First among many
Summary: A little series of first-moments between Sharon and Andy.
A/N: Prompt from Raydor/Flynn livejournal comm (prompt: first time). Wrote this a long time ago and posted it on livejournal. Since my brain is non-functional regarding writing new stuff this month, here have an old fic ;)
As a first kiss went, this was decidedly more wrought by heart-ache than she had imagined. It was not the full soft lips, gentle and tender against her own; it was not the tentative, almost hesitant touch she had thought it would be.
It was desperate.
Solid, wet and distinctly a mess.
It was not hard, it was not unwanted but it was in its essence somewhat rough; feral, she thought. Savage and desperate; yet she kissed him back with the same fervor, with the same air of frenzy.
It ached, oh god – it swept through her skin and went leaden in her stomach; it fluttered through her blood vessels with a pace that was rapid and latched onto her nerve endings with exhilaration.
Her hands shook as they buried into his short strands of hair, the silver threads comforting in among her fingers. His fingers pressed into her hipbones, backing them towards the filing cabinet.
Her breath hitched when her back collided with the metal; they both let go of each other, as if seared by fire.
Their collective breaths were heavy and compact, fear and embarrassment coming out to play in the air separating them.
He took a step further back; she pressed herself more firmly into the cabinet.
It was a paralyzing concept being able to suddenly lock eyes. Brown eyes, visible and so transparent. It struck her with more impact than she would have thought possible.
"I'm sorry," he said; his voice a strange tone, "I shouldn't have done that."
It was definitely not the kiss she had imagined. In her imaginations there was nothing wrong with kissing her lieutenant – they were not really in the same command chain in her imaginations, or at least it never posed much of a problem in her fantasies. In real life it was poignant and very much a problem.
His brown eyes regarded her, suddenly obscure and for the first time in their acquaintance they did not warm her. They neither calmed her down or annoyed her – they did not put her in a fit nor did they assure her of anything.
It was a desperate, reckless, mistake.
Yet; her index finger lingered on her lips.
His hand slipped into hers, warm and slightly sweaty, her own cold and trembling. She did not mind the damp palm – she did not mind the grime or the small scrapes where blood had barely dried.
His smile was confident, cheeky and its usual warm brilliance of assuredness.
Her own was shaky but she smiled widely back at him.
"You scared me lieutenant."
Her voice sounded foreign, too weak, vibrating with withheld emotion. Cracks in the concrete – large, big fissures that went below, too far below. It had been a close call.
His hand enveloped hers further, seeming to fully encompass not only her small hand but her whole being, her eyes linked on the connection, centered on that big hand around hers.
She was afraid of moving her fingers, afraid of squeezing back – her eyes adamantly on the drip feeding into his vein. Why a small drop seemed a dizzying concept was beyond her; he was perfectly fine – it was merely to counter the blood loss of the assault.
She drew in a long inhalation; she was being silly. She smiled wider and squeezed back, concentrating on his warm brown eyes and that wonderful feeling of his big hand around her own instead.
It was after all not an everyday occurrence that saw them lingering in a little touch; touch between them was a rarity.
She might as well cherish it when it happened, even if the circumstances were a bit dark.
Everything was alright now.
She stepped closer, her other hand coming to rest on his elbow – a little caress.
It felt forbidden and dark, outrageous and sinful.
She pushed his hand further up under her skirt.
Up along her thigh it went, fingers feeling warm – feeling foreign even if she wanted his hands on her more than she wanted anything else.
She held her breath, watched his throat as he breathed, the collar of his shirt undone. Buttons unbuttoned halfway, the white of his collarbone visible.
Up his fingers went, hitching up her skirt with them to the barrier of her underwear – under and drawing the underwear down, down her legs.
She stepped out of them.
She brought his mouth down on hers, hand around the back of his neck.
Kissing assuaged everything.
His hand crept back, under the hem again – this time no hesitance as it came directly to her center, in between her folds before she could inhale.
She fingered his belt, went around and let her hands splay on his spine, bringing him closer. Her lips firmly attached to his.
