Neal/Sara fic: HEALING WATER
Jul. 8th, 2011 11:15 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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whitecollarhcHealing Water
virgo
PG-13
Neal/Sara
No specific spoilers; just general S3.
Neal's running a fever. Sara handles it well, considering. Also, there is nakedness.
This plot bunny was the bastard child of the Running Hot meme. It's not a prompt response, but all that fever-fic was definitely the inspiration.
Neal and Sara aren’t mine. Which is probably good, because if they were the show would have to move to HBO.
HEALING WATER
virgo
“Comfortable, sweets?”
The whisper is almost loud in the near-silent bathroom, the only other sounds the melodic and steady drip of water from the faucet into the full tub, and the breathing of the deep claw-foot’s two occupants.
Sara’s head stays bowed over Neal’s shoulder, her lips hovering near his ear, until he nods slightly, slowly, and exhales a yes, never opening his eyes. She ghosts a kiss over the shell of his ear and settles fully back against the side of the tub again, cradling Neal’s weight in the cool water, which is very nearly level with the rim, a tiny bit sloshing noiselessly over the side as she shifts. His back is warm against her breasts and stomach; too warm, still, even though she’s been soaking the fever out of him for almost twenty minutes. She dips a hand into the water and then lays it across Neal’s forehead, droplets tracing their way down his temples, over his closed eyelids, and Neal moans in relief, turning his head where it rests on her shoulder to press deeper into the touch. His slackened grip on her ivory knees, peeking up through the surface of the water on either side of him, gains strength briefly, then loosens as she shushes him.
This isn’t the kind of caretaking she’s used to. She takes care of things, of situations, certainly, but that calls for efficiency, tenacity, intelligence, and on occasion, intimidation. She’s good at those.
Taking care of people is different. It’s been a long time since she’s had to do it, and she’s not sure she’s any good at it. Gentleness hasn’t been in her repertoire for a while now. The same with nurturing. Any one of her plethora of dead houseplants would attest to that.
But tonight Neal had been pale and shaky when he answered her knock, the smile intended to dismiss her concern looking like it hurt to conjure up, and Sara had surprised herself.
Probably shocked the hell out of Caffrey, too. She’d cupped a hand around the back of his head and drawn him down towards her, gauging his temperature with her lips on his brow, then banishing him to his couch while she retrieved a clean kitchen towel from a drawer and saturated it at the sink. She had unbuttoned his already half-undone shirt and slid it over his shoulders and down his arms, then had pressed the cold towel to the side of his face, moved it down to the crook of his neck. Her free hand had stroked down his ribs and around to his back, and the slightest pressure there brought him close against her.
He’d sighed her name and nuzzled into her neck, his face so, so hot against her skin, and the weight of his head on her shoulder had made something low in her belly go warm. She’d buried her fingers in his thick hair, run the towel down his spine, and tightened around him when he shivered.
“Sit here a minute. I’m going to go run you a cool bath.”
He’d clung to her a moment longer. “Run us a bath,” he corrected, and she’d smiled into his tousled hair.
“Us,” she’d amended.
And here they are. The feel of him, slick and pliant – trusting – in her arms, is sharply sweet. She isn’t sure how she’ll get them out of this position when the time comes. She didn’t think that far ahead.
Right now, she isn’t really worried about it.
Neal stirs, shifts, sighs. She strokes a hand over his stomach beneath the water, massages his scalp with wet fingers, drinks in the sensation of him settling ever so slightly more heavily on her. She basks in the feeling of being needed, startled to realize how much she likes it.
END
virgo
PG-13
Neal/Sara
No specific spoilers; just general S3.
Neal's running a fever. Sara handles it well, considering. Also, there is nakedness.
This plot bunny was the bastard child of the Running Hot meme. It's not a prompt response, but all that fever-fic was definitely the inspiration.
Neal and Sara aren’t mine. Which is probably good, because if they were the show would have to move to HBO.
HEALING WATER
virgo
“Comfortable, sweets?”
The whisper is almost loud in the near-silent bathroom, the only other sounds the melodic and steady drip of water from the faucet into the full tub, and the breathing of the deep claw-foot’s two occupants.
Sara’s head stays bowed over Neal’s shoulder, her lips hovering near his ear, until he nods slightly, slowly, and exhales a yes, never opening his eyes. She ghosts a kiss over the shell of his ear and settles fully back against the side of the tub again, cradling Neal’s weight in the cool water, which is very nearly level with the rim, a tiny bit sloshing noiselessly over the side as she shifts. His back is warm against her breasts and stomach; too warm, still, even though she’s been soaking the fever out of him for almost twenty minutes. She dips a hand into the water and then lays it across Neal’s forehead, droplets tracing their way down his temples, over his closed eyelids, and Neal moans in relief, turning his head where it rests on her shoulder to press deeper into the touch. His slackened grip on her ivory knees, peeking up through the surface of the water on either side of him, gains strength briefly, then loosens as she shushes him.
This isn’t the kind of caretaking she’s used to. She takes care of things, of situations, certainly, but that calls for efficiency, tenacity, intelligence, and on occasion, intimidation. She’s good at those.
Taking care of people is different. It’s been a long time since she’s had to do it, and she’s not sure she’s any good at it. Gentleness hasn’t been in her repertoire for a while now. The same with nurturing. Any one of her plethora of dead houseplants would attest to that.
But tonight Neal had been pale and shaky when he answered her knock, the smile intended to dismiss her concern looking like it hurt to conjure up, and Sara had surprised herself.
Probably shocked the hell out of Caffrey, too. She’d cupped a hand around the back of his head and drawn him down towards her, gauging his temperature with her lips on his brow, then banishing him to his couch while she retrieved a clean kitchen towel from a drawer and saturated it at the sink. She had unbuttoned his already half-undone shirt and slid it over his shoulders and down his arms, then had pressed the cold towel to the side of his face, moved it down to the crook of his neck. Her free hand had stroked down his ribs and around to his back, and the slightest pressure there brought him close against her.
He’d sighed her name and nuzzled into her neck, his face so, so hot against her skin, and the weight of his head on her shoulder had made something low in her belly go warm. She’d buried her fingers in his thick hair, run the towel down his spine, and tightened around him when he shivered.
“Sit here a minute. I’m going to go run you a cool bath.”
He’d clung to her a moment longer. “Run us a bath,” he corrected, and she’d smiled into his tousled hair.
“Us,” she’d amended.
And here they are. The feel of him, slick and pliant – trusting – in her arms, is sharply sweet. She isn’t sure how she’ll get them out of this position when the time comes. She didn’t think that far ahead.
Right now, she isn’t really worried about it.
Neal stirs, shifts, sighs. She strokes a hand over his stomach beneath the water, massages his scalp with wet fingers, drinks in the sensation of him settling ever so slightly more heavily on her. She basks in the feeling of being needed, startled to realize how much she likes it.
END
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