14 11 / 2013
Yep. I did it. I wrote a Sleepy Hollow fic. Not just a fic, but smut. Read at your own risk (and hopefully enjoy!)
Show: Sleepy Hollow
Rating: M for adult content
Synopsis: In bed, Abbie muses on her relationship with Ichabod. Then, once again, he surprises her.
Ichabod was a bedhog.
Like, an entire bed hog.
Abbie knew quite well that he was a very tall man and she should have expected for him to take up more space than say a teacup poodle, but holy hell there is a difference between the hypothetical and the reality of nearly being pushed out of her own bed.
She inched herself into a sitting position, careful not to wake the sleeping former soldier, slowly resting her shoulders against the cool wood of the headboard. One of Ichabod’s arms was still draped protectively around across waist and tugged her closer. She ran her fingers through his hair, fingers trailing lazily through long chestnut strands strewn across the pillow. Those long gangly limbs stretched out for miles across the sheets and twitched in the throes of a dream. Abby’s full lips found themselves twitching in kind, into a smile instead of sleep.
It was an oddly humbling experience to watch Ichabod as he slept. He had seen and done things that would have sent more skeptical minds spiraling into the pits of insanity. He was undeniably brilliant, unfailingly snarky, and had a disturbing fondness for donut holes. He possessed an amazing core strength and straight out refused to give into fear out of a sense of duty to the world around him. Because of his supernaturally twisted past, he understandably had difficulties trusting other people-a problem she had been versed in since adolescence.
But she, Abbie Mills, was granted permission to see Ichabod Crane at his most vulnerable and this case, literally laid bare before her eyes. It was a sight that she hoped she would live long enough to enjoy. She let out an uncharacteristic chuckle of delight at the thought before freezing suddenly-had she woken him?
The tall man in question let out a soft “harrumph” before snuggling back into Abbie’s waist and began lightly snoring away.
She wondered if it would be considered ironic for a man who was asleep for 250 years to sleep like the dead. Unfortunately her rhetorical query must go unanswered, as the one person who could tell her if it was irony or just an amusing coincidence remained asleep.
Her hands ran gently over the skin of his arms, his neck, his back; enjoying the sensation of his warmth beneath her fingers. The fact that she was actually making physical contact with another human being was still very novel to her. It had been a long time since she had shared space with someone longer than a quickie or two. This whole “sleepover” thing was strange and new for her.
Well, she supposed the last few months had been nothing but strange and new. Being one of the Two Witnesses of the End of Days had that effect on one’s life.