We raid the kitchen, finding supplies Hartwell had stocked. Pasta, sauce, salad fixings. A bottle of red wine that someone with good taste selected. Holden lights the gas burners with a match since the electric ignition won't work, and we cook together in the small space, shoulders brushing, hands touching when we reach for the same utensil. Every contact sparks electricity, awareness building with each accidental touch.
Holden opens the wine while I drain pasta, and we settle at the small table with candles casting flickering shadows across his face. The storm rages outside but inside feels almost peaceful. Intimate in ways I haven't experienced in years.
"Tell me about the tattoo," I say, emboldened by wine and proximity and the way he keeps looking at my mouth. "The coordinates on your forearm. I've seen them during your beach runs but never been close enough to read them."
His hand moves to his arm instinctively, fingers tracing the ink. "Where Wade died."
The pain in his voice makes me reach across the table, covering his hand with mine. "You carry him with you."
"Seemed right. Keeping him close, remembering what it cost." He turns his hand over, threading his fingers through mine. "Your turn. Tell me about the freckles."
Warmth rushes through me at the intimacy in his voice. "What about them?"
"How many are there?" His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers down my spine. "Where do they go?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implication. Because my freckles aren't just on my face and shoulders. They dust my chest, my stomach, places he hasn't seen but is clearly imagining.
"You'd have to count them to find out," I hear myself say, bold in ways Bruce never let me be.
His eyes darken. "Is that an invitation, Dr. McKay?"
"Maybe." I drain my wine, liquid courage mixing with want that's been building since he kissed me. "Or maybe I'm just tired of dancing around what we both know is going to happen."
"Fallon." My name comes out rough, strained. "We should talk about this. Make sure you're certain."
"I'm certain." I stand, move around the table to where he sits. His hands find my hips automatically, pulling me close until I'm standing between his knees. "I've been certain since you kissed me. Maybe even before that."
"This isn't just physical for me." His voice is low, serious in ways that make my heart race. "I need you to know that. This isn't about proximity or adrenaline or scratching an itch. You're important to me."
"You're important to me too." I cup his face, feeling stubble rough against my palms. "And I know what I want, Holden. I want you. Tonight. Tomorrow. However long we have."
He stands slowly, hands sliding from my hips to frame my face with devastating gentleness. "Tell me to stop if you change your mind. Any time, any reason. You're in control here."
The words unlock relief I didn't know I was holding. Control. Choice. Agency that Bruce spent years taking from me. Holden offering it back without hesitation, without conditions.
"I won't change my mind," I whisper.
He kisses me then, slow and deep and thorough. Nothing like the urgent kiss in the kitchen. This is exploration, claiming, promise all wrapped together. His tongue slides against mine and I make a sound low in my throat that's pure want.
We stumble toward the bedroom, shedding clothes between kisses. My sweater hits the floor. His shirt follows. Hands mapping skin, learning what makes the other respond. By the time we reach the bed I'm down to my bra and leggings, and Holden's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Freckles," he murmurs, fingertips tracing the ones across my collarbone. "You weren't kidding."
"Told you." My voice becomes breathless as his touch drifts lower, skimming along the edge of my bra. "They're everywhere."
"Everywhere?" His eyes meet mine, heat and humor mixing. "Guess I’d better check. Thoroughly."
He lowers me onto the bed, following me down, and proceeds to do exactly that. Kissing every freckle he finds, learning my body with patient attention that makes me squirm. My bra disappears and his mouth finds my breast, hot and wet and perfect. His tongue circles my nipple, flicking and teasing until the bud tightens to an almost painful point.
"Holden." His name comes out pleading.
"I've got you." He kisses his way down my stomach, lips blazing a trail across skin that's never felt this sensitive. "Let me take care of you."
His hands slide my leggings and underwear off in one smooth motion, leaving me completely bare beneath him. Cool air hits heated skin and I shiver, but Holden's hands are there, warm palms gliding up my thighs, spreading me open with devastating gentleness.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and the reverence in his voice makes my breath catch. "Every inch of you."
He kisses the inside of my thigh, then higher, breath ghosting over where I'm wet and aching for him. When his mouth finally finds me, tongue sliding through slick folds, I cry out and my hips lift off the bed.
