A/N: Hi, guys!

This story is proudly presented to you by BerLina and LuminousLu, based on a recent spoiler for the season 5 premiere. [SPOILER ALERT!]
It's the first time Lina and Lu have collaborated on a fanfiction. This started as a swing story (one writes a bit, the other another and we get it all together) [Lina is shaking her head at Lu's choice of words], ending with each of us writing a chapter and the other editing it.

I hope you can enjoy the final result; we obviously had a blast bringing it to you!

Lina and Lu

One.

Her hands fidget with the buttons of his shirt; it's hot, it's hot in here and her hands want it off, want it on the floor where it belongs. No piece of clothing belongs on his body, not now; her mouth does. Oh, her mouth, now finding its way across the planes of his neck and down the valley of his throat, exploring, seeking, finding the solace she so fiercely craves.

She's so distracted by his skin under her tongue that she yelps in surprise when he pushes her against the bookshelves; she hadn't even realized they had moved from the living room into his study already. The dark wood gets forced against her back, her coat clinging to her and making her shiver, the dampness from the rainfall soaking deep into her bones. His hands are on her shoulders, pushing and tearing until the piece of leather is bunched up behind her back. Her mouth is unwilling to part with his skin, but his hands follow through, slide beneath the fabric of her shirt, trace the lines of her abdomen.

He's being so slow with her, so cautious, but she's not sure she can wait; her tongue finds itself around a nipple and she suckles on it, making him moan in a way she didn't anticipate. A shiver runs through her body, but she isn't quite sure whether it was caused by his moan or the lingering cold or his hands unbuttoning her shirt.

Oh god, his hands, they are everywhere and they're not enough, and now his mouth, oh, his mouth is tracing her neck and she leans back, allows her head to fall back against the wood, feels the spines of the books through her hair, what seems to be the corner of a picture frame against her cranium. His hands and his mouth are on her breasts and she can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything other than bringing her own hands up and running her fingers through his hair, the adoration seeping from her touch like she never expected it to.

He seems to notice it, too; his head rises from its spot until he's looking at her like she's made of some sort of precious gem, a pile of words and beauty and a sense of something that they can't quite grasp yet, but which seems to be more and more within their reach.

Just one more step, one more touch, one more caress.

"Kate," he whispers and the awe and wonder in his voice spur her into action again. She pushes on his chest until he gives her enough room to move, and then lowers herself, her hands finding his pants and pulling them down, not a split second of hesitation in the way she moves. She looks up at him and his eyes are closed, his hands grasping the shelves and his forehead against the wood.

No. Not quite yet, not now. The first time isn't just about pleasure, it's about something more, something deeper.

"Kate," he calls again. His hands find her arms and he pulls her up, kisses her hard, thoroughly, his tongue tracing her lips, the roof of her mouth, their breaths mingling. This is it, this is the time and when he looks down she has pulled her own pants all the way to her ankles, is toeing them off. When did she lose her boots?

He doesn't really care. All he cares about is the way she's looking at him, how her body is leaning back against the books and suddenly that's his entire life against that shelf — his books and his Kate, all mingling together, all mixing up in a picture that seems close to his idea of heaven.

She lifts one leg and hooks it around his hip, and a second later he is lost inside of her.