Work Text:
“Have you ever been so tired of hearing someone talk that you just sort of zone out and start imagining what else they can do with their mouth that doesn't involve a lot of talking?” Abbie had asked Jenny, once upon a time.
Jenny's face had contorted in disgust. “What do you mean? Like... shoving a pair of rolled up socks into their mouth?”
Abbie snorted out a laugh. “While that thought has crossed my mind more than once, no... I mean like, fun things. Sexual things.”
Her sister thought about it a moment then nodded. “Sometimes yeah. Usually it's because I want them to do them to me.” She looked over her shoulder at the weird, displaced man on the other side of the Archives. “Is it him?”
“What makes you think it's him,” Abbie asked defensively.
“Because, one, you don't really hang out with that many people,” Jenny pointed out. “Two, I barely know him and I think that guy could probably get into the Guinness Book of World Records for how much he talks. Three, you literally just snapped at him five minutes ago about talking too much so now he's in the corner brooding with a book. Mumbling to himself.”
That had been when they were all still getting used to each other. Abbie ended up regretting voicing her question to Jenny. Mostly because anytime Crane started in on a long drawn out speech, afterwards Jenny would jokingly ask her if she had been thinking about other things Crane's mouth could do. Abbie usually responded with a polite “Shut up Jenny” or something less polite because she wanted to conceal the fact she had been thinking about it extensively.
##
Words. Words. Words. Words. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. God dammit, did he ever shut up? He wasn't even talk to her. Not really. He was sitting next book open in front of him, pen between his fingers, his hand swaying gently as he went on and on and on about Jefferson. Aw, dammit, now he was on about the merits of modern writing implements. Shit, shit, now he was talking to her.
“But I am afraid this particular quill has met the end of its usefulness. Which is a pity, I quite like it. Perhaps you and I could sit down soon and I can choose another which is to my liking...”
It wasn't a particularly special pen, per se. To be honest, it was just a plain Jane bic pen Abbie had taped a feather to way back in the early days because he had softly lamented the “loss of the gentle caress of the feather as one contemplated the words they wished to share.”
She had thought it was just a stupid indulgence at the time. But she had felt sorry for him, hunted down a feather, and threw it together for him. Mostly because it had been an honest lament and not a rant about how society was falling into the pits of hell because it had changed. Abbie had been surprised at how delighted he had been. He had somehow, magically, made the pen last—he even still had the cap which was amazing in and of itself.
While she may have seen it as something silly and indulgent at the time, it was obvious Crane had not.
Ichabod studied his pen. “I should think, perhaps, I could obtain one of the clicking gel pens. The style of which they write reminds me of the quills of my day... What do you think, Lieutenant?”
Maybe she was tired. Maybe she was just cranky. Maybe she was just feeling the inability to restrain herself because she was still somewhat emotionally and spiritually drained from her plight from the Catacombs. Whatever it was, Abbie just sighed and tiredly asked, “Can your mouth do anything other than talk?”
Crane drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. He quickly clamped it shut, a stunned expression on his face. Abbie had to admit she was amused at how, in the space of a few seconds the emotions on his face went from surprised to curious, curious to inspired, inspired to that look he would give her when he'd had a bit to drink and was about to start waxing poetic on their bond as witnesses or their friendship or... something.
He delicately replaced the cap on his pen and set it down on the book. Abbie cocked an eyebrow, almost interested to see where this was going to go. Mostly because he hadn't been drinking. He tucked his hair behind his ear. Oh God, Abbie thought. She knew that Craneism. He only did that when he was about to try some kind of modern flirting technique.
He was about to try to flirt with her.
She didn't want to say he was terrible at modern flirting... but he was fucking terrible at modern flirting. It had been a source of mild bemusement for her to watch him attempt it on others when she goaded him into it.
