Work Text:
“ I need a big meal, a hot bath, and some quality sexy time, and then I’m going to sleep for 24 hours ”
Tim had spent the last week just on the periphery of Lucy’s life, tidally locked in an orbital pattern that kept her in sight, but just out of reach—minus one hasty and most likely ill-advised laundry room hook up of course. That had been more about triage than treatment; a physical response to an overwhelmingly emotional and nuanced reality that a bleeding soul can manifest the weight of a dodged bullet. It had been fast, inelegant, primal, and bone deep; they’d clung to each other, panting and damp and only just on the other side of satiated. It had made walking away from her in that moment even harder.
But that was over, at least for the moment. She was home; the op was over. His hands could reach for her hands, his eyes could meet and hold her gaze, his lips could promise a reprieve from the stilted silence of duty and protocol, and he could hold her—as he did now—in his arms and breathe in the familiar scent of her.
She’d promised to trust him and to walk away if things ever got too dangerous, too deep, too destructive, and he supposed he’d find a way to truly believe that, to have faith in Lucy’s promised future and to quiet the screaming of Isabel’s fettered past.
But faith without works is dead—which suited Tim just fine because he was a man of action. So he would pacify the lingering doubts in his mind, at least for tonight, by focusing on Lucy and what she needed to help decompress from the stress and anxieties of the week.
He pulled back from their hug, tipped her head back and let his lips meet hers in a slow, tender kiss that welcomed her home followed by a quick peck to the end of her nose and one to her forehead.
“You finish unpacking. I’m going to run your hot bath,” he said. “You want me to cook or order something?”
She gave a small frown; her eyes apologetic. “Would you mind cooking? I’ve had nothing but take out all week.”
“Of course,” he breathed. “While you relax in the tub, I’ll make that big meal.”
He turned to head to the bathroom, but Lucy grabbed his hand and tugged him back.
At his questioning look, Lucy wrapped her arms around him again, burying her face against his chest. He responded in kind, holding her to him, his cheek pressed against her smooth hair.
“Thank you,” she mumbled against the fabric of his shirt.
“For what?” He teased. “Doing my job?”
She shook her head, nuzzling her nose into his chest. “S’not your job,” she said simply. “You choose to be here, to help me, to run baths and cook dinner.”
He didn’t know why her words sent a wave of pleasure through him. He felt silly, childlike, at her praise. The words I will always choose you sat stuck in his throat wedged behind the still unspoken I love you . He swallowed hard, forcing them down into his stomach causing an ache he still didn’t know how to heal.
Instead, he brought a hand once again to the back of her head, allowing his fingers to thread through the silky strands of her hair and massage the skin beneath.
Lucy gave a groan of pleasure at his touch. She loved when he did this; said it made her feel so relaxed.
She pulled away reluctantly. “You’re going to put me to sleep doing that.”
“And you want your bath,” he answered knowingly.
“Yes, please…and my dinner and my quality sexy time.”
Tim laughed. “On it.”
He left her to finish unloading her bag and started running her bath. Something he’d learned about Lucy since their relationship had become romantic was that there was taking a bath and then there was taking a bath . Lucy loved the latter. He pulled out the bath pillow, the scented salts, and the candles.
By the time Lucy joined him in the bathroom, the air was damp and warm with the scent of vanilla and lavender. He turned off the light and helped her undress in the soft, flickering light of the candles. She threw her hair up into a messy bun before Tim helped her step into the tub.
She hissed at the heat of the water which would have made Tim question, but he knew she loved the burn.
She settled down into the water and blinked up at him. He squatted down beside the tub watching as the water reflected the orange light against her naked skin.
She was so beautiful.
She frowned.
“What?” He asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the gentle ambience.
“Maybe we should just order food and then you can join me,” she said with a bit of a pout, sending the water crackling as she lifted her arm to reach for him.
Tim was tempted. Something he learned about himself since their relationship had turned romantic was that he too quite enjoyed taking a bath , and having a naked, pliant Lucy in his arms may be his most favorite feeling on earth.
She shifted some so that her tight, erect nipples were just visible above the water, her skin already pink from the heat.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and Lucy giggled.
He took her outstretched hand and kissed the back of it before shaking his head. He released her before standing.
“Bath, food, then quality sexy time,” he reminded her.
She gave a huff of disappointment. “I can change my mind.”
“Hush, woman. Before I abandon all reason and ravish you right now,” he teased. “I drew you a good bath, now enjoy it.”
