Work Text:
She eased her way through the crowd of hopeful cupids and horny devils. It was hard to see the red shirted bar staff beyond the crates of strawberries being hulled and blended for the vivid pink cocktails they were passing out in celebration of Valentines Day.
"Hey, excuse me, excuse me!" called an enthusiastic barman hoping to take her order, but she was too busy flicking her hair to the side and eyeing the fit, spiky-haired guy as she settled onto the next stool to notice.
"Figured you'd be a heartbreaker," he smiled, noticing the young barman's wistful gaze at the shapely shoulders and hint of cleavage revealed by her slinky, black halter dress.
"Just one of my bad habits," she purred, reaching for his drink and finishing it in one gulp.
"Maybe I shouldn't get too close," he said evenly, reaching behind the bar for a strawberry.
"It's never wise to risk more than than you can afford to lose," she countered, then parted her lips to take in the strawberry, allowing them to close where his fingertips held the stem.
Two minutes later he turned her away from him and leaned into her back, pressing her against the mirrored wall of the elevator, his breath warm as murmured in her ear, "You're worried where this is going."
"The sixth floor?" she scoffed, her eyes not fooling him for a second.
"The all important third date," he persisted, lightly trailing a hand from her ribs to hip.
"I know how this goes," she began hesitantly. "Satin sheets and artificial rose petals, then awkward silences waiting for nonexistent room service."
"Maybe we should stick to armed hold-ups and shattered glass," she said, reaching behind her and snaking her fingers up his thigh by way of diversion. She sighed when he carefully drew her hand away as the doors opened and led her to their suite.
She bit her lip as he deactivated the door's electronic lock with his keycard and held it open for her. She stepped inside and was surprised to find the room simply and tastefully furnished. On a small table at the foot of the king-sized bed was a platter of fruit and cheese and an ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne. She glanced appreciatively at the starched, white bedlinen and noticed a single, long-stemmed red rose lying across one of the pillows.
"It's perfect," she said, her eyes shining with hope and wonder.
"Almost," he said softly, releasing the snaps at her neck and watching as her dress pooled at her feet.
His Adams apple bobbed as he took in the midnight blue lace of her tanga against her pale skin as she knelt on the bed to retrieve the rose.
He gently worked a couple of fingers under the elastic string at each hip, then slid the scrap of lace down her legs and discarded it.
Five hours later she lay panting on top of twisted, sweaty sheets as he reached for the bucket at the foot of the bed and pressed the last slivers of ice to the throbbing bite on his shoulder. He gallantly offered her the remaining berries from the platter but she waived them away.
"Ask me," she said simply, when she regained the power of speech.
"What?" he said cautiously, though he knew exactly what she meant. He hadn't forgotten her remarks at the bar.
"I'll say yes," she assured him.
He glanced over as he finished ministering to his shoulder and registered that her demeanour was completely different than before. He ignored the burning of his leg muscles as he stretched himself out beside her and eased onto his side.
Her hand settled over his as he cupped her cheek and said with a small smile, "Be mine..."