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"Not For Public Circulation"

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Liz is used to waking up alone and this is entirely because she’d preferred it that way. For years. What’s that line from that song? “Old enough to face the dawn?” Well, damn right.

She wouldn’t say she has a warped relationship with sex. In fact, she quite enjoys it. But for years – again – she’s preferred it on her terms. Sex was like a buffet on standby. She’d wade in and out whenever she wished; a voracious bite here; a rough, hungry tug of a cock there. Sometimes she’d even allow the occasional kiss – wherever. Liz honestly doesn’t care, doesn’t keep track, so long as she’s reasonably sated by the end of it. Pretty much like a cheap takeaway.

She isn’t sure if it’s Finn’s hypersensitivity to anything vaguely tactile that’s rubbing off on her. Suffice it to say, even the little things don’t escape her notice lately. The light, tentative grip of a hand. The soft, warm exhale upon flushed skin. How his eyes shine in the dark.

So, it’s hard to tell who’s the more surprised this first morning in her bed. They both wake at the same time…but at differing speeds. Liz finds herself curled around him, breasts pressed against his back. Instinct tells her to retreat, but Finn is still groggy with sleep, normally ninja-like reflexes now sluggish and dampened.

Tick tock, tick tock. (She doesn’t own a clock, so is her overactive brain supplying – ah, no. They’re still wearing their watches. Figures.)

Eventually, Finn makes to scoot away, yet his movement makes her draw inexplicably closer. That elicits a confused, but not unwelcome noise. Although he’ll vehemently deny it later at the office; for now, he’s receptive, he’s pliant, and even leans back into her.

With her advantageous position, it would be all too easy to nip at his neck, skim a nimble hand down his thigh, and set off a predictable chain reaction which would result in a fairly satisfactory morning shag. She’s done it before, after all.

Finn’s soft snores announce that he’s fallen asleep again. She needs to talk him about that, sometime. Somehow. Knowing how they communicate, it will probably be squeezed into a shouting match about police ethics, interspersed with increasingly inane pop references.

For now, she settles down behind him, content (and frankly terrified) to play the long game.

Though not before pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

Old habits die hard.