She gave another small laugh. “You did draw me a good bath,” she agreed, stretching one leg out to wiggle her toes.
She wasn’t playing fair. She knew how cute he found her toes.
He pointedly ignored her attempts to deter him. “Do you want your playlist?”
She thought for a moment. “Yes.”
He grabbed the small Bluetooth speaker and switched it on before asking, “Where’s your phone?”
“On the bed.”
He made quick work of grabbing it, wincing some in the bright light then slipped back into the dimly lit bathroom. He unlocked her phone and pulled up her playlists.
“Which one?”
“Mmmm…do the ‘quiet calm’ list.”
He began the music and waited until he knew the volume was where it needed to be before closing the toilet lid and setting her phone on top, well within her reach.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned.
“I won’t,” she promised.
She would.
He turned to leave through the door that led to the kitchen.
“Will you leave it cracked?”
He looked back at her, surprised. “You sure? It’ll let the heat out?”
“Just a little,” she said. “So I can still hear you.”
He nodded and did as she asked.
He set about pulling the ingredients out for tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. He was loath to admit it, but he really was enjoying watching Top Chef. He was surprised to find himself very interested in food and how very little he’d experienced palate wise in his life. When he was growing up, his mom always made him tomato soup and a grilled cheese when he was sick or feeling sad. It was comfort food. It had always been a can of Campbell’s and a slice of American cheese on white bread grilled with a little butter. A recent episode of the show had challenged the chefs to elevate that meal. Out of loyalty to his mother, Tim had grumbled about messing with the simple perfection of the meal. However, inwardly, he’d been fascinated by the idea of the different cheeses, garlic, roasted tomatoes and caramelized onions, along with the thickly sliced artisanal breads. While he wasn’t quite ready to try dried apricots and capers, he had looked up a few recipes to make something delicious and a little more developed than what he’d grown up with as a child.
As he sliced the tomatoes, peppers, and onions, he could hear the water splashing from time to time. When he had the vegetables roasting in the oven, he could hear Lucy singing softly along to one of her songs. He’d never known someone who could sing as well as Lucy, and he’d definitely never been in a relationship with someone talented in that way. The thrill he felt hearing her sing had been a pleasant discovery. The smell of the vegetables and garlic wafted about him as Lucy continued to sing, and Tim finally felt calm. The fear and uncertainty that had been living just under his skin the entire time she was under cover, seeped away in the warmth of her kitchen, with her safely and happily singing.
He’d thought she’d asked him to leave the door open for her, but maybe she’d done it for him. He hated comparing her to Isabel, comparing the situation to his relationship with Isabell, but he couldn’t help himself.
Only this time, instead of seeing similarities, he allowed himself to see the differences. Maybe it was because he was so involved this time, maybe it was because he and Lucy actually talk about things, or maybe it was just because his relationship with Lucy is so unlike any relationship he’s ever had, but this time doesn’t feel so hard. He still hated it, hated being apart from her, hated the danger she was in, hated the unknown, but she was o.k.—and so was he.
He could breathe again.
He made quick work of slicing the white cheddar, shredding the Fontina, and grating the Parmesan. He cut thick slices of sourdough bread and mixed the softened butter with a bit of salt.
By the time the vegetables were done and ready for blending, Lucy had gone quiet, and he’d not heard the water for quite some time.
He peaked in through the crack and was unsurprised to find Lucy snoozing. He nudged the door open and grabbed a towel.
“Lucy,” he called carefully, not wanting to startle her awake. She made no move, so he grabbed her phone and paused the music and again called her name.
She turned to look up at him. “I’m not asleep.”
He grunted in disbelief, but just opened the towel for her. “Come on, you’re getting wrinkly.”
Lucy pulled her hands out of the water and stared at her fingers. “I am wrinkly.”
Tim shook the towel to indicate to her to stand. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Lucy took a deep breath. “Ooh. It smells yummy.” She hopped up, splashing a bit of water, and stepped out of the tub and into the towel. Tim wrapped her up quickly and could feel the damp warmth begin to seep through the towel.
“You smell good,” he countered, the delicate scent of the bath salts clinging to her skin. He let her lean heavily against him for a moment—allowing her time, despite her protestations, to fully wake up. Then he gave her toweled covered ass a small smack.
“Go get dressed while I finish up.”
