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“Good Lord!” Ichabod rips out the headphones and throws them down on the table in disgust. Abby rolls her eyes. Obviously letting him have a go at modern music by letting him play with her iPod was not the best way to go about it. Should’ve started with Elvis.
“Is this--this noise--is this--?” Ichabod’s brow is furrowed in an almost amusing mix of confusion and horror.
“I told you, Ichabod. Even music has changed. It’s not all Yankee Doodle anymore.” She grabs the iPod from him before he can throw that, too, and glances at the screen. She cringes as the words “Hot in Herre” scroll across.
“This is what passes as music today?” She hasn’t the heart to tell him that it’s actually over a decade old.
“Look, Ichabod. Everyone has different tastes in music, so there’s a lot out there. It’s not all like this. I don’t even really like this song--it just reminds me of some good times as a kid--”
“You listened to this when you were a child?” If he keeps gasping like this, he’ll suck all the air out of the room.
“A teenager, yes. But that’s not the point.”
“The point, Lieutenant Mills--”
“Abbie. Geez, I’m not even on duty for another hour. And I let you look through my music collection. I think we’re past the formal titles now.”
Ichabod clears his throat. “A--Abbie.” He breathes in like he’s waiting for lightning to strike him dead. “The point is that this man, this “Nelly,” is successful in his attempt to make this woman nude for what I assume is fornication by merely telling her it’s too hot to wear clothing.”
Abby nods and purses her lips together to avoid the grin threatening to break this serious moment. Ichabod is clearly distressed. It’s cute the way he wrings his hands, trying to make sense of the newest in a series of new things, though.
He takes a sip of the Pumpkin Spice latte he politely insists on in the mornings after Abby introduced him to flavored coffees (“Good Heavens! I must meet this Mr. Starbucks and pay him my highest respects! I can actually taste autumn in this coffee! Is this why you are all so willing to ignore the outrageous levy on this drink?”) and stares at her, waiting for her to put the puzzle pieces in place for him.
She downs the last of her own coffee and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand in an attempt to pull her thoughts together on the male ego in modern music, but Ichabod is impatient.
“Is this how seduction works in this century? A man snaps his fingers and the woman submits to his whim and fancy? And so much talk of relations after just meeting? Are people today so open about such private matters?”
“Whoa, whoa, ok. That’s a lot. Let’s break it down. One thing at a time.” She never thought she’d have to have the talk with a grown man, but here it is. “Music is--hmmmm...it’s not always...realistic? I mean, there’s an element of truth to it, but, in all honesty….you see, there’s a saying: sex sells. These singers make a lot of money making songs like this. And don’t act all prudish. There were one-night stands and prostitutes back in your day, too.”
“Yes, but we didn’t announce such things to the world!” He looks horrified. “Is this really how men seduce women these days? There’s no chase? No thrill? Just ‘if you find the temperature too warm for your liking, please remove your clothing’ and she is compelled to obey and then want relations? In my day, women were not so easily swayed. They were baffling, frustrating creatures who reduced great men to simpering fools with the wave of a hand or the wink of an eye and these same men spent a great deal of time bettering themselves in hopes of being worthy of female attention. They fought wars over a woman. Killed in their honor. The thrill was in the seduction. It was an art form.”
Oh, God. Going to have to download some John Mayer for this one.
She opens her mouth to speak, but Ichabod's not through yet. "Lieu--Abbie, what would you do to me if I suggested the weather was inclement and you should take off your clothing?"
Abbie blinks a few times and gives him a wry smile. "I'd slap you so hard you'd land back in your own time."
"As well you should! No man deserves a woman using vulgar methods to entice her."
Abbie stares at him. The man actually makes some sense now and then.
"Now this Luke to whom you weren't betrothed. Pardon my impropriety, but did he employ such means to woo you? I only ask for--"
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Polite to a fault. Abbie doesn't know a time where sex wasn't an open discussion. She wonders what Ichabod and his friends talked about when they got together. Muskets. Crops. Horses?
