Exploration

And here I go with another fluffy story. This one even has a bit of M in it. If that's not your thing then don't read it. Craftyfengirl was the inspiration for this story. I teased her about the idea of another story. She countered with the idea for this. I hope it is everything she envisioned. Happy Valentine's Day to you all!

Leaning against the door frame, she watched him sleep. In her absence he'd spread across the bed. The sheet had pulled loose, exposing the length of his back down his right cheek to his leg. In the waning light from their bedroom windows, her eyes were drawn to a scar on his lower leg.

She could tell from the texture of the skin it was a road rash scar. Smiling to herself, she wondered how he'd gotten it. It wasn't his only scar. Most she knew the story behind. This one, she had no idea about. It seemed older, possibly the wages of a misspent youth.

The idea of Robbie as a wayward youth made her laugh. She stifled the laugh, hoping it didn't wake him. When he didn't stir, she continued her exploration of his body. Halfway down his back was a small keloid scar. It was another mystery.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you it's impolite to stare?"

Taking a step into the room, "I wasn't staring, I was admiring."

He laughed, turning his head to watch her walk. "I'm not much to look at, Laura."

Tracing her hand up his leg, she let it linger on the scar on his lower leg. A smile teased her lips, "I didn't say I was admiring your body. I was admiring your scars, wondering how you got them."

"Skateboarding."

Her laughter filled the room, "You, on a skateboard?"

He nodded, "You'd be surprised at the things a child can get you to do."

"Patrick?"

"Our Lyn. She was twelve, had these huge blue eyes and knew exactly what to do to get her old dad to do whatever she wanted." He smiled at the memory, "Val didn't speak to me for two days over that one."

She leaned over, placing a light kiss to the scar. "Serves you right." Sitting on the edge of the bed, she ran her hand slowly up his leg. Reaching the other scar, she traced the length of it gently. "And this one?"

"I got that one shortly after we met."

"What?"

"Attacked by a murderer, fell in the woods, a limb cut me."

Again she leaned over, kissing the scar. "It doesn't look like you needed stitches."

Turning in the bed, he reached for her. "I'm tougher than I look."

Sliding up his body, she smiled down at him. "Stubborn more like." She kissed the scar above his right eyebrow, "Compliments of another murderer."

He nodded, pressing into her lips. "They haven't got me yet."

Reaching down, she took one of his hands, lifting his arm. Her hand traced down the soft skin of the inside of his arm, finding the knife scar. It hurt to think about how he'd gotten it until she remembered what had happened afterward.

"I think this is my favorite one of all."

Smiling as her tongue traced the thin, angry line on his forearm. "Why is that, Laura?"

"Don't you remember what happened that night?" She raised a single eyebrow, "Something stronger."

He laughed, reaching up with his free hand, untying the sash of her dressing gown. His hand slipped inside, pushing it off her shoulder. "It was a good night."

"The first of many good nights."

Smiling he pulled on her lightly, "And afternoons, and mornings."

Leaning forward, she lightly brushed her lips against him. "And we managed to keep it all a secret."

"Yes, we did." Sliding his hand deeper into her dressing gown, he stroked the smooth, soft skin of her back. "Any other scars you need to know more about?"

Kissing the curve of his jaw, she worked her way down his body, pausing at a faded scar over his right hip. Before she traced her tongue over it, she smiled up at him, "Appendix?"

He nodded, "Twenty-two, emergency surgery."

"Poor thing." Lowering her head, she traced it with her tongue.

A low groan rumbled through his body, "Suddenly, it doesn't seem so bad."

Moving further down his body, "Any other places requiring attention?"

As he laughed, she continued moving down his body. Her lips and tongue blazing a trail, burning against his skin. His hand tangled in her when he felt her breath across his arousal. "Laura, I don't think there are any scars there."

Looking up at him, "Do you want me to stop?"

"Oh, God, no…"

Her lips closed around him, tongue flicking across him. Slowly she took him into her mouth, sliding up and down his length. She relished his groan as he pushed up to her. One hand was still tangled in her hair, the other clenched at the sheet.

She took her time, bringing him to the brink before backing off. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling her up his body. Seeing the scar on his other arm, she kissed it.

"That scar has special meaning to me."

She met his even gaze, nipping at the scar, "Why is that?"

Pulling her the remainder of the way up his body, he kissed her lightly. "Because that night we went for drinks and it was the first time I realized you were actually flirting with me, not just being polite."

"And, yet, it took you another three years to make a move."

He shook his head, "No, I asked you out two years later. It's not my fault murder got in the way."

"I stand corrected."

Moving quickly, catching her by surprise, he rolled them over. "If you must know, Dr. Hobson, I would prefer you not stand at all."

"Is that so?" Wrapping her legs around him, "What would you prefer I do?"

Tilting his hips forward, he slid into her. "Does that give you any idea?"

She moaned, tightened her muscles around him. "One or two."

He kissed her as they started moving together. Words no longer necessary, years of experience took over. They knew what to do, where to touch, how to move. They took their time, savoring the feel of skin against skin.

Laura fell over the edge first, screaming out his name. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper into her. He followed her, her name a whispered prayer as he found his release. Collapsing on top of her, he kissed her neck, whispering against her skin. "I love you."

Holding him to her, she returned the whispered words of adoration. As his muscle function returned, he rolled to the side, pulling her with him. She settled against his chest, pressing her nose into the damp skin, savoring the scent which was distinctly him, them.

Their hearts returned to a normal pace. Robbie buried his face in her hair, kissing gently. Smiling softly, "You missed one scar, Laura."

Nipping lightly at the skin on his chest, "Where's that?"

He took her hand, placed a tender kiss on the palm of it. Then he rested it tenderly over his heart. "The broken heart you helped heal. From that first night I realized you were flirting with me to that first night at my place after something stronger to that day in the White Horse, it was all you. You put all of the pieces of it back together, made it whole."

Tears filled her eyes, "That might be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

Wiping the solitary tear sliding down her cheek away, he kissed her. "Even better than the first time I said I love you?"

She nodded, "Since you screamed it at me in the middle of a fight, yes, this is better."

Leaning into her, he whispered, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Smiling against his skin, she kissed his neck. "As I recall, you said it three times then too."

"As I recall, it ended the argument."

She laughed, "Quite spectacularly."

"I never planned to tell you like that."

"You had a plan?"

"I planned to take you to dinner, a walk by the river. Even had a basket stowed away with champagne so we could watch the sunset."

"You hate champagne."

Smiling at her, eyes twinkling, "Yes, but I love you. And you love champagne."

She bit on her lower lip, "That sounds lovely but I think I like the way it happened even better. It's more us."

"Possibly but it was a really good bottle of champagne. I still have it. Maybe one day, we can take that walk, watch the sunset and enjoy it."

Nodding sleepily into his chest, she sighed. "I'd like that."

Pulling her tightly to him, he kissed the top of her head. He felt the moment she slipped into sleep. Closing his eyes, he offered a silent prayer, squeezing her hand, still resting above his heart. They weren't just words; he'd meant what he said. She had healed him and he would spend the rest of his life giving thanks for it.