He pulled the plug in the tub and blew out the candles as she made her way into the bedroom. While he began grilling up the sandwiches and blending together the ingredients for the soup, Lucy eventually made her way out wearing only one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. She’d brushed out her hair, the heat of the water having caused a bit of curl. Tim loved Lucy’s hair—in any style—but super straight tended to be during undercover ops, so he secretly preferred it a little wavy because that meant she was home. Her face was clean of makeup, her cheeks still pink from the bath.
And Tim didn’t think he’d ever felt more content than in that moment.
“Tim, it really does smell incredible,” Lucy gushed, coming to wrap her arms around him from behind as he worked. He allowed himself to briefly wonder if this was going to be a part of Lucy’s decompressing process—this need for physical contact—but then stopped himself. It was too early to start making those types of assumptions.
“I think you’re a little underdressed for dinner,” he teased.
She huffed into his back. “Why? You’re about to take it off me anyway. What I think you meant to say was that you‘re a little overdressed.”
She emphasized her point by allowing her hands to slide down his chest to the button at the top of his jeans, making quick work of it and the zipper.
She began to shimmy them down his hips, but he stopped her with, “Hang on, I gotta flip the sandwiches.”
She paused her efforts long enough to let him keep the bread from burning then resumed her work. Tim laughed as she gave a frustrated grunt when she realized he still had his shoes on.
“Not cool, Bradford,” she said then flopped rather inelegantly onto her butt on the kitchen floor.
“Being undressed while cooking wasn’t my idea,” he pointed out.
Lucy just grinned up at him as she began untying his boots. “I like undressing you.”
She tapped his left foot indicating he lift then pulled off his shoe and sock, throwing them over by the door.
“I like seeing you smile like this,” she said, tapping the right and repeating her actions.
“I like that I get to see this side of you.” She then had him step out of his jeans. “Could you imagine me trying to get you naked a year ago?”
He reached his hands down for hers and pulled her to her feet.
“I tried not to,” he confessed.
A small, pleased smile played at the corner of his lips as his words and their meaning sunk in. He quite enjoyed leaving her speechless, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before turning back to the food.
“Now let me finish cooking.”
He supposed she was content with them now matching in nothing but their shirt and underwear because she abandoned her attempts to strip him further.
“Beer or wine?” she asked.
“Wine,” Tim answered. “The Chianti.”
He’d read online that it paired best with tomato soup. He could see she was impressed.
She grabbed the wine, glasses, and spoons and carried them to the coffee table in the living room.
“Floor picnic o.k.?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he answered as he dished up the soup and plated the sandwiches. He carried both meals to where she sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table before following suit.
“This looks delicious,” Lucy gushed, clapping happily. “I am starving.”
Tim motioned for her to eat as he poured the wine for them both.
Lucy hummed with delight as she bit into the crunchy, buttery bread then giggled as a string of stretchy, melted cheese followed from her lips to the sandwich.
“Tim,” she keened around the food in her mouth. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah?” he hedged hopefully.
“Oh my gosh, yeah,” Lucy praised. “This is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever tasted. Did you toast Parmesan on the outside of the bread?”
Tim beamed at her, “Yeah.“
“Wow,” she breathed. “I have to try the soup.”
She reached for the spoon but hesitated. Instead, she dipped the sandwich and took a bite.
“Oh fuck,” she said. “It’s incredible.”
The savory, garlic, saltiness of the sandwich balanced perfectly with the sweet richness of the soup. “Forcing you to watch Top Chef was the best decision I ever made.”
Tim finally allowed himself to taste his own food and couldn’t help but agree with her. He supposed he had always considered himself at least halfway decent at grilling, but he’d never realized that he was a decent cook, or at least had the makings of one.
They talked as they ate, teasing and goading each other, their glass or two of wine adding a hue of relaxed enchantment to the evening.
Her belly now full and the air between them buzzing, she crawled over to him, threw a leg over his legs, and straddled his lap.
Her eyes met his.
“Hi,” she offered softly.
“Hi,” he parroted, his hands moving to grip her thighs as she settled against him.
Her hands came up to cradle his face, her thumbs rubbing lightly against the bit of stubble along his jawline. She gazed down at him, the faintest pull at the corner of her lips as she seemed to map out every feature of his face.
He looked back at her, at her dark eyes, smooth skin, round cheeks, and full lips.
They said nothing for a while. They were good at words: teasing, challenging, praising, expressing. They were growing better at the quiet: resting, breathing, considering, feeling. Her eyes roamed his face, mapping again and again the angle of his nose, the lines by his eyes, the curve of his lips, and he drank in the color of her eyes, the shape of her neck, and the little dimple just below her cheek.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered up to her, unable to hold the words inside.