"And, yes. His methods were very...modern." Of course, that's the least offensive way of putting it.
Ichabod tilts his head. "Did he not write you letters when he was away? Leave a flower for you to let you know he was always thinking of you? Did you ever dance with him? Did you never sit with your hand entwined in his?"
"Just...sit and hold hands?" Abbie snickers and hearkens back to innocent middle school relationships in her head.
"Do not underestimate a simple gesture like holding hands, Abbie. Here. Let me--" Before she knows what is happening, Ichabod reaches for her free hand and laces his fingers with hers. She thinks about protesting, taking her hand back, but there's a comfort there she can't quite explain and doesn't want to let go of. She watches as her own fingers decide to betray her and curl deeper into his.
"Warm hands." Like he'd prepared by wrapping his long fingers around his coffee cup first. And, really, when did words get so difficult to form? She can feel the blush creep up her cheeks and when did the room get so hot anyway?
Ichabod smiles. "Ah, yes. You see? You did not need any help discerning the rise in temperature in here, did you?" One corner of his mouth quirks upward in what is decidedly a victory smirk. "The difference is respect, lieutenant. A seduction is only a good seduction when both parties are interested. Not when one party has to convince the other."
As quickly as he took her hand, he lets it go. Her hand feels cold now and it's enough to shake her from whatever that just was. Those damned stupid gorgeous eyes pierce her to her core and say something, Abbie. You look like an idiot right now.
She hopes he didn’t get too far into her Netflix account because the only thing she can think to say right now is, “Mr. Crane. Are you trying to seduce me?”
She punctuates the question with a purse of her lips and a quirk of her eyebrow. It’s a playful expression to defuse the intensity of the situation, but Ichabod is anything but playful back.
“Yes.”
She blinks slowly, opens her mouth to say something, anything, but her phone rings like it had been waiting for just the right time.
Irving's voice reaches her ear before her phone does and he's pissed off about something. She can feel herself start to go cross-eyed as he prattles on but the sense memory of Ichabod's fingers flows into her brain like a gentle wave on the shore. Irving's rant is almost tolerable.
He wants her at the station, like, yesterday, and don't expect a lunch break. She sighs and ends the call, standing to retrieve her badge and weapon.
She looks to Ichabod and he innocently sips his coffee like nothing had happened.
"Oh. Dreadful timing, I'm afraid, as you must away to your work. I will wash up and make myself useful today continuing to acquaint myself with this century, if you don't mind. I've discovered a fascinating play on the television...something called the weather channel. Did you know you can plan for the weather ten days from today? In my day we never knew when the winter winds would strike, even on the eve before."
Abbie composes herself. "OK, but not too much TV. It rots your brain. There's food in the refrigerator and probably a clean towel or two in the bathroom. You remember how to work the shower, right?" Her electric bill is going to suck thanks to Ichabod's newfound discovery of hot water on demand.
"Yes, thank you. I'll stay out of trouble, I promise you." He stands to face her. "Good bye, Abbie. Thank you for the coffee and your hospitality." He reaches for her hand again, but this time brings it to his lips and lightly brushes them against her knuckles.
Oh, hell, no I am NOT going to--shit, yep. There I go. Abbie’s shiver and subsequent goosebumps can’t hide beneath her uniform like she desperately needs them to right now.
Ichabod smiles again and releases her hand with a bow. “Good day, Abbie.”
Abbie makes a point of listening to the boring local public radio talk show on the way in to work to calm herself down.
Nine hours, a few wild goose chases, and a stack of paperwork that is slowly reaching to the ceiling (ok, not really, but a girl is entitled to exaggeration sometimes) later she’s all but pushed the very wrong thoughts about Ichabod out of her mind when a plate of food appears on her desk during a brief escape to the ladies’.
It’s not much, just some fruit and bread and cheese, nothing she didn’t have laying around the kitchen, but it’s adorned with a single flower, one she recognizes from one of the bushes that line her street.
She looks around for Ichabod, even though she knows he has sneaked in and out before anyone could see him. Long after the food is gone, the flower is still on her desk in a makeshift vase she fashioned out of her paper clip dispenser. If anyone notices the grin on her face, they are all too busy to ask about it.
