the holly and the ivy | harlan

A good, de-stressing hobby. Harlan knew that she hadn't meant it in any sort of way but the tension from earlier in the night had bled into every feeling he was having and it gave him pause.

"I like it," He brushed the nagging thought aside and leaned back against the desk that his gift still sat atop, turning to Bérénice. He did like it but he also enjoyed the slow, deliberate manual labor of hand-cutting pasta. "My gift for you isn't here," He added almost as an afterthought. Harlan had been planning a trip for them without the guise of Christmas but it seemed fitting in the moment, given—

"I was thinking we could take a weekend," He began, shifting against the desk, running a hand over his once pristine dress shirt that had gotten a charcoal-like burn to the sleeve. "I know a place in Chamonix," Harlan added, running his tongue over his lower lip in thought. "Cam's brother's, someone," Harlan referenced the Griffins management member who had mentioned their winter home the week prior.

"No pasta machine, though..." He clicked his tongue in jest, rolling the sleeve over the burned stain. "Is that a dealbreaker?" His eyes narrowed on her.

Nice thought she saw a flicker of something on Harlan’s handsome features, but then just as quickly she was doubting herself because he said he liked it, and maybe it was just the wine, or Simon casting doubts on everything.

She smiled and stepped closer, second-nature by this point to want to be near him, and paused when he mentioned a gift for her. The brunette gazed up at him with warm brown eyes, a grin on her full lips. She shifted the expression to show she was intrigued--it wasn’t here--and then thought to wonder if he had actually bought her something or if he was just buying himself the time to do so before they next saw each other—

Her lips parted in pleasant surprise, an uncertain smile attempting to take hold as he revealed the nature of his present. Her fingers found his waist to steady herself, gripping softly over his shirt material. The grin broke through and her eyes crinkled at the corners -- she realised as he asked if the lack of a pasta machine was a dealbreaker that she hadn’t said anything. “No,” she answered him, smoothing her hands up the front of his torso and over his chest, tugging gently on his open collar. “Sounds perfect,” she smirked, leaning in to press her lips to his softly, forgetting all about their conversation--or, almost-conversation--downstairs.

Nice drew back, before they could become too distracted, her face an inch or so from his. “When?” It was eager of her, she knew, to want to lock this in the moment he brought it up, but she couldn’t help herself -- every time she saw him she was trying to work out when she would see him next, and the nature of their respective jobs made everything more difficult. A secondary thought occurred to her: “Skiing?” she asked with a smirk.

It was easy to get lost in the lightness of it all— the holiday, and the gifts, and the wine, Bérénice's lips. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, there was a lingering, persistent, sign of warning. That maybe all of it was too good to be true. That he definitely did not deserve it. That he was going to inevitably fuck it up. Whatever it was. Her hands pulling at the collar of his shirt distracted him enough that he forgot about it for a moment. He found himself leaning into her to dwell on her touch a little bit longer. Forget for a little bit longer.

"For the New Year," Harlan touched the underside of her chin absentmindedly, his thumb making it's way to her bottom lip out of habit. At the mention of skiing, he let out a laugh. There was a swell of pride he took in her excitement about something that he'd planned. "If you'd like," He said matter-of-factly as his hand moved from her jaw to her ear, pushing back her hair and running over her cheekbone.

"Swear I didn't just think of that then, either," He grinned. If he were Nice, he would have assumed that he was just making up the trip to not look like a dick, but he really had been planning it. The fact that some of the team would eventually be joining for the celebration seemed like an afterthought in the moment, with her pressed up against him like she was.

Harlan leaned down and kissed the side of her mouth where his thumb had just been trailing her skin. "I'm not meant to be in your room," A smirk pulled at his lips, his grey eyes flicking over to the door. "Door closed and all..." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as if he were channeling any member of either of their families. They had all seen the photo but were doing one hell of a job not acknowledging it openly, Simon aside. "We should go back down," He said more seriously, gauging her reaction.

Bérénice’s lips parted under his thumb. She smiled, slowly. That was only a week away -- she wasn’t quite sure how Madame Maxime would take her wanting more time off, so soon, but she would work it out, and one of those days would be her usual clinic hours that she had off over the Christmas holiday anyway -- and none of it mattered because it was easier just to focus on right now. “Mm,” Nice hummed, leaning into Harlan’s touch, revelling in the warmth of his palm where he was cradling her jaw; “I would.”

She grinned back at him. “Of course not,” the Healer rolled her eyes, not quite believing him -- as much as she wanted to. But maybe.

Her eyelids grew heavy and she tilted her head ready to kiss him back, properly, when he spoke again; Nice blinked softly up at Harlan. “You closed it,” she told him with a smirk, sliding her hands up from his shoulders to loop around his neck, threading her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “We should,” she agreed at a murmur, though made no move to do so -- she was quite content here, for the moment.

She leaned in, gradually at first and then more rapidly, and her mouth found his again, more insistent this time. Bérénice pressed her body closer, removing what little space had been left between them as one hand found purchase at the point where shoulder met neck, under his collar; her nails just barely clawing over his tanned skin.


[out]

She agreed that they should. Go back downstairs to their families, that is. Though neither made any definitive moves from each other. In fact, they seemed to have gotten somehow closer than they had been before. Harlan's eyes blinked close at the sensation of her nails in his hair, his neck stretching out an involuntary shiver in reaction, his hand flexing around the silk of her dress, making it taut against her lower back. Bérénice was a healer so it shouldn't have come as a surprise but he found himself continually amazing with just how good she was with her hands.

Her mouth on his again was distraction enough for him to forget anyone was downstairs at all.

Harlan moved with Nice as she pressed up against him, his mouth dropping to her neck purely out of habit. When it came to the physical, once it started, it was a very hard thing for him to just stop. With one hand he grabbed Bérénice's thigh and pulled it around him, the other working at the buttons of his own dress shirt that had been marred with burns from the stupid fucking game. The task might have been easier if he had made any space between them.

Just then there was a creak from the corridor. Then another. Footsteps. Harlan paused, breathing against her neck. The moment of clarity was enough time for him to remember that they couldn't just act on impulse as they might have any other time. "Fuck," He whispered, eventually peeling away. As he spun around, Harlan adjusted his shirt then ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "We should," Go back down, he meant. He half-smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eye.

They had plenty of time to spend with each other once everyone had gone to bed, after all.

fin