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A Bear May Love a Fox	By : Io Category: G through L > Longmire Views: 2920 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The fandom of Longmire, including characters and locations, is owned by Craig Johnson. I share not in the profits. :-)

Chapter List
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Henry's breathing had returned to normal, but he hadn't moved from Cady's warm embrace, too comfortable and sated to do so. He knew reality would intrude momentarily, but for now, the closeness of her body and the silence of the night kept it at bay. He couldn't remember when he'd surrendered so completely to passion, always before priding himself on his self-control. But something in Cady had shattered that, and Henry didn't know what to do about it.
Slowly, he raised his head and looked down at her.
Her sloe eyes were slumberous when she opened them to meet his gaze, and a small, mysterious smile played across her lips. Wordlessly, he bent his head and kissed her tenderly, reveling in the soft moon-petal silk of her lips and tongue. For tonight, at least, he was through resisting her. For tonight, she was his.
“Henry?” Walt's voice came from the bar, and Henry and Cady stared at each other in disbelief for a split second before both reacted immediately and swiftly. Henry moved off her, and she stifled a groan as his thick shaft withdrew from her swollen channel. Cady picked up as many of her clothes as she could find and bolted for the adjoining bathroom to Henry's office, and Henry pulled up his pants. As he did so, he noticed a wet spot on the couch where their bodies had been joined. Quickly, he pulled out his handkerchief, thanking any and all spirits that he had placed a clean one in his pocket, and wiped away the evidence of their lust, then stuffed it back in his jeans.
“Henry, are you here?” Walt's voice was closer, and Henry found his shirt, hurriedly donning it and buttoning a few buttons, then seating himself at the chair behind his desk.
“Walt, is that you?” he called, putting his glasses on his face and picking up a pen, pretending to read some sort of report.
“Henry.” Walt stood in the doorway and took in the scene. Something was not quite right here, but nothing seemed out of place.
“Walt, it is very late,” he said. “What is the matter?”
“I've just come from a cattle rustling stakeout. You haven't heard from Branch, have you?”
Walt's lanky frame seemed to take up more than its fair share in Henry's office. Maintaining his façade of calm, he replied, “Why would your deputy contact me?”
The sheriff walked in and sat down on the sofa on which Henry had just lain naked with Walt's daughter. Henry's heart rate shot sky high, but years of practicing stoicism were paying in full right now. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry noticed the pale pink and white of Cady's bra behind a leg of the leather sofa. Quickly, he moved his eyes away and planted them back on Walt, praying that his oldest friend didn't notice the scrap of lace.
“He wouldn't, necessarily,” Walt was saying. “But I haven't heard from him for several days. Last time he disappeared like this...well, you remember what happened.”
“Do you wish me to track him?”
“Not yet,” Walt said. “But I'd appreciate it if you'd be on standby.”
“Of course, Walt.”
When Walt made no move to leave, Henry said, “Was there anything else?”
Walt exhaled deeply. “I'm a little worried about Cady,” he said.
Henry stopped breathing for a moment, then carefully exhaled. He was painfully aware of Cady's presence in the bathroom adjacent.
“What is the matter?” he asked in practiced casualness.
“I'm not sure,” Walt said. “Could you just keep an eye on her?”
“She is an adult, Walter,” Henry said mildly. He knew intimately now just how grown-up she was.
“I know that,” Walt admitted. “I just...haven't been there enough for her. I should know what's going on in her life.”
No, Henry thought. You really shouldn't. Not right this very moment.
“You could always ask her,” Henry replied. “She does love you very much.”
Walt nodded. “Just let me know what you see.”
“I cannot guarantee I will be able to report anything, but I will watch over her.”
Walt seemed to be satisfied with that and nodded. Regarding Henry, thoughtfully, he said, “Henry, can I ask why your shirt looks like you let a blind three-year-old button it?”
Slowly, Henry looked down and noticed that his shirt was indeed hopelessly twisted. He sighed. “Well, Walt,” he said. “I did not want to tell you this just yet because I was not sure how you would react, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you.”
“What's going on, Henry?” Walt asked, his tone very serious.
“Well,” Henry started. “When you came in tonight, I was...” he paused.
“You were what?”
Henry let out a slow breath.
“I was doing yoga.”
Walt stared him, his face expressionless. “Yoga.”
Henry nodded. “I often do after I close the bar. It helps me relax from the noise and center my focus.”
Still no change of expression from Walt. “Yoga,” he repeated.
“I like to practice without my shirt on. When you came in tonight, I was in the middle of a downward dog. I did not think you would understand, so I buttoned the shirt rather hastily and missed a few in the process.”
Walt was silent for a moment, then said. “You practice yoga in your office late at night. Shirtless. But wearing your jeans.”
Goddamn it, Walt.
“The constriction of the fabric helps to...strengthen my core.”
Walt's scrutiny was like a spotlight from a prison tower. After a full minute that seemed to Henry to be an eternity, Walt's eyes brightened and he let out a low chuckle.