Her dimple deepened as she smiled. “Funny,” she breathed. “I was just thinking the same about you.”
Her eyes met his, and she could see the desire deepening the blue of his eyes. She had been looked at with lust before, but not this. The way he looked at her now wasn’t just about tonight or this moment. She saw so many moments, so many nights, looking back at her. It was about commitment.
Commitment to her. All of her.
Her eyes fell to his lips, a shiver of remembered delight and pleasure moved through her. She craved the feeling of his lips against hers. In that way that they had, he anticipated her actions, stretching up to her, his lips connecting with hers as softly and as gently as he could. The feather light touch felt more intimate in that moment than any other kiss they’d shared. It was like a soft amen to a wordless prayer.
With holy supplication done, she was desperate for something of the natural man. She caught his lips with hers, deepening the kiss. When she took his lower lip between hers, she could taste just a hint of the lingering wine. She took her time, savoring the taste.
She felt him sigh and knew the gentle prelude was over. He slowly opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue sliding along the soft skin of her lips until slipping in between to stroke and savor her taste for himself.
A hand that had rested so contentedly against her thigh had moved to grip her hip and now slid up along her ribs, bunching the material of the tee shirt before stopping to cup the side of her breast. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped at the contact, desire flailing within her. At the small sound, she felt Tim’s grin. It allowed her the chance to take control of the kiss. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt as she sucked his tongue further into her mouth, her teeth applying just the barest pressure. He responded by giving her breast a gentle squeeze and sliding his other hand into her panties to palm her ass. She found herself practically grinding against his crotch, his hardness wedged between them. She rocked back and forth against him with such intensity that he pulled away from their kiss with a labored gasp.
“Yes,” she breathed, pressing her cheeks to his, eyes closed as they met chest to chest, heart to heart. She loved when he was like this, allowed himself to feel and embrace the pleasure of their love making.
She turned her head again, suddenly desperate to taste him, to reaffirm the commitment that his would be the last lips she craved. She hungered for the way he kissed her. His kisses could be soft, were often consuming, but never hesitant, never uncertain. She felt his large hands begin to knead at her flesh: her breast, her ass. She fought to keep from crying out as the dual sensations threatened to overwhelm her. Instead, she deepened the kiss, pulling him into her, convincing him as the sirens of old that nothing mattered more than this intimate embrace with her.
She’d expected Tim to be confident in bed, had planned on his ability to assess a situation and find an effective route to success, and had basked in the post-orgasmic glow of his skilled command of his body and hers. What she hadn’t quite expected was his willingness—and open enjoyment—of the times when she took charge: the filthy words he’d barely strung together the first time she’d unbuttoned his pants and took him into her mouth, the way his body had practically vibrated with the intensity of his release after she’d rode him hard and fast to completion, or how near feral he’d been when she’d stepped in to the shower with him and pressed her ass up against him and essentially ordered him to fuck her from behind.
Nor had she anticipated just how tender and romantic he could be. He would wake her slowly with just the gentle pressure of his mouth or his fingers gliding along her skin. Sometimes, when he moved slowly inside her, he would lose the rhythm just so he could stretch out each kiss and caress. He would make love to her as the sculptor would mold the clay—each stroke his obsession as he brings to life a masterpiece.
She broke the kiss, both breathing hard, and she felt overwhelmed by her feelings for him.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” She asked softly, suddenly, surprised by her own thought. She didn’t even know if she did. She just knew that with Tim it was different; it had always been different.
He looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “No.”
The quick, simple answer somehow hurt, and she felt a flood of embarrassment at having even asked. “Oh,” was all she managed before dropping her gaze from his.
His hands fell from her body before he shifted beneath her to sit up straighter. The shuffling tilted her back some, and his hands easily caught her, ensuring she stayed upright.
“Hey,” he called, urging her to look back at him, which she did. He gave her a small, lopsided smile. “I don’t believe some unseen voodoo magic of the universe determines who I’m meant to be with,” he explained. “Because that would mean we didn’t really have a choice in all this, and I won’t let anyone tell me that you choosing me was destined or inevitable. I know what you risked, the fear and uncertainty you faced, but you still took that leap, and that means more to me than any idea that we were fated or some shit.”
She had to swallow hard as she considered his words and the intense, sincere emotion behind them.
“We took that leap together,” she finally managed.