One of Crane's hands came up. To her surprise it wasn't the pointy finger of doom that he put into play. It was more like what he would do when trying to decide if he wanted eat a red gummie bear or a green one next. He leaned close, a small delighted smile on his lips. “Wouldn't you like to know, Lieutenant,” he asked coyly.
His hands went to his lap and he practically preened with the fact he had delivered the line. Abbie caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from grinning—or laughing for that matter. He had a right to be pleased with himself this one time. It had actually come out like a legitimate flirt. But she had to admit, it was mostly how pleased he looked with himself that did it.
Okay, she was going to give it to him this one time. Just to see if he could keep it up, of course.
“That depends, do you want me to know?” Abbie shot back.
He tensed and a brief panic went to his eyes. Abbie smiled sweetly when his A game slipped right out the window. “That... would... be dependant upon... whether you want me to... want you to know,” he stammered.
When Abbie studied his face, she could tell he was terrified. He was like a deer caught in headlights, not knowing if he should stay still or haul ass to safety. What if she said yes? “What if I said no?” Okay... no worked. That was one of the options.
Abbie instantly felt like kicking herself. The skittish little deer was about to bolt.
He went from a slightly nervous tense to... the world is collapsing in on itself kind of tense. He looked away abruptly, but not quick enough she didn't the hurt look on his face. “Oh,” he said quietly. He was trying hard to conceal the fact he was twisting his hands in his lap. “Then I would... make profound apologies for... such an... inappropriate and forward... advance, Lieutenant.”
Crane used the thumb and index finger to rub his eyes then pinch the bridge of his nose. “Goodness... it is... quite late. I think, perhaps, I should retire...”
Before Abbie could stop him, he had grabbed his pen, was on his feet, and hurrying toward his room. “Crane,” she called out, just as he reached the entry to the kitchen. He paused. His back was still to her, his fingers twitched at his sides. “What if I said 'yes'?” There, it came out right that time. “I mean, I gotta know all of my options before coming to a decision, right?”
His hands stilled.
“I mean, I'm not going to put all my cards out if you're just gonna talk,” Abbie added. She reached over and closed the book.
##
Ripping each other's clothes off was not what she'd had in mind when she had snapped at him about talking too much. Neither was breaking almost every breakable item between the living room and her bedroom. But that's what was happening. Her shirt came off, he hoisted her onto one of the display tables, she knocked everything off. His mouth latched onto her her throat while she yanked his shirt out of his trousers.
Once his shirt was off, he picked her up and it was off to one of the other display tables where Abbie proceeded to knock off some pictures and a vase. She hadn't done it on purpose, mind, they had just gotten in the way of that mouth working it's way down her chest, bypassing her bra, and going to her sides and stomach. His frantic fingers worked diligently at her jeans button and zipper.
Abbie cackled wickedly and pushed him back, wiggled off of table, kicked off her shoes, and scurried up the steps, her jeans hanging loose on her hips. She staggered up the top steps and fell onto the landing. Crane's fingers grasped the waistline of her jeans. She wiggled out of them as he dragged her jeans down. Abbie turned around, sitting on the floor, and laughed as she finally freed her legs from the denim.
Crane kissed his way up her legs, his hands preceding his lips. Once he reached her knees, his hands slid under her and glided to her hips, while his lips feathered over the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Abbie let out a loud moan as he gently nipped and sucked on her thighs, so close to where she wanted him she could feel his cheek brushing her underwear.
She looked down when he ceased what he was doing. Their eyes connected and a wicked gleam entered his baby blues. He cocked an eyebrow. “I take it you approve of some of the other uses of my mouth, Lieutenant?”
“So far so good,” she said breathlessly. “What else does your mouth got, Captain?”
The wicked gleam was replaced by something far more delightfully evil. Instead of a cocky bastard she felt like she had just stumbled upon the Devil himself. Chills coursed down her spine and she had to suck in a sharp breath. “I believe you know precisely what else I can do,” he murmured darkly. “But I shall indulge your curiosities nonetheless...”
