in boxer briefs and little else, says the words aloud without actually meaning to, and manages a strangled "good-bye" before bolting from the bar in a whirlwind of blond hair and pink-cheeked embarrassment. She practically runs to the Inn.

She takes the coldest shower she can stand and then she lays in bed and attempts to think of anything – absolutely anything – other than her partner naked. She settles on baseball and is doing quite well with her self-misdirection (box scores, lots and lots and lots of box scores because they're comprised of numbers and the single most boring thing she can think of for the time being) when there's a knock on her door and she finds herself propelled forward towards it, despite her worry about what's waiting for her on the other side. She knows who's there…it's the why she's worried about.

"Boxer briefs," Nathan says when the door opens to reveal him standing on the porch. He runs a hand through his hair – his always tousled, always adorable, gorgeous hair – and stares at her with an expression somewhere between chagrined and sexy. "Don't really know how you knew, but you were right."

They stare at each other for what feels like a long time, each regarding the other with a new set of eyes, and when Audrey finally decides she can take the palpable tension between them no more, she does exactly what she considered doing back in the Gull: she reaches out, grabs his lapels, and pulls him across the threshold of her room for the kind of kiss that not only takes a man's breath away but makes dictionaries and thesauruses obsolete. When she's finished with him and she pulls back to stare at him, the half-dazed expression on his angled face is enough to make her nearly undress on the spot.

"What would you say if I told you I needed a ride?" she asks him.

"Are we talking about the Bronco?"


He kicks the door closed with the heel of his boot, his arms never leaving her body. "I'd say allow me to be of service, ma'am."

She thinks of the witty replies she'd like to say to him as their clothes leave haphazard trails along the floor of her room, but when her back hits the bed and his mouth finds a sweet spot in the apex of her naked thighs, she realizes witty banter (outside of the movies, of course) is overrated.

Terribly so.