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The pain brought them to their knees in Corbin’s cabin, before they could react to Moloch’s minion Seth bursting through the door, arms raised. Abbie crumpled, writhing on the ground as the foul hatred of a million disembodied entities attacked, driving pain in through every pore. The once-innocent man Abbie knew from high school, Seth Hobart, could be heard speaking dark words in some foreign tongue, repeating them over and over. As his words intensified, so did the blinding pain. Through the cacophony, she heard a horrifying scream erupt from their enemy and felt the ground shake. All at once, Abbie felt as though the entirety of the her body was burning, that millions of hot needles were plunging into her skin over every square inch of her small frame. The deafening howl of the tortured souls was agony enough, without the senations which bombarded her flesh. The stink of sulfur overwhelmed her, causing her to gag as she grappled about the wood floor with what little energy should concentrate on moving forward.
When she found Ichabod Crane’s hand, it was the greatest imaginable comfort in that torrent. Immediately, he recognized her, his hand locking together with hers. At once, she felt a small relief. Only her hand which touched Crane was free from the torture. Tears streamed from her eyes as she concentrated all of her focus on that one part of herself which felt a respite from the horrors visited upon them by Moloch’s minion.
“CRAAAAAAANE!”
“Lieutenant!” she heard, only just, through the endless wailing onslaught.
“I thought Moloch could not kill us! The amulets...” she yelled, her throat burning as though she were drinking boiling water—the spirits found another entry point to wreak their suffering upon her—every word spoken was additional anguish.
Abbie felt his grip tighten, felt him pulling her. She scrambled blind along the ground toward him, keeping her eyes shut against the horrible barrage of imagery which threatened her very sanity. As he pulled herself toward him, she reached out with her other hand and found his arm, and with it, more relief from the pain.
“Do you feel that, Crane?” she yelled, almost sobbing from the minute relief from the hellish cyclone.
“Yes,” he returned, pulling him closer to him, until she was nestled up against him. Instantly, she felt relief waving over her at every point of contact, so much that she fit herself to his body as closely as she could manage.
“What can we do, Crane?” Abbie asked, pleading terrified into his chest.
“Moloch cannot kill us with magic, so he intends to divide us!”
Abbie clutched tightly to him, frantically searching through her mind for some clue as to what it was that they were facing. Had she read anything which sounded like this horrific magic, or was it no magic at all? Had they been sent to hell? Would this go on forever? She thought that the symbols which they had tattooed on their bodies would protect them from Moloch's magic aimed at killing them, and it had thus far. Abbie felt hopelessness creeping in.
“What can we do!?” she screamed into him again, barely clinging onto her sanity as she faced the seeming abyss of sensation. She felt Crane adjust his grip on her, pulling her up his body so that she could feel his breathing on her face. Every momentary separation of their bodies caused exquisite pain, pushing Abbie closer and closer to the brink. Abbie felt Crane’s fingers following her jawline, painting a line of reprieve from her hurt. She felt him lean into her, felt his bearded chin brushing against her ear. What clarity of thought she had directed her to wonder at this tender action. Is this goodbye? she wondered.
“I do not wish to offend you, Miss Mills.”
The moment he placed his lips against her cheek, the howling quietened to a mere unsettling din, the whirlwind of souls losing force. Although she was still enveloped in pain, the effect was as clear a message as text upon paper. She could feel Crane’s body relax, his arms become less tense in their embrace, as he laid tender kisses along her cheekbone.
Abbie reached up, changing her hold on him to pull him to her, in return. She felt his lips linger as they reached the edge of hers, which tingled with excitement despite the surrounding pain. He seemed to be waiting for something, but as the hellish whirl was too much for her to be able to sit back and assess the situation, she took the liberty of being impatient. She kissed him, lightly pulled at his upper lip, waiting for any kind of confirmation that she was doing the right thing. There was a moment’s hesitation from him, in which nothing seemed to change, and doubt crept into Abbie’s heart.
Then, he kissed her back.
The madness about them went from a loud din to hushed silence in that one moment. Abbie let him take the lead, and was surprised at the way that his hands tenderly sought out the curves of her body, at the passion as their mouths moved together. He must be thinking of Katrina, she thought briefly. In that brief moment, she felt a stab of physical pain. It was then that she noticed that the pain which had only moments earlier swathed her in despair was no longer there. When did it disappear? Abbie wondered. She did not recall. She only knew that the pain returned when she produced doubt about Ichabod Crane’s intentions. But what does he want? she questioned, and again, a pain, like a jab to her side by a razor. Abbie winced, crying out. Ichabod leaned back from her. When she opened her eyes, she found his clear blue eyes studying her with concern.