Lustful was really a look that suited him, Abbie mused. At least when it was focused on her at any rate.
He moved back just enough to pull her underwear to her knees. Crane did not waste a solitary second before diving right back between her legs, going straight for his prize. Abbie grasped a fistful of his hair and cried out as his lips and tongue teased and tasted, his beard tickled and tempted. She had imagined his face between her legs plenty of times as he yammered on about things. But she had never imagined it taking place in her hallway, at the top of the stairs.
Or that he would be so damn enthusiastic about it. Not that she was complaining.
One of his hands roamed her body while the other joined the efforts of his mouth. Her back arched and she moaned loudly as his long fingers pushed inside of her and immediately sought out a place she was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to reach with just his fin—or maybe he could!
A sharp, sudden jerk seized her body, making her eyes grow wide and her voice to catch in her throat. She was almost unable to take the rapid breaths she needed to keep from passing out. Between his fingers and his mouth latching onto her clit, she was smacking the floor with her palms, trying to find something to grab onto. All she could grasp was the wrist that wasn't between her legs and dig her nails in as she gasped for air.
Then, with just a small flick of the wrist working in tandem with his mouth, a loud scream ripped between Abbie's lips and she was riding the waves of an orgasm. His hands went to either of her hips, holding her gently in place as his tongue gently delved inside of her. Crane groaned softly as if he were savouring his favourite dish for the first time in ages.
His eyes twinkled mischievously when he finally raised his head to look at her. He gently brushed his hair away from his face as he licked his lips. Abbie still wasn't quite able to do anything other than to stare at the small splotches of light that were dancing through the air as she tried to catch her breath.
Crane kissed his way up her body, until his lips were nestled between her legs. She could feel him, long, thick, and hard through his trousers as he nuzzled her jaw then lightly nipped at her earlobe. “Have I sufficiently educated you on some of the other uses of my mouth or shall you require further examples?” he murmured hotly. “Or perhaps we could explore other parts of my person that could make you writhe in ecstasy?”
Abbie snapped out of her daze, with a small gasped “oh,” when he gently ground against the part of her that was still hypersensitive and throbbing from the attentions it had already received. She wedged her hands between their bodies and practically ripped the buttons of his trousers free, nodding as she did so. At that moment, she knew words were not going to be her strongest attribute.
She yanked his mouth to hers, kissing him greedily as he took over the task of shoving his trousers down. Abbie moaned softly as he pushed inside of her ready and willing body, moving slowly and gently at first, his breath coming in hot pants against her mouth.
“Oh Abbie...” he groaned, cradling her face in his hands. Each delicate thrust was coupled with his softly uttering her name.
She dug her nails into flesh of his ass. Gentle and sweet could wait until they were in her bed. “Harder,” she panted, because the stairs were nowhere near her bed in the grand scheme of things.
Crane's soft chuckle rumbled against her her lips. “As my Lieutenant desires...”
Each of his thrusts were punctuated with a demand of 'harder,' until all she could manage was a loud screams as she clung to him. She was getting close... so close... and the way he groaned, 'Lieutenant' in her ear was only serving to get her there quicker.
“Lieutenant.”
Abbie startled and shook her head as she was abruptly yanked out of her daydream. She blinked and looked around the kitchen table, her fingers poised at the keys on the laptop. Crane, Sophie, Reynolds, and Joe looked adequately concerned at she fact she had zoned out for god-knows how long. Jenny looked like she was trying not to laugh her ass off.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Crane asked, putting a hand over hers.
Abbie quickly pulled her hand away to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Fine... fine,” she muttered.
Jenny cleared her throat. “Need me to grab you something to drink, Abbie?” she asked, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “You're looking a little thirsty.”
Abbie shot her sister a glare that promised to she would smother her in her sleep if she said anything more. “I'm... fine,” she said firmly. She looked at Crane. “So anyway, you were saying about this... thing with Jefferson.”