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“Bed?” Miller breaks the silence. It's not tense anymore, they've been cuddling on the couch for the last quarter of an hour.
“Sure.” He entangles himself from her, picks up their mugs and takes them to the kitchen to rinse them out. When he comes back to the living room, she's already gone up. Hardy takes his bag upstairs and joins her. She's brushing her teeth in the ensuite when he gets to the bedroom, and he suddenly feels like an intruder. That's Miller's nightly routine, and he doesn't know how he fits in it. He pretends to be busy retrieving his own toothbrush, but his bag contains only that and a change of clothes, he can't really play for time long.
“Don't be shy, then, come on, plenty of room for the both of us to spit.” Miller calls from the bathroom. The phrasing is a bit crass, and that's what helps. It's just Miller. Miller in a new capacity, but just Miller. They're friends. Are they friends? Hardy isn't sure, he doesn't have friends anymore, he's left everybody behind. But Miller does, and she used to be friends with Joe, and he wants them to have that too. Not to replace him, of course, but he wants her to be as happy as she was, if differently, and being endlessly awkward won't help. He goes in to brush his teeth. Miller has pulled her hair up in a loose bun, and changed into a baggy t-shirt, she has toothpaste foaming at the corner of her mouth that she's trying to rinse out. She's gorgeous.
“There you go” she says, and hands him the toothpaste before going back to the bedroom.
Hardy brushes his teeth, then dithers about what to do with his toothbrush. Does he take it back to his bag? Does he leave it there? Isn't that a bit presumptuous?
“Are you investigating my bathroom?” Miller calls from the room, and he snaps out of it, leaves the toothbrush on the edge of the sink, not in Miller's glass by the mirror, and calls it a night.

She's already in bed, pretending to read. He knows she's pretending, because the tension in the room is absurd. They've had sex twice already, and she'd been quite intent on having him against the door earlier, and he might have let her, only he'd found he also wanted to talk to her, sit with her and have a normal quiet evening, for once. Either way, they're not blushing virgins, and they've already crossed that line, so why does it feel so strange to get undressed now? Hardy wonders as he sits on the bed, pulls off his socks and undoes his belt. Maybe because he's doing it alone, while she's feigning indifference, and they can't put any of it on raw lust anymore. Or maybe because he'd love for her to get involved, and he doesn't know how to ask.
Hardy finally gets his jeans off, and slips under the cover next to her. He's barely settled down that she's rolled onto him, laid her head on his chest.
“Didn't think you'd sleep with a t-shirt on.” She says, as her bare legs meet his.
“Didn't want to assume.”
“Really?” She pushes herself up to look at him. She's smiling at him like he's endearingly stupid.
“Really.”
“Maybe Beth's right, maybe I did fuck your brains out.” Miller teases, as her hand snakes up the plane of his stomach. It's warm, and soft, and it leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
“You told Beth about this too?” He asks, somewhat petulantly, even as he slips a hand through her hair.
“Guessed it herself. What were you thinking going to fetch Daisy at the crack of dawn?” Bloody small town talk. Hardy's about to make some snarky comment on the subject, but she's raking her nails around his left nipple, and it feels too good for snark.
“Wasn't thinking, that's the point. I'm glad Beth's alright, I was afraid I'd scared her.”
“It was rather stupid of you, Sir, showing up so early. You're just a cop to her.” Miller tugs on his t-shirt, and he obligingly lifts off the bed so she can pull it off. She throws it away somewhere. “For now.” She adds, and bites down on his flesh, where his shoulder meets his neck. Hardy grunts – she's not being tender, and he's not complaining, it sends heat straight down to his cock.
“Right.” He says, as he slides a hand up her side, “maybe don't make it bruise, love, still need to talk to the boss on Monday.”
“That's what ties are for, Sir, anything under that is fair game.” She says, but eases up, licks at the spot before kissing her way down to his pecs. Her mouth finds his nipple, and he has to stifle a moan.
“Kids are away, Sir” Miller says, “no need to be quiet.” She's pinching at the bud now, which makes him bite off another moan, on principle, and because he's not used to being vocal in bed. Or anywhere.
“You're enjoying this way too much, Miller.”
“Rather thought it was the point, but I can stop if you want.” Miller withdraws her hand, goes so far as taking his hand out of her t-shirt. Hardy puts it right back and pulls her into a messy kiss.
“Don't.”
“Thought so,” she smirks, and straddles him before leaning down to resume her suckling. She pushes his arms down on his sides, in a way that makes it clear to him that she wants them to stay there, and he's happy to let her have him. He's not just happy, he's also incredibly hard, his cock's twitching with every flick of her tongue, every scratching of nail against his skin, and he's panting hard by the time she leaves his nipples alone and licks down to his navel. She looks up at him, openly smug. Her own tits are showing through the thin material of her worn out t-shirt and she's got both thumbs hooked into his boxers. Hardy pushes himself up on his elbows, and she leans down, takes his mouth fiercely before asking, “Are you clean, Sir?” Fuck.
“Probably. Can't say for sure.” He says, and entirely regrets that one night stand. Miller frowns at him, then smirks.
“Oooooh. That date you went on! You did kiss her after all! No condoms?”
“Of course yes, but still, we shouldn't risk it, you never know.”
“Right. Shame. I was looking forward to getting a taste of that.” She says, like it's a perfectly mundane thing to talk about.
“Could taste you instead.” He offers.