“Henry, damn if you don't surprise me even after almost forty years of friendship.” He rose and made his way to the office door. “That would also explain why your hair looks like you've been standing on your head – it's because you have.” Walt snorted. “All right, Henry, I'll leave you to your, uh, down boys.”
“Downward dog,” Henry corrected him.
“Sure,” Walt conceded. “Just remember to keep an eye on Cady for me.”
“Good night, Walt,” Henry said.
Only when he heard Walt's truck cough to life and make its way down the road did Henry breathe a long, deep sigh of relief.
He rose and knocked on the bathroom door. “All right, Cady. Your father is gone.”
Slowly, the bathroom door opened. Cady emerged from the tiny cubicle, dressed and refreshed. She looked beautiful, and Henry's chest swelled at the memory of what had just passed between them. She smiled at him, and relief that there was no regret in her eyes swept through Henry, followed by intense guilt for what he had allowed to happen.
“I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I heard his voice,” she said, her eyes dancing with mirth.
“I think I actually might have had one,” Henry said wryly. “It was a close call.” He took a breath, steeling himself for what he had to say. “I was also a reminder that what we just did was-”
“Don't you dare say what we just did was wrong,” she interrupted flatly. “You felt it, too. The rightness of it. When we came together it was like a puzzle completing itself.”
Henry swallowed, unable to deny that that was exactly how it had felt to him.
“That may be, but our first instinct was to hide it from your father,” he said.
“Well, of course we did! It's embarrassing have your dad walk in on you naked with-”
“His best friend,” he finished for her quietly.
She had no answer for that.
“Cady, I just lied to my best friend, an honest and good man who loves you more than his own life. That is not something I wish to do ever again.”
“So what do we do?” she asked, a little deflated.
It nearly killed him to say, “We pretend it did not happen.”
“Not an option,” she said.
“Cady-” he began.
“It very definitely did happen, Henry. I know, now. Before, for years, I had only ever imagined, but now I know. I know that you taste fresh and crisp, like a tart apple. I know that your hands are even stronger than they look, and I know how they feel against my skin. I know what it is to have you inside me, stretching me and filling me in a way that made me realize how incomplete I'd been before. I know the sound you make when you come, and the vulnerable way you lie in my arms after you do. And I know the way your eyes heat up when they look at me, like they're looking at me now. It happened, Henry, and you're fooling yourself if you think it's not going to happen again.”
He watched her unblinkingly while she spoke, his teeth clenched, his breathing uneven as he relived their lovemaking with her. After a tense moment, he spoke.
“One should never sleep with a lawyer,” he avowed drily.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a wide grin. “That's right, Henry. We always win.”
“Do you keep closing arguments like that in your back pocket?”
“Always,” she said without hesitation.
He sighed, then took a first shaky step toward giving in.
“Will you promise me we can keep this a secret until I find a way to tell your father? Preferably when he is unarmed.”
She watched him for a moment, then yielded, knowing she had won this round. Telling people could wait for a while, though she wanted to shout it from the rooftop of the courthouse downtown.
“All right, Henry. I promise.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, and she did too.
“By the way,” Henry said, “your brassiere is under the couch.”
“Oh, god, did he see it?”
“I do not think so.”
“Could he sense anything?”
“I believe he sensed something, but could not put his finger on it.”
Cady laughed then, noticing his haphazardly-buttoned shirt.
“Did he notice this?” she said, coming forward and deftly unbuttoning his shirt to straighten it.
Henry was not about to tell her the yoga story. Not yet. “If he did, he did not say,” he invented vaguely. Her nearness was undoing him again.
As if she heard his thoughts, she slid her hands under his open shirt and caressed his chest, her thumbs lightly stroking over his flat nipples. His breath caught at the gentle stimulation.
“Your skin is like caramel,” she said, and tilted her head up and planted a tender kiss on his jaw. He bent his head and took her mouth, loving her softness, gathering her close. He could feel the beating of her heart against his, and something in him eased as her arms twined around him. He couldn't let himself feel joy, not yet, but a certain lightness came over him, and he suddenly felt like he could fly if someone asked it of him.
But all Cady asked was, “Can you do it again?” Her hand caressed the bulge in the front of his jeans and he groaned into her mouth.
In answer, he lifted her onto his desk and pushed her down onto her back, then came between her open legs. Shrugging out of his shirt for the second time that night, he said, “I have wanted to conduct a particular scientific experiment with you for quite some time.”
“Oh?” she asked, suddenly breathless.
He unzipped her jeans and pulled them down and off while she wriggled happily out of her top. Just as before, he stood over her and stared, taking in her nude body, her smile, her openness. Slowly, he reached down and covered her sex with his hand, his thumb gently probing her wet heat.
“Hypothesis:” He stated. His thumb found the smooth nub of her clitoris, and in so doing wrung a gasp from Cady. “I can bring you to climax at least five times before sunrise.”
The actual number, as it turned out under his expert ministrations, was eight.
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A Bear May Love a Fox