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Dining In

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Nearly ten years of marriage to an FBI agent and Elizabeth's more than used to eating alone. It bothers her less than it used to, especially since catching Caffrey got Peter a promotion and now he's got minions to do most of the fieldwork. If the worst she has to worry about him coming home with is a papercut, well, she can live with that. So she cooks big meals because she enjoys it, and besides they can always freeze, and she doesn't mind eating with a book in her hand.

Peter is always very generous in making up for the meals he misses. And he doesn't mind if someone else takes his place at the table. Occasionally.

Today, though, he hasn't called, and she's hovering between pissed off and worried. He always calls. But his cell's going straight to voicemail and no one's answering at the office, and between that and the bottle of wine that was originally for dinner but has long since been opened, she's a little on edge.

Satchmo barks, and then she hears footsteps on the porch, and her heart jumps. But instead of Peter's key in the lock, there's a knock on the glass, and when she swings the door open it's not her husband waiting. It's Diana. Elizabeth sighs and waves her in. "Now he's using you as a messenger pigeon?" she asks. "I suppose it's classier than a call to say he'll be late, but I didn't think that was part of your job description."

Diana shrugs awkwardly. "Surveillance looks like it's going to last all night, and nobody's phone was getting any reception in that warehouse. I volunteered," she says. Elizabeth fixes her with a level gaze. "Okay, I got volunteered," she admits, "but it's on my way, and I was coming off shift."

"Right, well." Elizabeth is still holding her glass of wine. She presses it into Diana's hand. "You probably need that more than I do," she says. "Come on in, there's more where that came from."

Diana looks down at the glass in her hand as if she's not sure what it is. "I – I was just going to give you the message and head home," she says.

"If Peter sent you here, the least I can do is feed you. Unless you have plans?" Diana shakes her head, and Elizabeth continues. "Then drink your wine and come in. Or come in and drink your wine, whichever. Do you like lamb stew?"

Diana downs half the glass and toes off her shoes. "Love it," she answers, and follows Elizabeth through to the kitchen.

Elizabeth pours herself another glass of wine and turns around just in time to see Diana take off her jacket. The curve of her bare arm leading to the leather of her shoulder holster makes Elizabeth's mouth go suddenly dry. Peter has this effect on her, sometimes, coming in late with his jacket unbuttoned so his gun shows and wearing a smirk that says 'yep, I caught another one.' Diana just looks tired, and Elizabeth knows she's in the middle of a case, but her fingers as she slides the holster off her shoulders are giving Elizabeth ideas.

Ideas she probably shouldn't be entertaining about an agent working a probationary term under her husband.

"So, dinner!" she says, too loudly, and reaches for the plates.

They eat in the kitchen, crowding around the island, Satchmo begging at their heels. Food settles the excitement in Elizabeth's stomach, but there's a flutter that won't go away, and when they move to the couch she sits just a little closer to Diana than she might normally, on the pretext of refilling her glass.

The last of the wine glugs out of the bottle and Elizabeth gives it a considering look before turning to Diana. "I think you should stay here tonight," she says, tucking her feet under her, moving close enough to feel the heat of Diana's body.

Diana leans towards her, and Elizabeth can see a dawning flicker of awareness in her eyes. "I don't want to impose," Diana says, carefully.

"I could make it an order," Elizabeth offers, not smiling.

Diana raises an eyebrow. "I take orders from your husband, not from you," she replies.

Elizabeth blinks, a long, slow sweep of her lashes, and leans over to put down her wine glass, making sure that the vee of her blouse gapes as she does so. "Are you sure?"

"But, Elizabeth." Diana is floundering for words, but her body language is screaming for Elizabeth to touch her. She's fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, and Elizabeth is dying to have those fingers against her skin. "Won't Peter..." Diana starts, and Elizabeth takes pity on her and finishes her sentence.

"Peter and I have rules," she says. "He'll know about this. I won't tell him until you're not working for him any more, if you want. But honey, believe me, you don't have to worry about him. We both knew what we were getting into when we got married."

The worry on Diana's face clears, but she still doesn't close the gap between her and Elizabeth. Elizabeth holds very still, feeling the tension buzz along her skin and pool in her belly. "Elizabeth, Peter is my boss, and your husband," Diana finally says.

"I know," Elizabeth replies. She stretches up onto her knees and straddles Diana's lap in one smooth movement. Then she pauses, fingers gently massaging the spots on Diana's shoulders that she knows are sore from the shoulder holster. She tilts her head and smirks down at Diana. "Doesn't that make it kind of hot?"

Diana makes an incoherent noise and grabs Elizabeth's waist, dragging her down and rolling her hips up at the same time. Her fingers dig into Elizabeth's skin, and Elizabeth twines her fingers in Diana's long hair and pulls, just a little, just enough to hold her still so Elizabeth can lean down and kiss her. Diana strains up against her and Elizabeth tugs a little harder, squirms in her lap so she gasps into Elizabeth's mouth. Elizabeth bites at Diana's bottom lip and leans back to see her flushed and disheveled and smiling. "Yeah," Diana says. "You've got a point there."

Diana pulls Elizabeth's blouse out of her waistband and starts unbuttoning from the bottom up. The backs of her hands brush Elizabeth's stomach and she shivers, kneading Diana's shoulders, shifting restlessly in her lap. Diana reaches the top button and spreads Elizabeth's blouse apart, drawing the tips of her fingers down across the exposed skin. She leans in and scrapes her teeth over the curve of Elizabeth's breast, and Elizabeth shudders.

Then Diana stops, pulling back so she can look Elizabeth full in the face. "So," she asks, seeming shyness betrayed by the gleam in her eyes. "Were you serious about giving orders?"

Elizabeth smirks. "Yeah," she says, shoving Diana sideways until she's sprawled on her back on the couch. She takes a moment to appreciate the view and to toss her blouse aside. Diana waits, obediently, but she crooks a knee up and presses it against Elizabeth, and Elizabeth can't really find it in her to complain. Instead she sprawls over Diana, twining their legs together, and kisses her. It's not until they're both gasping and moving against each other that Elizabeth decides to up the ante.

She slides back and unbuttons Diana's pants, tugging them down until they tangle around her knees. Diana's wearing plain grey cotton underwear – they practically have 'FBI Issue' stamped on them – and Elizabeth grins, pressing a kiss against them just to feel Diana twitch. She looks up the length of Diana's body to where Diana is trying very hard to be patient. Now's the time to start making a few demands, she thinks.

Elizabeth drags her knuckles over the fabric at Diana's crotch. "Are you ready to do a few things for me now?" she asks quietly. Diana nods, not quite controlled. "First, I want you to tell me where your handcuffs are. And then, I want you to hold very, very still. Otherwise, I might have to stop." She slips one finger under Diana's underwear and brushes it against her, feeling an answering heat between her own legs.

Diana bites her lip and her hands clench into fists, but her voice is steady. "Yes, ma'am," she replies. "Anything you say."

Elizabeth flicks her tongue out, wondering how long it will take her to make Diana disobey.