Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize…

A/N: Just a short little thing for this cold, gloom Sunday. Hope you are all feeling better than me. Oh, and look, I managed to forge some kind of plot again.

Tell me what you think!

Kono is in her office, looking through all the information they have on their recent case. She tugs at the hem of her sundress in annoyance, already regretting that she chose to wear it in the first place but the heat is almost unbearable lately and the thin material is the only thing that keeps her from ditching work and just throw herself into the ocean.

She taps the pen against her mouth. Something feels off. Unprofessional though it is, sometimes even she is reduced to instinctive reactions, a quiver in her belly that is absolutely not the force, like her idiotic husband keeps joking. Just... something wrong. Although this isn't doom, really. Just... wrong. Not right.

Off.

"How did you come up with this?" Kono asks as the door opens. "This, right here is - gah!"

It isn't Danny. Also, the door is now very locked and suddenly it's a lot darker in the room. Isn't it a good thing that her office has blinds?

"Did something happen?" she asks. "Steve? Is there a problem?"

Steve, shoulders back like a bull before a charge, advances on her. He doesn't say anything but she has become far more adept at reading expressions - well, okay, his expressions - and that tight mouth usually means bad things. His eyes, though, they aren't the narrow masks of purpose she's used to in bad situations, when he retreats behind his rank, behind the skilsl she sometimes forgets he has. His eyes burn, blue flame that crackles and flares until she's blinded, because that isn't a bad sign at all.

That's - well. That's a sign, definitely.

The tiebreaker will have to be the powerful way he moves towards her - and then moves her. Kono squeaks, too surprised for more, as he hooks her underneath her armpits, hauling her up and onto the edge of her desk.

The edge of her desk?

Legs dangling like a little kid's, she stares at her husband. She has no idea what the hell is going on, a situation she hates. He knows she hates it.

"Steve," she snaps, "you're scaring me. Stop it. I hate when you do that. It means terrible things, usually, and we just had a very bad week so I would like no terrible things for maybe five whole minutes and oh, my god."

He is on his knees, now. He's still looking at her even though her dress gets in the way for a moment, when he flips it up.

"Oh, my god."

The sound of ripping cotton fills the air. Good thing she wore the boring kind, she thinks with only a little hysteria. Steve's gaze is so focused, hungry and demanding as - as his mouth is, the moment he touches it to her.

"Oh, my god."

He's relentless. Lips and tongue attack her center, licking over and over. She has a brief, actually hysterical thought of Steve puffing on a gasoline hose, trying to make it fountain liquid. Which makes her a canister of gas, so no, except she does fountain for him, getting wet so fast it leaves her breathless. "Steve," she gasps, moans drawing his name out to something long, snaky and thick.

Like the fingers he slides into her, cruelly curving at the tip to rub fireworks into her vision.

She cries out, legs tightening around his ears. He hates that, normally, complaining that he can't see if she's trying to suffocate him to death. There's a whole comedy routine that follows, too. If only she could remember it. Remember...anything.

"God," she whispers. "Oh, God, Steve."

She pulls his hair, kicks his back, and calls him all sorts of broken names. None of it makes a dent, though, as he licks and sucks at her clit, fingering her a furious pace in tandem. In rhythm, even, a usual event that she can't even comment on. She can't talk, can't think, as he spurs heat in a tight, needy ball between her hips, robbing her of breath the way he robs her of loneliness, of uncertainty, and beds that are always cold.

She never once says no, she's not in the mood. There are no headaches between them. Need is cruel, a cracked whip that spurs them to always want when the other does, when they do, a whole that she thinks she will never understand. Like the irresistible force paradox, a pipe dream to explain the unexplainable.

Slowly, she stops worrying about finding it.

Slowly, Steve licks her from ass to clit, then again. His eyes are locked on hers, now. Still demanding, still so hungry that her warning shakes provide no warning at all. She's drowning in that gaze, the way he works her hard and fast.

Orgasm leaves her blind, biting her own wrist around a scream.

There's no chance to calm down. Still twitching from aftershocks, he stands. Strips - or rather, shoves pants and underwear down long enough that his cock can rise up, thick and proud. She gets only a second to admire it before he slams into her.

It's a rut, by now. Hard, fast, penetrating thrusts that make her scream again, blood salty against her tongue. She clutches at his shoulders, trying to hitch herself closer to find that magic angle -

"Fuck," he hisses in her ear. "Fuck, Kono, baby."

She contracts, demanding in her own right. "Yeah." Panting, eager, she locks her legs behind his ass and bites his mouth instead of her wrist. "Come on."

And he does. So immediately it's like she ordered it, even if human bodies don't work that way. He comes hard, scraping his mouth along her cheek to find hers, kissing and kissing and kissing her while his orgasm spurs a second one for her and they knot together in a gasping, surging whole.

"So." The panties are a complete loss. There's an unopened package in her locker, though. She'll try to get them once she can move.

Maybe next century.

"So?" Steve's voice always sounds smoother after sex, all the edges sanded away. "So what?"

"So what brought that on, maybe?" she asks. "Not that I'm saying no to afternoon sex, but you usually call first."

"Do I - "

"Don't be stupid."

"That's what I thought."

"You thought you could be a smug male and not tell me why you barged in here to have your wicked way with me?"

The grin starts small. Steve prefers half-smiles and closed-mouths echos of happiness and pleasure, especially when they're in public. Despite the door that hid nothing of their escapes, because Kono hears about how it doesn't after every 'escape', this isn't public.

So that twisted little grin grows ivy-fast, lips parting to show gleaming white teeth and the kind of crazy, bizarrely innocent joy that she never thought he was capable of, back when he was the newest in a long line of annoying guys.

"You know," she says, her own grin just as wild, just as euphoric. "I was going to wait so I could show it in private."

'It' being the ultrasound photo she got earlier today from the doc who examined her after she fainted at the hospital while talking to a witness. The photo Danny – who'd unfortunately been with her – swore up and down he absolutely not gonna talk about to Steve.

She's going to kill him. Then make Steve to hide the body in a pineapple field.

Speaking of Steve, the grin gets even more blinding as he rolls on top of her. It's not much of a pounce, but she laughs and feels pounced as kisses her soundly.

"Suddenly feel the need to take the afternoon off," he drawls. "How about you?"

"Sound's like a plan." She kisses the corner of his mouth as he curls his fingers around her flat stomach, eyes suddenly going soft.

"We're having a baby." Steve mumbles in astonishment.

"Yeah," Kono places her hand on top of his, squeezing lightly. "Yeah, we are."