“Have I hurt you?”
Abbie shook her head and reached up to his face to push some of his hair back from his face. She felt an energy in the space between her fingertips and his skin. As his eyes closed at the tenderness of her touch, she felt all of the remaining pain fall away from her. When she saw his eyes again, they were filled with such an intense longing that she could not stand to let it go unanswered. She pressed her mouth to his only to answer his desire with her own, with no other thought as to the spell or their duties as witnesses.
Abbie wanted him, and she knew now that he wanted her. She could not fit the reasoning behind the magic used to hurt them into her mind, anymore, or give a flying fuck about Moloch. Her body was singularly focused on him, on the way that he grasped her so tightly, his hands having found her waist and then her hips. She felt the hardness of him against her leg, and wanted nothing more than to touch him there, to slide her hand into his trousers, but she stopped herself short, uncertain. Her nipples were hard, rubbing through her sensible bra, up against his chest as they moved together in steady synchrony.
“Lieutenant...” Ichabod whispered, pulling back. “I imagine Moloch’s servant would not have sacrificed himself if he knew our power together.”
“Have we broken the spell?”
A small part of Abbie did not want to hear him answer. Despite the nearly two years she had spent at his side, struggling to suppress her feelings for him, at that moment she wished that she could lay entwined with him forever. She wanted nothing more than to continue to study him and for him to study her, until their time on earth was done. Fuck the apocalypse.
“I no longer smell brimstone, but imagine that the only way to know—”
“Is to separate from one another,” she completed, lowering her eyes from his, her heart seeming to arrest at the idea. She loosened her arms from his body and pulled her body away, keeping her eyes down, all the while. She had to sort of push away from him in order to get her distance and test their theory, which made her aware of how cold that it was in the cabin, causing all of the little hairs to prickle up on her neck. Still avoiding Ichabod Crane’s observant eyes, she completed the separation and stood back from him. Suddenly, she was all self-consciousness and embarrassment. Abbie doubted that Crane could ignore the way she sought his kisses; every echoing memory of his own touches on her were marred. Abbie couldn't help but assume that after all of this time, his touches were just a means to ending their torture.
“So, Crane, do you feel anything? Do you hear any more of those ghosts, or whatever they were?” Abbie asked tersely, keeping her eyes on the ground. Her terseness was met with a marked silence on the part of Ichabod Crane, who stood up to face her, his tall form seeming stiff in her peripheral vision. She felt him take a step closer to her, but she could not bring herself to look up at him. Abbie didn’t even know why she was acting so put off, anymore. It was as though a switch had been flipped within her, much like all of those other times in her life when she needed to put distance between her brain and her heart. It’s just what we had to do to get that demon’s curse off of us, that’s all, she reasoned. There’s no reason to get all weird about it.
“I have offended you, Miss Mills,” Crane said, his voice tinged with offense of his own.
“Do you feel anything, or not? I mean, I’m fine. I don’t feel anything,” Abbie said in rapid-fire, doing her best to be dismissive. She cursed herself for acting so defensive, and at the same time cursed him for acting as if nothing happened. She crossed her arms against her chest, partly against the cold. It was truly freezing in the cabin, even though the weather report said that it was supposed to be one of the warmest autumn days on record.
“I have offended you, that much is clear, and I am sorry for it,” he said, stepping closer, close enough that she could no longer avoid looking at him. He gently lifted her chin so that she would look at him. Abbie gritted her teeth at being forced to face him, but didn’t resist further.
“You know, I’m fine. I’m just glad that we managed to get out of that mess. It was... horrible,” she said, shrugging. “We both know we’ll be up against worse, in the future.”
Abbie could see that Crane was watching every muscle in her face, reading her. She was so occupied with trying not to feel anything, trying to avoid his observant gaze, that she didn’t even bother to try and recognize the feelings which showed on his face. He was silent as he moved his hand from under her chin to caress her jawline, watching with half-lidded eyes as she moved sensuously at his touch.
“Umm, how did you know that... that would work, back there?” Abbie said nervously, her eyes closed. When his hand dropped away from her face, she instantly regretted having said a word. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Crane looked conflicted, awkward.