Irving finally concedes that she needs to get some rest around the 12 hour mark and sends her home with the remaining paperwork and a stern warning to not be a minute late turning it in or he would personally cuff her to her desk and throw away the key.
There’s another plate of food on her kitchen counter when she gets home. A little more substance this time--a sandwich and some more fruit--and another flower. Ichabod appears in the doorway before she can hide her smile and he’s holding a bunch of the same flowers.
“Thank you for the food, Ichabod. And the flowers.” She can’t stop looking at his face. His stupid handsome face that she is NOT falling for, damn it.
He bows a little again and takes her hand, once again kissing the back of it. “A pleasure, my lady.”
He smells of Luke’s old shampoo and soap that she never bothered to throw out. On Luke it smelled like nights out at cheap cop bars. Ichabod just smells clean and spicy. And hot. Is hot a smell? Oh, God, Abbie. You’re in deep, girl.
“Now, you must simply be starved. Eat up.”
He watches her as she eats and it should be creepy, but there’s concern and interest and she finds herself talking about her day in between bites of food. He doesn’t quite get all the references, but he listens with an intensity that makes her feel...important.
The moment she’s finished, he whisks away her plate and helps her to her feet. “I listened to more of your...music today. I have to ask how couples dance to it. The rhythm is...it’s not a reel, I know that much. Are there steps to learn for each song?”
Visions of grinding and twerking flutter across her brain. “Ichabod, I don’t think you’re ready for that answer. I just don’t.”
“Fair enough. Will you allow me to teach you some of my dances sometime? They are quite exciting.”
She smiles and nods. “Sure. Yes. Right now, though, I’m going to take a shower and wash off the day, if you don’t mind. I’m sure I smell terrible.”
“Like nothing short of the fairest rose, my dear Abbie.” They both know it’s a lie, but Luke never missed an opportunity to call her out like she was one of the guys and she is still quite self conscious in that respect.
If she spends a little extra time in there scrubbing everything twice and rummaging in the back of her cabinet for the really expensive lotion afterwards, well, just like exaggeration, a girl is entitled to some pampering every now and then, too.
She emerges from the bathroom in her favorite jammies and Ichabod is on the sofa reading an old newspaper. He looks up at her and gasps. “Exquisite! Abbie you are a vision.”
She looks down at her fuzzy pants and tank top and back to him, confused.
“Dear me! Has no one ever commented on your striking looks, Abbie? I refuse to believe such a travesty.” Luke’s idea of a compliment was an offhand, “you look hot tonight, babe.”
“No matter. I aim to right this wrong.” He sets the paper on the coffee table and walks to her. He extends a hand and bows, stiff and formal. “Dance with me.”
She looks around. “What--here? In the living room? In my pajamas?”
“I can think of no better time or place.”
“There--there’s no music. And I don’t really know--” This isn’t a club in the city. And this isn’t the 7th grade talent show. Something tells Abbie the cabbage patch isn’t going to cut it here.
He pulls her close without warning and she’s shocked by the warmth of his body. His voice goes low and she’s so close to him she can feel it rumble in his chest. “Will you allow me to lead, Abbie?”
She can only manage a weak nod before Ichabod runs his hands down her shoulders and arms until he finds her hands.
“I’ve never felt skin so soft before,” he whispers. She mentally notes to use the expensive lotion until the end of time. “This is called the Allemande. It is--was--very popular.”
The dance is a series of twirls and clasping hands. It’s very formal on the surface, but each spin brings her back round to look at Ichabod and the eye contact makes it very clear just how intimate it is. She’s not very good at it, but, then again, she never expected to be. Ichabod still seems delighted, though.
The twirls make her dizzy, but if she really stopped to think about it, it’s not just the dance that’s doing it.
He ends it with a bow and she instinctively curtsies because it seems the right thing to do. It doesn’t feel as silly as she thinks it should, even though she has to pretend she’s wearing an old fashioned ball gown. His attention on her almost makes her wish she were.