“Not today, Sir, I quite like being the boss of you, can't do that if I lose my ability to think.” Miller pulls his boxers down, and starts running a finger up his cock, except running is the wrong word, because she does it as slowly as she can, watching him as he watches her touch him.
“Right.” Hardy's own brain functions are shutting down. When she finally gets to the tip and fists a hand around him, he closes his eyes so he can focus on the feeling.
“Didn't work out then?” Miller asks, as she settles into a slow rhythm, “your date, I mean.”
Hardy opens his eyes. She's doesn't seem jealous, she's just making conversation, like she would by the coffee machine at work. It's infuriating, especially because it does something for him, this strange normalising of sex. She's focussed, he knows, because her hand doesn't falter and her cheeks are flushed red, but she's playing at indifference, and he suddenly wants her to lose control.
“Nah.” Hardy bites off, it's getting harder to keep his hands to himself.
“Why not?” She swipes her thumb across his cock head.
“Wasn't you, was she?” Miller's hand stills. She comes to lie next to him, and he rolls on his side to face her.
“I think you should kiss me now.” She says, but she's lost her aplomb to softness. He obliges, finds her lips soft against his, takes his time deepening the kiss. He can move now, so he does, wraps an arm around her waist and finds her face with his free hand.

It's a different kind of heat, less pressing, less urgent, but possibly more intense. Miller is scratching through his hair as he sucks on her left tit. He's only pushed her t-shirt up, not off, her other breast is still covered, and he rubs at it through the fabric. She's pressing his face to her chest, urging him on, and he's not sure who's enjoying it more, but he wants it to be her so he slides a hand down her side, gets under her knickers and stops just above her clit. He can feel how wet she is from the dampness of the cotton and the slick that's smeared in her pubes, but he waits for her to buck her hips into his hand before he pushes his fingers down and inside her.
Miller rolls on her back, spreads her legs wider and kicks her knickers off, so he can move better. As he slides his fingers slowly in and out of her, trying to hit the right spots, Hardy takes a moment to look at her. Her hair has mostly slipped out of its bun, her eyes are wide and glassy with pleasure and she's panting slightly, mouth open, lips reddened and plump. Her right breast is still clothed somehow, and it's obscene, more so than if she'd been fully naked. He loves it. She looks wild, unhinged almost, and he sees it as an act of trust. She feels good enough around him that she can let go, and it's everything he'll ever want from her. Hardy drags two fingers down her cheek and along her bottom lip. She bites at them, then gets sucking and he can't help but rut his cock into her side, tries to find some relief in the friction he gets. It's not enough, and his arm is bent at a vaguely painful angle, but seeing her like that is worth it, and he can wait. He'll be patient for her, always.
He slips his fingers out of her, uses the wetness on them to rub at her clit, and Miller tenses, grabs at his arm to keep him still.
“No.” She says around his fingers – he withdraws his hand, “Not yet. More.” She makes a vague but explicit grab for his cock. Hardy takes his hand off her, and rolls to the edge of the bed for the condom box. She comes after him, moulds her body to his back. She peppers kisses along his spine as he rolls the condom on, and when he's ready he turns in her arms, lifts her right leg over his hip. It's not the easiest position but this way he can kiss her, and he does exactly that as she guides him in, both of them shuddering when he bottoms out.
They drag it out – Miller rolling her hips languidly against him, his hands roaming along her back, grasping at her ass, clutching at her hair, her nails digging into his shoulders, her mouth hot and wet against his neck, him grunting, her panting and moaning– until he can't hold it any longer and he lets go with a groan, stilling deep inside her. She kisses him through it, then disentangles herself from him long enough to take the condom off. Hardy watches her through the fog in his head, he's utterly spent. Miller considers the tied up condom in her hand and tosses it off the bed. He wouldn't have dared, but it's her bedroom and her floor, and he's got more important things on his mind. She hasn't come yet.
“C'me here, Miller.” He mumbles as he pulls her back against him. He slips an arm under her waist, snakes his hand up to her right tit, under her t-shirt, and the other down over her hip, and back on her clit. He rubs his thumb over it, and this time she lets him, cants her ass against his still sensitive cock and pushes his other hand more firmly against her breast, so that he's not pulling at the bud anymore but squeezing it hard enough that he's afraid it might hurt her. If it does, it's the right kind of pain, because Miller comes apart in his arms with a shudder and a scream, gets rigid against him before melting down on the sheets.
He takes his hands off, careful not to overstimulate her, and pulls back so she can lay on her back next to him. He kisses her again, deep and slow, before settling next to her. Her hand finds his just as he hooks an ankle over hers, and they stay quiet for a while, long enough that he thinks she's asleep.
“I told Fred I was in love with you.” she whispers just as he's drifting off. It wakes him right up.
“Yeah?” He asks, even as his heart misses a beat.
“Yeah. Might tell you soon, too.”
He pulls their joined hands up to his lips, kisses her knuckles.
“Sounds like a plan, love.” Hardy answers – he might tell her soon, too.