« Put that away. »
« Put what away? »
« That. »
He sets the bag flour on the counter and slyly dips a hand past the brown paper rim. « Why? » He taunts with a grin.
« We don't need it, » I say, gesturing to the meats and spices splayed on the counter who's quality would only disintegrate should they be coated in the flour he threatens to spill.
He withdraws his hand from the bag, fingers dusted with the starch white powder. « We do need it. »
« For what? »
« This, » he says, and sends a dusty cloud billowing towards me.
I wave it away from my face and reach past him, clenching a firm and around the top of the open that makes a crisp crinkle sound in the dead air.
Well, all dead except for the dancing flour particles.
« Goddamn it. » I smile, letting myself be pulled into his embrace. « Are you drunk? » I ask. The expensive reds that lay somewhere past my peripherals have left a soothing smell of fermented grape lingering on his breaths.
He chuckles lightly. « Would you like like me to be? »
« No. » I place a hand on his chest and push him lightly. His arms unwrap from my waist. « Not yet, at least. »
I feel his gaze track the back of my head (perhaps lower, but I jokingly hope that Derek still upholds a inkling of the purer ideas in our marriage vows) as I walk past him, tending to the open stove that sizzles with smells that fulfill me almost as much as he does.
« It smells delicious. » God, he reads my mind. «You need this? »
I begin to say no, assuming he still fixates on plaguing this meal with flour, but I turn to the side to see vegetable oil hovering beside me. I wrap my fingers around the side, letting them linger on the warm skin of his hand. « Maybe I should let you help me, » I admit, « you seem to be one step ahead of me. »
« I'm one step ahead of everyone, Anna. » He smirks, keeping his hand under mine. His smile fades away his years and brings me to a place that's dangerous in the most attractive way.
« Am I your new case? » I begin, snaking around him and back to the countertop where I begin to season the steak. « Am I an obsession? » My voices slides across the crevices of sensuality.
« Aw, you're making me feel bad. » He grins. « Is that how I act to you? Like you're an unsub? »
« Unsub. » I test. « No. Enamour, maybe. » I hear him pour the oil into the pan. The sizzles don't hide his low laugh.
I turn to watch him swirl the oil in the pan as he says, « You'd never be my case. If anything, I'd be yours. » I turn away so that I don't have to suppress my coy smile.
I tilt the spice jar over the steak lightly. With eyebrows raised in faux peril, I coo, « Oh mister serial killer, please tell me who you are. »
Derek plays along. « I can't tell you that, agent, » he plays, words hovering over a flame. His footsteps land him behind me. He whispers, « but I can give you some hints, » and I feel the goosebumps prick the back of my neck.
« I'm listening. »
We breathe in anticipating synchronicity as we both wait for what he'll say next.
« My first crime scene is obscure. » He begins. I lean into the story like molasses. « Confusing. The body's spotless. You barely notice they're dead. It's like I'm respecting them. » The cold start leaves me wondering. « But then you find more, identical bodies. »
I begin to catch on. « What do they look like? »
I hear him move towards me again. Before I can fully put down the spices, warm hands gently tug at my waist and swivel me around to meet a smooth smile. He begins, « Green eyes. Usually a few piercings. » I see his eyes dart to my ears. « Hair not always the same colour, but bright enough to make you believe in your youth again. » I bite my lip.
His hand trails up my side in tantalizing play. When he reaches the tips of my pink hair, he twirls the strands just slightly.
« This person sounds cool. » I say, asking for him to continue through silence.
His eyes come back to mine. « Some might say. But there's a catch. »
I tease him without averting my gaze. « There's always a catch. »
« Mhm, » he hums. « I'm obsessed with them. I could name everything each of them have done in the last hour without letting a few seconds go by. »
I draw out his explanation to let every syllable land gracefully on me. « Why...them? What's so special? »
He leans closer. « I think you know. »
I pull back. « Hm...I don't think I do. »
His hand wraps around the side of my head, pulling me in. His last words leave his lips and barely come out as rough whispers, « because they're just like you. »
His kiss is warm and inviting, and lets me forget about the spices sitting on the counter behind that are definitely dirtying my shirt. His arms move back to my waist and I bring my hands to cup his jaw, getting grazing his stubble.
I lean back again to catch my breath. The smell of red wine and elation drips from his breath.
« We should cook the steak now. »
-
The food is rich and flooring, slick meat and smooth glances and red wine and laughs. We ditch the formalities of the dinner table and sit opposite each other, warm lights spilling gently from our living room.
Our legs tangle in the middle of the couch, with knowing looks and smiles shared every time we let childish urges take over. I talk about my day in between bites of dark meat. Derek refrains from talking about his, and I don't usually ask.
« I wish I could stay here forever, » he says. « You're so beautiful. This house is beautiful. This food is beautiful. »
« The food is beautiful? » I ask.
He laughs, realizing what he had said, « It might as well be. you made it. »
I sigh. « Why don't you take some time off your job. I hate seeing how distant it makes you. »
His brows furrow. He looks like he's really thinking about it, but I know he couldn't leave his team. « I can't, you know that. »
« I know. »
He leans his head towards me. « I love you more than anything in the world, Anna. » He wraps a hand around my ankle and shakes it to comfort me.
I give him a sly smile. « I know. » After pausing perhaps a bit too long I add. « Han Solo. »
He laughs.
I let his presence sink into me once more. « I love you too. »
