For the Hozier title meme I got Gonna Save Me, Call Me Baby? Whatever inspires you? =D ❤️💕
“Come on, Pidge! What’s the magic word?”
Pidge glares at him from her perch on the bench. He stands just beyond the holding cell, his hands wrapped around the bars and a stupid, smug grin on his face.
She hates how she can’t decide if she’d rather kiss it or smack it off.
“Just unlock the damn door,” she grumbles, crossing her arms tighter.
Lance rests a hand on his hip and raises the key ring, rattling it like a photographer trying to get a grumpy baby to smile. “Is that how you speak to an officer of the law, Pidge?”
Pidge buries her face in her hands, her face warm and...God, to be caught in this situation by her own damn cop fiancee who’s obviously enjoying this way too much?
“What kind of cop are you,” she mutters, voice muffled in her palms. She lifts her face, her eyes narrowing, and wonders, “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, reprimanding me or something for breaking and entering?”
“Well, considering Iverson was gracious enough not to press charges...” Lance shrugs but raises an eyebrow. “I paid your bail, you know, since I figured you wouldn’t want your mom finding out about this.”
Pidge sighs, sagging. “And I said thank you, Lance.” She glances at him. “What else do you want?”
“The thanks was nice,” Lance concedes with a slight - and fake, Pidge doesn’t doubt - frown, “but I’m looking for another magic word.” His eyebrows waggle almost suggestively.
Pidge knows what he wants, which just irritates her more, so she pulls her feet onto the bench and leans against the wall. “I think I’d rather spend the night here than with you.”
Because modesty isn’t one of Lance’s strong suits, and if the words he wants to hear cross her lips he’ll rub it in her face for the better part of a week and then every other day for the rest of their lives - if she doesn’t kill him herself at some point - for extra measure.
And it would be a shame to murder the love of her life a month ahead of their wedding.
“Oh, really?” Lance says, tone dripping with skepticism. He tucks his thumbs through his belt loops and clicks his tongue. “Is it really that hard?”
She crosses her arms, eyes fixed on the floor, and says, “Yes.”
Lance sighs, propping his arm against the bars and leaning in. “You’d make me miss you just because you won’t say two little words?”
Pidge shoots him a look she half-wishes would kill him on the spot; if she’s in jail - bailout or no - they may as well charge her with a real crime. “If it’s any consolation,” she retorts, “I’ll miss you too.”
He snorts, beginning to look a little annoyed. “Only you can make that sound a little insulting.” He fumbles the keys, and for a second Pidge thinks she might even win this, but...
Well, a grumpy Lance isn’t much fun either, not to mention the slight guilt stabbing at her.
So Pidge stands, shuffling her feet and glaring at them before mumbling, “My hero.”
“What?” Lance says. “I didn’t catch that.”
Pidge raises her gaze and glares, because judging from the slight smirk playing around his lips he’s lying. “I said, my hero,” she grits out.
Lance grins and winks. “I serve at my lady’s command.”
She presses her lips together, suppressing a frustrated growl, as he finally unlocks and pushes the cell door open. He gestures her out with a flourish and says, “Your chariot awaits.”
Pidge steps out, a free woman again. She follows Lance out of the precinct, ignoring his colleagues’ calls and jeers, and once they’re outside she grabs the collar of his shirt and tugs him down.
She presses her lips to his, his hands rising to her waist automatically. He smiles into the kiss, a softer expression than the stupid smirk that drives her mad in all the best and worst ways. The touch steadies her heartbeat, her release from confinement a load off her mind, so when they part and he meets her eyes she pats his flushed cheek and tells him, “You’re lucky you look good in that uniform.”
