Chapter Eight
Who was he kidding, he thought to himself with a groan. He could do a lot of things, scientific things, complicated things that required a lot of thought and concentration...but when it came to wrapping Christmas presents, he was completely inept. The typical Alpha male. Strewn around him were the pieces of tape, strips of wrapping paper, and he was completely lost. When the doorbell rang, he was more than happy to give up on his lack of skills and welcome whoever it was in. He didn't care if it was the Devil; as long as the Devil could wrap, he could come in, have a beer, and even put his feet on the coffee table for all he cared.
It wasn't the devil, but the painfully blonde woman, smiling up at him, did look devilish. "Merry Christmas," she chirped, pushing him aside so that she could walk in, a shopping bag held loosely in her fingers. She frowned as he closed the door and plucked a piece of tape off of the front of his plain black tee shirt. "I take it you're wrapping presents," she added with a hopeful tone and a smile.
"Attempting it. And not succeeding," he told her, taking her coat from her. He almost laughed when he saw what she was wearing. Who else would come over to his condo, wearing a pair of pajama pants that were covered with polar bears, and a matching tank top. "You decide to go for a drive while wearing your jammies?" he teased, pleased to see the sparkle of laughter in her eyes. "Or am I just special?"
"You're special," she answered, kicking off her sneakers and reaching into the shopping bag to remove a pair of fluffy slippers, putting her feet in them. "Now, that's Heaven," she sighed. "I have to ask you for a favor, but I knew you would say no if I didn't just come right over and force it upon you."
He raised his eyebrows, looking down at the petite woman. "I'm frightened."
She nodded solemnly, walking into the living room. "You should be. But, now that I've come upon your prediciment, I'd be more than happy to trade a favor for a favor." She snuck her hand into the bag, and then stopped, pulling it out empty. "This is going to sound strange, and now I'm even embarressed for coming over here, dressed like this, but...well...promise you won't laugh?"
Speedle took a seat on the edge of the sofa, watching as she sat down beside him, on the actual cushion. It only helped to accentuate the height difference between them. "Shoot. Not literally."
"Now you're making jokes about it. I know that you've moved past it." Her cheeks filled with a delicate pink tinge that matched her slippers. "I have this Christmas tradition every year, and I thought long and hard about who to share this tradition with. Alexx and I did it last year, but...I can't think of anyone else that I want to share it with." She smiled slightly, looking down at her lap. "See, ever since I was a kid, my mom used to scour the television channels this time of year, looking for a specific movie. I know that you seem more like an It's A Wonderful Life type of movie guy, you know, dark and almost depressing. But this, I watch it every year, just once. You wouldn't mind, would you?"
His eyes narrowed as he thought about her suggestion. "What are you trading for me to sit down about watch...if it's Miracle on 34th Street, you're shit out of luck," he told her.
"I'll wrap your presents for you. I can wrap a mean present," she told him, reaching into her bag again. "I know you're going to laugh, but-" She handed over the DVD case, waiting to hear that all familiar dry chuckle, the only laugh that he really allowed himself.
"I guess I can deal with Bing Crosby. So, what does this Christmas tradition include?"
Her face broke out into a mile-wide grin, the apprehension dying from her eyes. "Well, no sitting on the couch for one thing. Always on the floor, in front of the television. And we need some sort of junk food, Christmas stuff if you have it, but popcorn would be fine. Hot chocolate, a blanket, and two hours of your undivided attention. Think you can handle it?"
He stood up, wincing when his back protested. "The blankets are in the hall closet, and you can grab the pillows off my bed, if you want." Why did she blush at that, he wondered. "I'll grab the food and hot chocolate. But this better be a hell of a wrapping job afterwards." They went in their seperate ways, and by the time he had returned, she was laying on her stomach in front of the television, her chin resting on a pile of pillows that he recognized to be the ones that he slept on each night. Funny that she didn't take them from the side he didn't sleep on. He laid the plate in front of her and handed over one of the mugs of hot chocolate he had. "What, Alexx brought over the cookies. She brings me some every year. Something about how I'm inept when it comes to baking."
"Thank you," she said, watching as he settled beside her, sitting up. "Are you ready?" With his nod, she pressed the play button and smiled when the familiar music began to pipe through the speakers. She hummed along, causing Speedle to fight a smile beside her. She caught it out of the corner of her eye, and went a step further, mouthing the words. When she saw the smile fight its way through his normally stoic facade, she continued, singing under her breath. "We'll follow the old man wherever he wants to go."
At his chuckle, she reached out and smacked him on the thigh. "What was that for?" he asked, keeping his eyes forward.
"Be quiet. The movie's on," she cautioned him, tilting her head to the side as she watched.
It was less than an hour into White Christmas when she suddenly paused it, leaving the room with a casual, "Bathroom break," tossed over her shoulder. He waited for her to return, and when she did, she went back to her place, laying on her stomach. Calleigh frowned suddenly and sat back up, rearranging the pillows before trying again. "I realize that you just had the carpet put in, but it's killing my hips," she complained, shifting once more. "This just isn't going to work."
He sighed patiently, finishing off the cookie he had been eating. "Well, hurry up. I want to know what's so important about Vermont that they keep mentioning it."
She rolled her eyes and sat up, looking over her shoulder at him. "Come here," she told him. "Behind me, Tim, not beside me." He obliged, his eyes widening when she turned to push his knees apart and settled between them, leaning back against his chest. He wasn't able to comprehend much of the movie at first, when she started it again, focused too much on the blonde head that had tucked itself under his chin, blonde silk catching itself somewhat on the rough stubble on his chin. Speedle snapped out of it when he heard her chuckle and felt the vibrations of her body against his.
