Title - In Series
Author – MiniPig
Rating – QC
Pairing - E/O - although I guess this one's fairly anonymous.
Disclaimer - Not mine... cry
- - - - -
Sometimes she's happy.
She'll open the door and greet him with her trademark smile, eyes shining, a bounce in her stance he's come to adore. She'll lean forward before he's even stepped over the threshold and press her lips to his, soft and moist. She'll bunch one fist in the shirt that's half un-tucked from long, tired hours Elsewhere, and drag him closer to her, so close he forgets he's ever been anywhere but here, with her, while her other hand will snake around the back of his neck, fingering his shirt collar and keeping his head close, his mouth on hers.
She'll moan when he pushes her firmly through the doorway in one fluid motion, and again when the door bangs shut and her back slams against it, cushioned only by her fall into his embrace. Her tongue will stroke his, softly, insistently, and then demanding, until suddenly the kiss breaks, leaving them both gasping for air.
"Hey," she'll whisper shyly, breathless, and he grins, his thumbs on her hips smoothing circles into her warm skin.
- - - - -
Sometimes she's angry.
She'll open the door and he has to hold up both his hands in silent surrender to stop her from slamming it in his face. Every time, the danger in her eyes makes him want to break their intense stare, but eventually, she'll let him in, glaring all the while as the clock on her wall fills the thick air with tick tick tick.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" She'll demand, and he ignores the redness around her eyes that equates to her tears of frustration and lack of sleep, holding one arm out as a gesture of comfort. A truce. She'll block him; slap his arm away; wait anything but patiently for an answer.
He isn't fazed in the slightest, and finds himself offering to be her punchbag. She'll consider him warily then, even though it isn't the first time, and a split-second later takes the opportunity to aim a powerful slug to his left jaw, but in her hesitation he sees what's happening and blocks her attempt, grabbing her wrist and spinning her in a whirl of motion that causes her loose hair to swirl, teasing the sensitive flesh on his neck, and pins her arm behind her back.
She'll shudder, tension and heat making her squirm in his grasp and struggle to free herself. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, his other hand burning her upper arm, precariously close to her breast. He is strong and holds her tighter, his breath tickling her ear.
Her breathing will be harsh, little gasps escaping with the exertion and she'll moan aloud as his teeth nip at her neck.
"Talk to me," he whispers, and she'll shiver in his arms, something inside her shattering.
- - - - -
Sometimes she's sad.
She'll open the door, raise her head to acknowledge his face, only to cave in on herself, shoulders shaking with the sobs she refuses to let surface.
It's these nights he forgets everything except the feel of her cold hands clutching blindly at his chest as he envelops her safely in his arms. Sometimes, it's a case that has her feeling like there's no point, like no matter how much she tries to help others, she can never save herself from this inevitable emptiness at the end of the day. A few times, it's a date that went wrong, and, just once, just because.
He eases them towards her couch, scooping her into his lap, and she'll curl into his support, her shirt riding up slightly to reveal a slice of smooth, tan skin which he covers gently with his hot palm.
She won't tell him what's wrong, not in detail, but he listens regardless, telling her it's okay, telling her that he understands even when he doesn't.
Later, maybe they'll drink some wine, maybe she'll fall asleep in his arms, and maybe he bends down to lay a kiss on her lips, sealing their fate.
- - - - -
Or maybe not, seeing as too much of the time, Elliot wakes up disappointed, his ceiling too bland above him, the alarm clock ringing too loud in his ears.