He gently pulls her close again. “What did I tell you? Exciting.” The thin cotton of his pants lets Abbie know exactly how exciting it was for him. And she’s not afraid to admit to herself that the feel of him so close is having the same effect on her.
“That was--that was lovely, Ichabod. Much better than anything we have today. You’d be surprised how much has changed in that respect.”
“Yes, I do often wonder how much else has changed.” Before she can finish the fleeting thought of pulling up a Miley Cyrus video on YouTube, Ichabod gently presses his lips on hers.
It’s innocent. Chaste, almost. But in the same instant warm and promising. She closes her eyes and as quickly as it happens, it’s over. He pulls back and watches her for a reaction and all she can think to do is touch her lips where his just were.
“Still the same, I presume? A kiss is still a kiss?” But it’s barely above a whisper and Abbie is simply dying now wanting more.
“Very much so.” Her throat is dry and this must be what going insane feels like because every cell in her body wants to leap out of her skin if something doesn’t happen soon.
He kisses her again, this time with more force and more authority and, god DAMN it, she is a strong woman, a highly capable, intelligent, in charge, armed woman, and there is no more attractive alternative right now than to let go and let this happen. He’s won her over, he’s taking his prize, and she is so along for this ride.
She kisses him back, responds to him in ways Luke never coaxed from her. She doesn’t bite back the little moans that escape as he deepens the kiss. There’s no embarrassment, no weakness in letting her body react to him. Luke always saw her pleasure as an excuse to have an ego trip, congratulating himself on being a good lover and knowing women. It always ruined the moment for her and made her feel like the latest conquest in a long line.
She shoos the thought away when Ichabod breaks the kiss and moves down her neck and over to her shoulder, using his tongue to lick long lines across her collarbone. She can’t breathe properly, but who needs air when strong hands run across her back, right at the point where her tank top rides up slightly.
She’s shaking from the overstimulation of everything and reaches for his shoulders to steady herself because it’s not going to do either one of them any good if she passes out from just this. Ichabod must sense her plight, though, and slowly begins to back her up against a nearby wall, giving her support and allowing him to bend to her level a little easier.
He kisses her for a long time, letting his hands explore her skin. She’s never gotten this worked up over kissing before and she’d laugh in spite of herself, but then again, she’d also never gotten so worked up over just holding hands or dancing, either, and she wonders what else she’s been missing out on being a 21st century woman.
“Abbie, pardon me for being so forward, but I’d very much like to take you to bed.” There’s no century in which she’d even think of saying no.
He leads her by the hand to her bedroom and presses her up against the back of the door as soon as they enter. He kisses her again as he pushes up her top to reveal the flat of her belly and her breasts, breaking only to lift it up over her head and drop it to the ground. She gasps when he runs his fingers over her hard nipples and he jerks his hips hard against her in the first sign that his amazing self-control may be cracking just a bit.
Her bottoms are next, leaving her only in a tiny pair of panties, the ones she only brings out on special occasions. And she hasn’t had one in a very long time. She wonders what passed for lingerie back in his time and if he’s ever seen anything like this before, red and lacey and barely there. He fingers the material, grazing over sensitive nerve endings as he does, but more fascinating to him than the satin is the wet heat he finds when he dips low enough. He makes short work of removing them, too, and the sight of her completely naked makes his breath hitch in his throat.
“Divine,” he breathes. “Just as I thought. You are truly beautiful, Abbie. I could write sonnets for each part of you I want to worship.” But, thankfully, instead of looking for a pen and paper, Ichabod guides her to the bed and lays her down on top of the duvet.
He’s still fully clothed as he climbs up her body to kiss her again, making it clear this is not about him or his immediate pleasure. The very notion that Ichabod is doing this just for her is intoxicating and just a bit overwhelming.
He kisses down her neck, her chest, her breasts, and stomach, each new sensation making her hips thrust up uncontrollably. He nuzzles her hip, easing apart her legs with one hand until he’s satisfied enough to slip it between them. She moans loudly when he feels how wet she is for him.