He made his move, the move that would break down all the barriers around them, without even noticing. It seemed natural to loop his arms around her, settling his palms against her hips. Calleigh smiled when she felt the heat from his hands sink through her thin pajama pants, keeping her eyes on the movie, but keeping her mind on Tim Speedle. The touch felt so comfortable, so natural, that she found herself sinking even further, her back flush with his front. She could feel his heart beat, feel the strength in his hands. It seemed like so long ago that she had sat in the hospital, at his bedside, looking at those same hands, wondering about their strength. Well, she felt it now, she thought to herself.
They spent the rest of the time without speaking, only the occasional chuckle, and towards the end, when the General came into the ballroom, her quiet sniffles. Her hands had migrated down to where they rested on his, and at the end song, the last singing of White Christmas, she gently carressed his tightening hands, to let him know that she was all right, that she cried at this point of the movie every year. They sat there as the end credits ran across the screen, neither one wanting to move, neither one wanting to break the contact. "Christmas tradition," he murmured. God, his voice was so close. She felt the rumble in his chest when he spoke, felt the breath against her bare shoulder.
"Just like gingerbread men, hot chocolate, and mistletoe," she answered, a frown coming on her face when she felt his arms begin to loosen around her. She kept his hands in place with hers, smiling when he relented.
"I've got two out of the three."
Why hadn't she noticed his voice before? It was rough, like he didn't use it much. His words slid over her like the most sensual sound, the most comforting and warm blanket. She swallowed thickly when she thought of what it would be like to have that voice...but she was getting ahead of herself, and those were rather dirty thoughts, she told herself. Not at all thoughts that she should have about a co-worker.
Shit, who was she kidding? They had broken past the co-worker wall, broken past the just-friends wall. A friend didn't hold her like this, a friend didn't...her eyes slid shut when she felt the pressure just above her temple, that feather-light touch, willing herself to keep from making a sound. Yes, those were his lips, and yes, they had placed a kiss against her hair, and yes, that was her head turning towards his, and yes, that was the familiar tingle, the familiar shiver, the familiar quickening of the heart. She could sense his face nearing hers, but didn't open her eyes, because if she did, and he wasn't there, she could be imagining the whole thing, she could be dreaming.
But she felt his hand on the side of her face, and there it was again, that rough skin, a man's skin, and it made her shiver. She wouldn't lie this time, it wasn't the air conditioning. It was him, always had been, always would be. He was the one that made her shiver, and he understood that now, and felt his pulse quicken at the thought. But he didn't move closer, simply stared at her. Looked at her, was more like it. Examined the peaches-and-cream complexion, the thick dark lashes that rested against her skin, the warm pink lips that were waiting for his. But he had to know. He had to know that he wasn't going to fuck everything up with one move. It could be because of the time of year, since no one wanted to be alone at Christmas. It could be their sudden closeness, and she thought that this was what was supposed to happen next. Or it could be, he told himself cautiously, the fact that it was her and him, that it was Calleigh Duquense and Tim Speedle, and this was just...this.
"Calleigh?" he asked, watching her eyes open slowly, staring back into hers. God, there was something about that direct, frank look of hers. She didn't smile, didn't even blink.
"Tim," she answered, not a question so much as a statement. It was enough of an answer. She knew who he was, and that would do. Her eyes slid closed again as his thumb gently stroked the soft rounded cheek, moving closer to her, slowly, so as not to startle her. And when his lips touched hers, he didn't so much as kiss her as he applied pressure. Free hand in her hair, tousling it all to hell, but what did he care. He had her, captured her, was in possession of her. She was the one that moved things along. She turned the kiss into a kiss, rather than just a touch. And she sighed, one hand traveling up his chest, past his beating heart, past the scar on his shoulder, coming to a stop on his jaw, just beside his chin. Her fingernails lightly scraped his stubble, enjoying the feel of the roughness.
He didn't take any liberties with her. He let her decide what was going to happen, let her call the shots, so to speak. He didn't want to take advantage of her, didn't want to break the contact between them. Her hand fluttered on his shoulder before slowly rubbing up and down his arm.
It was too soon for what was happening to happen, he realized. This was a woman to take it slow with, to build her trust, to pay his undivided attention to. Somehow, they had slipped out of their awkward embrace, and her head was resting against one of his navy pillows, blonde hair a cloud around her. His body wasn't on hers, no, not yet, but his hand was resting on her hip, playfully plucking at the elastic waist of her pajama pants. One of her hands had found its way around his neck, hand resting back there, fingers teasing the short hairs, the other was on his lower back. He tore his lips away from hers, stopped the movement of his fingers, and rested his forehead against her neck, heat passing from body to body. "Calleigh," he whispered, between his ragged breaths.
She was as breathless as he was, chest heaving as she attempted to regain some sort of composure. "What is it?" she asked, knowing full well what he was going to say.
"Calleigh, we...I..."
She sat up when he moved away from her, but he didn't avert his eyes anymore. He continued to look at her. "Don't fool around, Tim. We're both adults, and we can both deal with the consequenses of...whatever." It was a lame finish at best, but it was the only one that came to mind. "Do you need time?" she asked, referring to the line that he had thrown her only a month ago. Hadn't enough time passed, she asked herself, beginning to feel frustration build in her.
"I don't need time, I need you." It was a growl, a command. He was surprised by his tone, but she wasn't. In fact, she relaxed when she heard the words, reaching a hand out to his face, staring into the chocolate brown eyes that were sparkling back at her.
"Then hide out with me."
Epilogue
