Disproving Wisdom
Fandom: Line of Fire
Pairing: Amiel/Paige
Rating: PG13/R
Spoilers: None
Notes: For the LiveJournal 15minuteficlets photo challenge #17
Your eyes fly open at some strange sound, closing again when you see a pair of unblinking eyes staring back at you. It’s only a cat, Amiel’s cat, staring at the two of you from across the room, as if you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen in his life.
Who knows? Maybe you are.
You’re not sure how often, if at all, Amiel takes women home. After all, if office wisdom is to believed, you’re far from Amiel’s type; people have been speculating since the day you both started that Todd is far more to his liking. Of course, that’s the same office wisdom that’s been linking you to David Gwynne since he transferred in, so you know not to put too much store in that.
And then Amiel’s lips do something to your neck that make you gasp and arch against him, and you discover another reason never to trust office wisdom.
After all, office wisdom says that this is a bad idea; not only that, it says that this is absolutely against regulations. He’s not your partner, nor is he your direct boss, but he is your superior. There are a million regulations that the two of you are breaking, something that will have to be dealt with if things continue past tonight – and from the sensations that his hands are teasing out, you really hope that it will. Whether you do or don’t though, either way, it’s going to lead to awkwardness between the two of you, until you learn to deal with it. And if you do, and then you break up, what’s going to happen?
And if you do, and you don’t break up, what’s going to happen then?
His lips cover yours, and you reach up a hand to the back of his head, running it down his neck, across the planes of his shoulders. When his lips slide to your cheek, down to your neck, you sigh, the sound almost drowning out his whispered words, “Open your eyes Paige…”
It’s not the voice he uses in the field to give orders, but you obey it anyway, meeting his dark eyes – darker than usual, making your stomach twist pleasantly, your breath hitch – and he must mistake your reaction for something that it’s not, because he frowns, his hands slowing against your skin.
“You ok?” he murmurs, and you know, without even looking at his face, that if you say the word, he’ll stop. Doesn’t matter that you’re both lying tangled in his bed sheets, that your clothes are all over the room, that he’s the first man to touch you this way since your husband. You know this man, even if you don’t know a lot about him, and you know he’ll stop.
You know this, and you arch against him, pressing your body close to him, your voice hardly recognisable as your own. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, dragging your lips across his shoulder, the only part of him you can reach. “Please, don’t stop…”
He doesn’t reply, not in words, just resumes his ministrations, his pace faster, studying your reactions. You keep your eyes on his, never breaking his gaze, trying not to think about the cat and office wisdom and what might happen, until it’s all too much, and you squeeze your eyes shut as the world explodes into a million pieces.
When you come back to yourself, you can hear only two things – breathing, his slow and controlled, yours harsh and laboured – and the mewling of the cat.
Concentrating on the former, you draw him close to you again, and forget all about the latter.