His smile grew wider as his hand came up to cup her cheek. “Yes, we did,” he agreed. “And I believe this relationship, what we have between us, is special because of that choice, because of the work and effort we put in.”
He hesitated for a moment, the smile falling from his lips. Lucy could sense it, something significant just under the skin.
“I’ve loved before,” he finally said. “Deeply. I was happy with Isabel…”
She went still, granting him her trust as she waited to understand what he was saying.
He took a breath. “That made it hard for me to accept my feelings for you. I was a jumbled mess of doubt, guilt, frustration, pain…nothing hurts worse than love.”
“Tim,” She breathed, her hands coming to rest on his chest, above his heart.
They both heard the sadness in her voice.
“I know there is a part of me that still struggles with all that—probably part of what I battle with when you go UC.”
Lucy frowned at him. It was hard for her to hear about his pain. His thumb lightly grazed along her lower lip, teasing the corner until she finally gave in and offered him a weak smile instead.
“But without all that, without going through that loss and heartache, I never would have learned that nothing heals better than love. You taught me that Lucy. You showed me that. You…do you even understand how you changed my life?”
A lump formed in her throat, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from watering. At his words, she felt like she’d swallowed the sun.
“I want to say those words to you Lucy, those words we’ve avoided, but I want to say them when I’m finally free enough of the guilt and self-doubt. You deserve that.”
She understood. She was disappointed, but she understood.
He knew her. Knew what was behind the brown of her eyes. “I’m working on it, Lucy,” he promised. “I’m working on me. You’ve done so much to support me and guide me, but I have to do this. I want to do this for you and for me, for us.”
“Can…can I say them?” she asked.
His breath caught with a small whimper; his own eyes growing glassy. “If you think I’m worthy of them.”
At his broken confession, Lucy felt the hold she had on her emotions finally give way. A tear slipped down her cheek as she grabbed at his shirt.
“Oh Tim,” she said, her breath hiccuping around her love for him. “Of course you are. I would have said them long ago if I had understood what was holding you back from saying them. I love you, Tim.”
She leaned forward, her hair falling around them, curtaining them off from the rest of the world. She kissed his cheek. “I love you.” She kissed his brow. “I love you.” She kissed his other cheek, this time tasting the salty, dampness of his silent tears.
His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her firmly, unrelentingly. He buried his face in her neck. The tight hold he’d had on his feelings, the squeezing, wrenching, tight-fisted control he’d forced on himself since Isabel had resurfaced in his life, finally snapped.
“Lucy,” was all he could manage, a strangled, pained cry of her name, before Tim, for the first time in a very, very long time, allowed himself to breakdown in her arms.
She wrapped him up into her, held him, soothed him, as he lanced a wound that long needed to heal.
When he finally quieted, her neck was damp and hot, her hair sticking to them both.
“Fuck,” he said softly into her skin. “I’m sor—”
“Shh,” she cut him off. “Don’t.” She ran her nails lazily through his hair, lulling them both. She turned her head once again and placed a kiss against his forehead. “This was good,” she praised gently. “Thank you. Thank you for sharing that part of you with me.”
He pulled back, both now heavily weary from the overstimulation of the last week, the last day, the last hour, and nodded.
“Tim,” Lucy said, her voice a little more firm than he expected. “I think it’s time you accept that you need to talk to someone.”
His eyes met hers.
“We can go together if that’s what you need, but you don’t have to do this alone. There is help out there if you’re willing to accept it.”
“We’ll leap together?” He finally asked.
“Always,” she agreed quickly.
She stood, before extending a hand to him. He took it, though he didn’t really need her help to stand. Together they gathered the dishes, and where Tim would have had them load the dishwasher, Lucy stopped him.
“Leave them in the sink. We’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
She took his hand again and led them to the bedroom where she pulled his shirt off and let him strip off his underwear before he did the same for her.
Naked, they slipped under the covers and wrapped themselves tightly together, falling asleep almost instantly.
When she awoke in the early light of dawn to his touch, she whimpered at the sensation of his mouth worshipping her body, working her higher and higher until she reached the summit of pleasure. His eyes held hers in a lover’s bond as he slipped easily into her.
“You mean more to me than anyone else ever has,” he vowed roughly as his slow thrusts grew staccato and urgent.
It was how he said what he couldn’t say yet.
“I love you, Tim,” she answered.
He held her gaze for as long as he could before the power of his release forced his eyes closed and his head to fall to her chest.
He rested there, listening to her heart racing in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
She was, so he was.
Home.
Thank you for reading!