He kisses from her hip bone down to the top of her thigh and settles in between her legs. He licks the insides of her thighs all the way up until Abbie is breathing hard and oh my god is he really going to--
She can feel his hot breath on her just before his tongue begins to caress her most sensitive spot. The combination is incredible and she doesn’t know how she even began to deserve this treatment, but damn if she’s going to spend any extra brain power figuring it out right now. He licks at her, uses those amazingly talented lips to suck ever so slightly just to drive her insane. His beard scratches at her skin, adding extra sensation, and just when she thinks she can’t possibly take any more or she’ll explode, he pushes one of his long fingers inside her and uses his free hand to play with her breasts.
What comes out of her mouth is quite possibly not even English, but she doesn’t care--doesn’t care about anything right now beyond the man giving her so much pleasure. She grabs fistfulls of his hair tightly in her hands and instead of getting annoyed or angry, he simply takes it as a sign to go deeper, faster, harder, and it’s just what she wants from him.
Her orgasm hits her like lightning coursing through every vein and as soon as he feels her tighten around his finger, Ichabod whimpers like it’s exquisite torture. He keeps at it until she comes down fully, staying with her through the aftershocks and the last of her breathy moans.
His lips are slick when he raises his head again and it’s such an erotic sight she could probably go again right now without much help from him and speaking of going again, she needs him naked NOW.
He crawls back up and kisses her again and she tastes herself all over him and it’s not helping that need be any less urgent. She tugs at his shirt, runs her hands up underneath to find hard muscle and the bumps and scars of war on his skin underneath.
He pulls off her and dutifully removes his clothing, leaving his cock exposed and she gets her first good look at it. He’s uncircumsised; something she’s never actually seen before, and she quickly realizes she’s staring.
He takes his cock in his hands and shows it off to her. “Don’t tell me these have changed so much.”
She’ll explain later.
His entire body is warm as he stretches across her and she takes every opportunity she can get to map out his flesh with her hands. He’s lean, not like jocky cops, but strong. Hell, she’s seen firsthand what he can do.
He reaches between them to take himself in his hand and guides his cock to her, sliding in like he belongs there, burying himself as far as he can go. He pauses to kiss her and she’s shaking but it’s, oh, so good, and only when she breathes again does he start moving, slowly drawing himself out before plunging back in and she might actually die of too much pleasure. He continues the slow thrusting, never taking his eyes off her as he moves. He watches every reaction as it spreads across her face, listens to every new noise she makes and she wonders if this is the mark of a skilled hunter or just a real man that he seems to be adapting what he’s doing to her just by judging how she’s reacting instead of blindly pumping away, oblivious to how it actually feels on the other end.
She’s so close to another orgasm now and her breathing is shallow and fast and Ichabod obligingly speeds up and, oh GOD, he was waiting for her to go again before he even thought about himself.
Yep, she’s going to die of pleasure and she doesn’t even care what kind of paperwork that death by too many orgasms from the best sex ever is going to require when they find her body and she hopes Luke is the one assigned to the investigation.
She doesn’t hold back when she comes, the deep primitive moans just seem to spurn Ichabod on to keep the driving rhythm as she squeezes around his cock. He watches the pleasure on her face like he’s never seen anything like it and never will again.
He can only make it a few more thrusts before he arches his back away from her and comes, moaning like it’s the sweetest relief he’s ever known.
He shudders against her, whispers her name, every muscle in his body is taut and he grips her underneath her head to pull her as close to him as he can. She wraps her arms around him and lets him ride out his orgasm against her until he finally stops shaking.
A few minutes pass and Ichabod gently slides out of her and rolls on his back. At this point, Luke would be checking his Facebook or puttering to the kitchen to grab a beer, but Ichabod merely reaches for her and she happily turns to rest her head in the crook of his shoulder where she falls almost instantly into a deep sleep.
The next day at work, not even Irving yelling at her for not finishing all the paperwork can wipe the smile off her face as she drops a new flower into her makeshift vase.