thank god fish aren't into cash...

"I know, I know, the case had me all tied up, I'm so sorry, baby, lemme come over there and..."

He starts crawling, hoping his smile will break down your walls. You stop him with a foot to the shoulder before he can get where he wants to be. Damn.

"Stay."

He stays, whining. As your foot digs into him, he realises you're wearing a new pair of boots. The taste of leather really does something for him - the smell of it used to, too - and it sends a pang of arousal to his already-interested cock.

“Seems like you’ve been working the case a lot recently.”

“It’s my job, baby. Gotta do it so I can buy you nice things. Like, uhh, did I get you those boots?”

“Yeah, kinda. Took the cash from your wallet and went to the store today. Like ‘em?”

“They look pretty good on you.” An understatement. He wants you to kick him with them. In a sex way.

“There’s something I want you to do for me.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to take a break from the case for ten minutes and help me get these nice and clean.”

“Okay, sure,” he glances around, “have you got a rag, or an old shirt, or…?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want you to use your tongue.”

Oh. He pops a boner so hard he almost passes out again. You notice, and snort.

“Aww, getting worked up just from the idea of being useful to me, baby? It’s okay, if you do a good job, we’ll see if you can earn a reward.”

You trail your foot down his chest and land on his groin. When you press your toes into his dick, the noise he makes is more animal than human.

“Off you go.”

He takes your heel in his hands and raises it until the leather is right in his face, driving him crazy. Your eyes shine with delight as you see his wet pink tongue dart out and lick.

“Ohh fu-u-u-ck…” he chokes out, lingering on every forced syllable. The heaviness of it in his mouth is downright filthy. All smoke and earthiness and sex. When he licks again it’s with far more gusto and he soon finds a rhythm as he buries himself in his work. He’s aware his dick is creating a dark stain in the front of his blue suit but he can’t really bring himself to care. No, he doesn’t give a shit that he’s straining in his pants just because he’s licking your fucking boots clean.

“Good boy, Holland,” you mutter and he nearly chokes. He ups his pace, tongue exploring every stitch where the leather has been carefully fastened together. Every now and then he gets a scratch of lace, too, making his tongue a little sorer. When the surface is all shiny with spit he reaches for the other one without thinking and continues the job you’ve set him, even though his mouth is getting dry and his cock is leaking like a faucet.

Eventually he’s done, reverently placing your foot back flat on the ground. His brain is fuzzy. His tastebuds are choked with you. He’s the hardest he’s been in years.

You look down at him like he’s the only thing in your whole universe worth loving and he never, ever wants to be looked at any other way.

“You can finish, honey,” you whisper, bringing your foot carefully back up to his cock. He manages a few pathetic bucks of his hips before he comes in his pants and actually collapses on the floor.

And then you’re there too, dropping to your knees and crawling over, all kisses and coos and pets. He loves being near you so much. Loves it when you tell him how good he did and how impressed you are. Your hands are at his belt and though he’s sensitive he lifts his hips so you can slide his pants down.

“Now I’ll clean you up, okay baby? I’ll use my tongue too.”

Hollands wife cradles his face between her hands and these lyrics are what she says to him as the two of them stand in the middle of the house engulfed in flames-

------

Holland stood there frozen, mouth frantically opening and closing trying say something, anything but the words never came. He stumbles forward, reaching out for one last touch as she slips into the fire with tears in her eyes. His memory of her slowly fades away and the flames quickly consumed him.

He shot straight up in bed, crying out her name as his hands frantically searched the sheets for purchase.

It happened again... the nightmares haunted him never ending like some cruel twisted joke and on this night it seemingly hit him worse than the last. You quickly grab his hand, cold and clammy, and he freezes. His head whips around and locks eyes with you in a panic, scared out of his mind.

"Oh, honey... come here-"

Hollands eyes widen. For a split second he heard his wife's voice in your own but was soon grounded back to reality the moment you pulled him in and felt the warmth of your body.

Holland felt at home in your arms.

His body begins to shake, babbling and sobbing about what had just happened into the crook of your neck. He hates the thought of you seeing him like this, "weak & pathetic." His word, not yours of course, you never saw him that way as the pain of losing someone dear was a subject that was not foreign to you. Grief truly never goes away, it always lays dormant and just like tonight, can quickly rear its head with a force like no other when you least expect it.

There was no fight, no divorce, no "I'm sorry's" and ultimately- no closure. She died tragically and Holland still blamed himself to this day, the what-ifs perpetually clinging around his neck like a noose.

Gently scratching his scalp, you coo, running your fingers back and fourth slowly through his hair until he fell back asleep. Hollands arm wrapped around you tightly even though he was now fast asleep; his body subconsciously afraid you'll slip away from him into the flames too.

Moonlight slipped past the blinds painting your bodies in stripes as you trace your fingertips in circles across his back, an action more soothing to yourself at this point as quiet snores now rumble low in his chest.

As you tilt your head to check on him a glint catches your eye -

His wedding band.

Holland never wanted to admit that he sees a little of her in you every time you smile; the way your eyes sparkle as you laugh and shake your head at his cheesy jokes just like she did. He skirted around the thought and didn't want to make it uncomfortable for you but you knew, never having the heart to tell him.

The way you noticed his hand absently fiddle around with the precious band clinging around his neck every time he watched you smile, or the moment you saw his eyes swell with tears as you slipped her ring on your finger after you found it in the nightstand, thinking it was for you, and it fit perfectly.

Out of respect for his memory of her you choose to leave it for him to bring up those feelings on his own terms- if that day ever comes that is- but you don't mind waiting. Love requires patience too, after all.

Love- you smiled to yourself- I love him very much...