“I apologize for my behavior, Lieutenant. I am truly shamed to be acting so uncaring as to yourv virtue—”
“Quit it, Crane,” Abbie interrupted, as it dawned on her that they may both be afraid of the same thing—rejection. She closed the space between them before he could protest further and slid her arms around him, looking up at him. Without another moment’s hesitation, he cradled her face in his hands and bent to kiss her with a hunger she had no idea he was capable of. She clutched at his jacket to stay upright, feeling her knees almost buckle beneath herself, arousal sweeping through her body. His hands moved down to her waist, gripping her as he had earlier to bring her closer to him. Just as her mind turned to the barrier of their height difference, she felt herself lifted up off of her feet, and found herself wrapping her legs around him. Abbie could not remember ever feeling so consumed with want for another person, but then again, she had never spent so long a time pretending that there was no sexual tension between herself and another person. She gripped him hard with her thighs, marveling at how wet that she was already, though they did nothing more than kiss.
“Carry me to the bed,” she whispered fiercely into his ear. She felt him tighten his grip around her waist, finding her mouth again, his kisses struggling to keep up with hers.
“Abigail,” he said falteringly, pulling away to meet her eyes. It was the first time she had ever heard him name her so intimately. She felt herself get so warm then that her neck tingled, and it was just at the sound of her own name. She smiled when she realized the source of his hesitation.
“Don’t forget that this is the 21st century, Crane.”
A look of resignation swept over him, perhaps relief that he was in this modern age and not stuck with this feelings back in the 18th century. Abbie felt his hands reposition his grip firmly on her ass and shared his smile, knowing that despite their differences, they were committed to the same action. Crane kissed her eagerly as he walked her toward the bed, and Abbie matched his desire perfectly as though they had been lovers for much longer, rather than for only the last fifteen minutes. Abbie rocked her hips against him as he carried her, impatient to feel his skin against hers, to be filled with him. He groaned into her mouth at her arousal, which only intensified at her amazement at how strong he was to hold her up her like that for so long.
Abbie felt herself carefully being lowered onto the bed and opened her eyes to see Crane watching her. Once their eyes met, she could not bear to look away. There was more than lust behind his eyes, now. She was experienced enough to know the difference, however when she saw this look before from other men, she did not welcome it as she did now. Her usual reaction involved an uncomfortable breakup, or else an attempt to ignore those feelings until her partner got the hint that she didn't want to be “the one.” Now, she lay on a bed, eyes locked in an unspoken understanding of which there could be no avoiding, no refusal.
Watching his slow removal of his jacket, and the unlacing of his shirt was like tasting the most amazing dessert of her life. When he knelt onto the bed she sat up, getting to her knees to meet him, and smothered him with hungry kisses. At first, their kisses were fast, impatient, but they slowed down to become more deliberate and sensual. She unzipped her pants as they kissed and reaching for his hands, guided them down to her hips to push her pants down over them. Abbie felt him laugh into her mouth and she nibbled at his lip in reprimand.
“What are you laughing about, Ichabod Crane?” she teased, going in for another nibble at his swollen lower lip.
“I apologize—it is just that I have never in my wildest imaginings thought that I would be removing trousers from a woman,” he said, smiling in an almost-aggravatingly mischievous way. Abbie moved his hands lower on her thighs in response and felt him grip her, pleased by the admiration and excitement in his eyes. She pulled her shirt over her head and then quickly undid her bra, knowing that of all of the modern technologies, the bra clasp was the most likely to confound him. She bit her lip as he took her naked torso in, and pulled her up against himself. She pulled him back with her as she leaned toward the bed, tucking her legs beneath her, as they were still unfortunately tangled in her pants. Damn, I’m glad I didn’t wear boots, today. Abbie kicked her shoes off of her feet as Crane kissed her neck, his mouth slowly making a trail down along her collarbone and down to her breasts. She managed to wriggle out of her pants just in time to shudder, her back arching as he began to suckle at one of her nipples.
“Ichabod...” she gasped, his once odd-sounding name having the strange effect of making her even wetter. He moved up to meet her face to face, then, his hair tickling her as he held himself over her. She took the opportunity to wriggle her left leg underneath him and with her heel, nudged his body until he lowered onto her. Propped up on his forearms, he continued to study her eyes, looking for something. Abbie’s pulse quickened as she shared his gaze, beating so rapidly that when she found herself reaching to stroke his face, she found her hand to be shaking.
“I love you, Abigail.”