She unbuckled the pants – hands going under his briefs and grasping him.
Oh god, she had dreamed about this.
She moaned when he circled her; she moaned when her hand went around him and stroked down along his length.
She whimpered when he growled, "I want you against the sink."
She turned and stepped into the marble sink, tucked the skirt even further up and watched in the bathroom mirror as he approached, tucking himself free from underwear and pants.
Big hands went around her hipbones and pulled her back towards him, the wonderful feel of him against her entrance; she exhaled and kept looking into the mirror.
His lips coming to rest on her neck; warm and comforting.
It surprised her but he was taller and more compact than she sometimes pictured him in her head; it was a fact that only seemed to strike her when she was not wearing any heels.
It was a fact that struck her now, what with his big arms around her and her head safely tucked into his chest.
He was big and warm, tall and – she was loathe to admit this, but he was such a presence of comfort that she found herself sighing into his shirt and creeping further into the embrace.
She felt sentient to every little twitch in his body, acutely aware of the way the muscles of his arms felt around her, the way his breath hit the top of her hair just where her forehead met her hairline.
She swallowed and tried to keep the pressure in her stomach locked away.
She sometimes likened him to a bulldog, fierce and feisty and yet with a temper that was too quick and sometimes unwarranted. She thought of him as her bulldog now, mostly – loyal and the secure, solid understanding that he had her back.
The knowledge that nothing – no one – would get past him, that he would guard her vehemently, fiercely - forcefully. It was a strange notion – very foreign and a concept she had never given much thought or consideration before.
She could take care of herself, she had no need for a guardian – Christ she was nearing sixty; she had no need for her lieutenant being overprotective and irrational.
Yet somehow she did not mind his embrace; she did not mind his obvious ferociously protectiveness.
She felt safe and warm – felt comforted; a ridiculous feeling she had given up on a long time ago.
No matter how she felt about it though, he would give it.
She might as well accept it then.
She lingered on his spine, fingers softly tracing an upwards pattern on the bare skin, the sheet just covering his ass. The linen was otherwise tangled in between his legs as he slept on his stomach – a rise and fall that was noticeable in his shoulders, in his back – in the air leaving his mouth into her mattress.
Flattening her palms against his broad shoulders, she leaned up and snuck a kiss into the skin behind his ear, lingering as she pressed her mouth into his skin – the succinct scent of him now familiar and more comforting than she would ever have guessed.
"Good morning," she whispered voice throaty and drowsy, fingers kneading into his muscles, pressing into his shoulder blades.
He grumbled something incoherent.
She hummed into his ear, the pad of her fingers finding a more appropriate target as she lightly tickled him, down the sides of his abdomen.
It was like the embrace of a furnace, like a nest when he lay next to her, curled into her or entangled with her.
She felt him jostling, and then he scratched the back of his head, turned around with a yawn; big limbs going in this and that direction.
She grinned and kissed him on the lips, snuggling into him, on top of him.
"Good morning," he acknowledged voice equally dozy, a low rumble.
Sometimes she patted his arm, twice in succession.
It was not meant to be condescending, merely a little touch to keep him from completely exploding. A little touch to ground him, to relax him – to warn him. She was not entirely sure herself why she did it.
It was always when she had a feeling he was on the verge of working himself into a vexed state; sometimes aggression was warranted and an asset in their line of work. But really, it was quite unnecessary now.
It was meant to calm him down – it was only meant in a friendly way, a friendly little touch.
She had done it a number of times before – only back then it had been barely a touch at all.
Somehow her hand lingered and it was more a caress than a pat, her fingers around his forearm, muscles underneath tensing at her grip.
It threw him completely off, his mouth half open and eyes confused as they regarded her.
She quickly withdrew her hand, feeling suddenly too conscious of her behavior, too conscious of the way his brown eyes centered even more on her.
Tentatively she gave him a smile, he smiled back – only she could still detect something behind his eyes, not confusion but something that reminded her of curiosity.
Maybe it would be better to refrain from touching him at all, however innocent it might seem in the moment. Nothing was innocent when it came to him; that much she knew.