Hello, Are you still taking fic prompts? If so, then here's what I have in mind: Charity Bachelor Auction at SHSD. Abbie bids on Ichabod to spare him the indignity, and wins one week of his exclusive services to use as she pleases. Thanks!
It’s not too late at all! I love getting prompts!
“One hundred dollars!”
“I hear one hundred. Do I hear one fifty?”
“One fifty!”
Ichabod stood on the dais turning a shade of red that Abbie had never seen. She tried hard to hide her smile at his discomfort; after all, she was the reason that he even stood up there in the first place.
“In my day, we held balls and grand galas. We would sell clothing, baked goods and handmade crafts to raise funds for the war.” Ichabod leaned against a table in the archives tapping his fingers against its paper littered surface. “I appreciate the police force’s predicament but I cannot see how auctioning off my body and services for an entire week would help the cause.”
“Are you kidding me? A tall, dark and British drink of water like you? Women would pay at least a hundred bucks just to listen to you talk for a week. Not to mention, it’ll ingratiate us in Reyes eyes. We need to keep her on our good side going forward.” Abbie could see Ichabod weighing his options. If he was weighing his options, he was teetering towards acquiescing.
Abbie crossed the archives to stand opposite him at the table. Tilting her head and smiling at him, she watched as he took a deep breath and stilled his fingers. She got him! The head tilt always got him. “You are a lifesaver Crane!”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“You were going to. Wear something nice and try not to grimace too much. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty tomorrow night.”
Now, she stood in the crowd of party goers and eager inebriated women.
I could think of several things I’d have him do for me in a week.
Several things? Try several positions!
Abbie tried to block them out but she had been listening to conversations like this all night. The truth of the matter was that it bothered her; it bothered her a lot.
“Two hundred fifty!” The tiny brunette who’d mentioned positions shouted. Something about her made Abbie snarl in her direction. Who was she to bid two hundred and fifty dollars on her Ichabod? Her Ichabod? The realization that she wanted Crane to herself for a week hit her like a UFC fighter’s punch.
“Three hundred!”
Ichabod scanned the crowd, locking eyes with Abbie as if she was the only person in the room. He was happy that he was fetching such ridiculous sums of money for the police department, but he could hardly fathom going home with any of these women, particularly the petite woman who just bid on him. He could think of only one woman who he’d want to spend a week with.
“Four hundred!”
Between Ichabod staring at her and the drunk and desperate housewives around her, Abbie was about to do something she was sure she she’d regret when her next paycheck rolled around.
“One thousand dollars!” Gasps and silent whispers went around the room after Abbie placed her bid.
“One thousand dollars, going once. One thousand dollars, going twice? Sold to the beautiful Lieutenant Abbie Mills!” Abbie, head held high, walked up to Crane and pulled him off the dais.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I own your ass for a week and considering the amount I just threw down for you, you’re going to wish the Whore of Babylon over there had won the bid.
* * *
Day one:
Abbie could have gone easy on him but why should she? She’d assigned the task of completely cleaning and reorganizing the archives to Crane as his first day’s task. He went about it well enough. He didn’t like things out of order so though he had broken out into a sweat after an hour, he still hummed to himself as he went about obeying Abbie’s command. Sitting back, she admired how his shirt clung to his slick body and felt her pulse race.
“I need some fresh air. Keep working and I’ll be back.”
“Of course, lieutenant.”
This was a worse idea than she thought.
Day Two:
“Since I’ve barely spent any time at home in the last few weeks, the place needs a good spring cleaning. Tidy everything up and have dinner ready by six. I want shrimp alfredo, garlic bread and sautéed broccoli.” Abbie issued her orders over her shoulder as she headed to the door. She didn’t think she could handle watching Crane all day for a second day in a row. “There’s a cookbook with all of the recipes highlighted for you.”
“Whatever you need, lieutenant.”
When she returned home, the place was immaculate. It was spotless and the dinner was delicious. Ichabod barely touched his food. Instead, he watched Abbie take in her home and savor her meal. He thought to himself, this may have been her best idea ever.
Day Three:
It was her day off and even though she had a list of things that Crane could take care of for her, having him constantly around her, catering to her every whim was starting to wreck havoc on her subconscious. The dreams she had last night included him spoon feeding her dinner followed by consuming nothing but her body for dessert. When she woke up bathed in sweat and a dull throbbing between her legs, she called him to tell him he had the day off.
“Shall we reschedule whatever my tasks for the day are? After all Miss Mills, you did pay for seven days.”
“Fine!” Her nerves were frayed after her vivid and lurid dreams and were in no mood for his cheek. “I want you chop wood for three hours and then plant some flowers or something for the rest of the day.”
“Very well, lieutenant.”
The rest of the day, Abbie tried not to think about Ichabod shirtless and sweaty in the garden.
Day Four:
“What is your will today, lieutenant?”
Abbie sighed. She hadn’t slept a full night since the auction. As it was, she was barely able to look Ichabod in the eyes. Last night’s dreams included her being handcuffed to Crane’s bed while he spanked her. She’d woken up with her hands between her slick thighs. Without looking at him, she slid a pile of papers in his direction.
“File these. When you’re done, go home.”
“As you wish, lieutenant.”
There was a smug smirk on his face and his fingers gently brushed against hers as he grabbed the stack. Abbie was starting to think that he was purposely messing with her.
Day Five:
She couldn’t think straight anymore. She didn’t want to see Crane at all. He made it impossible for her to concentrate and considering her lack of sleep, the combination was beginning to prove too much for her. Before he could ask her what she wanted, she threw him her keys.
“Have my car cleaned and detailed and the oil changed. Drop it off back here no later than five.” She walked away from him, back straight and without a backward glance. She wondered if he could tell how tightly she was wound.
Day Six:
It had been an awful day. She kept putting off Crane’s calls partially to avoid hearing his deep timber purr over her skin and partially because the missing person’s case she had been working turned into a hostage situation. A standoff turned into a shoot out and the shoot out turned into an all out fight.
By the time everything was done, Abbie had knots on top of her knots and was positive she’d pulled a muscle.
“Is there anything I can do for you, lieutenant?”
“A message would be nice.” She said it off hand and absentmindedly. She wasn’t considering the implications. Before she knew it, Ichabod had her lying face down on his bed – fully clothed – as he kneaded and rubbed her aching back. It felt so good that she fell asleep. When she awoke, it was dark outside and Ichabod was curled on his side, snoring lightly next to her. His hand burned like fire on the curve of her hip and she imagined what it would feel like if he moved it up to cup her breast.
Crawling gently out of bed and tip toeing her way to her Jeep, she blew a sigh of relief that the week was almost over. She had one final task to give Crane and as she drove home, she thought of a fitting end to the week. All she had to do was put the plan in place.
Day Seven:
“And what would you have me do for you today, lieutenant?” Ichabod’s deep voice held a hint of mirth in it. A small laugh caught in his throat as he took in the image in front of him. Abbie stood in a matching pair of royal blue, lace underwear and bra, twirling her handcuffs on one finger and holding a can of whipped cream in the other.
“I’d have you finally put me out of my misery.”
“I thought you would never ask. Your wish is my command, Abbie.”