Abbie leaned up and kissed him hard, pulling him to her with one hand while she reached impatiently for the waistband of his pants with the other. With a sudden burst of frustration at the awkwardness of their height differences, Abbie gripped his hips with her legs and grappled him onto his back. By the way that Ichabod was surprised by her move, Abbie knew that he’d never before had the tables turned on him by a woman. Smiling in the self-satisfaction of that, she reached down again to his pants as she rubbed her crotch up against his cock, which was still trapped within his trousers. He let out a moan and she felt his dick pulse against her. She was so wet that she could barely stand to keep up the foreplay, but she wanted to take her time. She found his hands where they stroked her kneeling thighs and pulled them up to her panties as she ground herself slowly against his hardness. Abbie gazed intently into Ichabod’s eyes as he slid his hands below the elastic of her underwear, grasping her hips to direct her onto him. Finally, he took her by surprise, reversing their positions and placing her on her back. In one rough pull, he pulled her panties down, the elastic tearing from the sudden force. Laying down beside her, her underthings torn and lingering at her knees, he cupped her wet pussy with his hand as he lustily kissed her. She writhed against his hand, moaning into his mouth.
“Please,” she heard herself gasping into his mouth between kisses. “I want you inside me.”
“Your desire for me is intoxicating,” he said throatily as he slid his hand along the slick lips of her pussy. She writhed alongside him as they kissed, reaching again for his pants, deftly undoing the buttons with one hand. As her hand brushed alongside his penis she smiled—he was bigger than she’d dared to hope—but her task of unsheathing him was thwarted when he slid one finger, and then two inside of her. She cupped his balls through his pants as he found her G-spot; he rubbed her so perfectly that she thought that she was going to come from his hand alone. He knows it, too, she thought, almost angry at how he was beating her at her own game. Her body rocked against his hand as he thrust his fingers more forcefully into her, the rest of his fist bumping deliciously hard up against her pubic bone. He wants me to beg, doesn’t he?
With what little wits she had left, Abbie went again for his trouser buttons, fumbling against them so hard that she accidentally popped one straight off. He pumped his hand into her harder, faster, meeting her at every thrust, until she finally succeeded in pulling his boxer briefs down. Damn, I’m glad I bought these for him! Abbie giggled, remembering all of a sudden how embarrassed he was when he pulled the underwear out of the bag of supplies she bought for him, back when she first got him set up in the cabin. He turned completely red back then, stammering about how inappropriate it was. Abbie smiled with adoration at the man as he took a moment to stand and finished the job of removing his clothing. He was so strangely beautiful that it almost made her heart break to look at him. Crawling to the edge of the bed, she looked up at him from all fours before taking his dick into her mouth, stroking the base slicked in her saliva.
Abbie had never been particularly fond of giving head, as it always seemed like some annoying task with other men. Not with him. Her heart beat as fast a rabbit’s as she took him in, listening to him groan, feeling his fingers gently combing through her hair as she pulled him into her mouth over and over again. She never knew that she could become so aroused from pleasing a man. Just when she wondered if she would ever stop, he gently took her by the shoulders and coaxed her into sitting back on her heels before leaning down to kiss her mouth.
“I love you,” she gasped with desperation at the depth of her longing for him. How did I exist around him for so long without knowing? she wondered, allowing him to guide her back onto the bed. His eyes glittered with an almost smug delight at her words, at the pleading behind her them, but it was not in cruelty. Kneeling onto the bed with her, he slid his right hand down her leg, guiding it to frame him before he leaned in to penetrate her. Her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably as she moaned with his first thrust; he scooted her body up to him, repeating perfectly the thrust which elicited that reaction as she wriggled sinuously against him. Together, they found their rhythm, attentive to one another like two pieces of a whole. Abbie felt so amazingly different with him. It was like being a new person. “Let me get on top of you.”
When she mounted him, all bets were off. She braced one hand against his chest as she rode up and down on his cock, watching his face express his pleasure, his eyes drinking her in. Abbie was drinking him in, too. As she rocked astride him, she heard him say her name, sending shivers down her spine. She increased her pace, her hands steadying her against his abdomen, she felt him tensing, almost jerking, and then sensed his limit nearing inside of her.
“Crane,” she whispered as she picked up the pace, coaxing him to come, feeling waves of pleasure clouding her senses. Normally her senses would not have let her within ten feet of a dick, without it having a condom on. Leaning into him, she moved a hand to his chest, unintentionally placing it over his rapidly beating heart. When he came inside her, she was only a moment behind him, her body coursing with waves of ecstasy.
It was like being half-asleep when she finally removed herself to curl up next to him on the sweat-soaked bed. He wrapped his arm around her, planting sweet kisses on her brow as she snuggled along side his long body, wrapping a leg over him. Abbie nuzzled her face against his skin, eating up his woodsy, musky scent and let out a long sigh.
“I wish that nothing shall ever take me from your side,” he said softly as he stroked her arm.
Abbie frowned slightly, a sudden fear threatening her. She slid her arm over his chest and hugged him to herself. “I wish that, too.”
“Moloch be damned,” he muttered, before hugging her closer.