House Arrest (17/35) – WMC fic

(12/25 – Cindy’s POV)

Christmas morning was so quiet that Cindy thought, once again, she might be waking to an empty apartment. At the very least, she expected to be alone in the living room. But Lindsay was right there, leaning against the back of the sofa, gazing out the window. Cindy could barely see her profile, but enough to see the hint of a smile on her face.

“What are you looking at?”

Lindsay looked over her shoulder with a smile that made Cindy’s stomach flip in the best kind of way.

“It just looks cold. I actually thought it might snow.”

“Did you forget where you are?” Cindy asked, stretching.

Lindsay laughed and stood up.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Lindsay walked off into the kitchen and Cindy sat up on the sofa. When Lindsay returned a minute later, she put the coffees down on the table, grabbed the remote and sat down next to Cindy. She turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, stopping on something that looked Christmas themed.

“What is this?”

Lindsay gave her a look halfway between astonishment and disgust.

“A Christmas Story. Please tell me you’ve seen it.”

Cindy shook her head.

“That’s it. I’m calling children’s services right now.”

“Little late,” Cindy laughed. “Besides, I think my parents did all right.”

“That’s true, I guess,” Lindsay said, and though she had made sure to say it grudgingly, Cindy still felt a pleasant flush. “Well, now you won’t have to say you’ve never seen it again. Though, I warn you now. That coffee is coming out your nose.”

Lindsay crossed her legs and pulled part of Cindy’s blanket over her lap. And for the next two hours, that’s where they stayed, sitting perfectly still, watching the movie, save for a brief pausing of the Tivo for Cindy to go to the bathroom, and not in order. They started in the middle, but Lindsay assured her it would play again immediately after, which it did.

The last forty minutes, though, (which were actually a mid-forty minutes) were completely lost to Cindy, because when she had gotten up to go to the bathroom, inspiration had struck. Upon her return to the sofa, she sat down closer to Lindsay, and when she folded her leg up under her, as foreseen in a wicked flight of fancy she’d had while washing her hands, her thigh ended up resting right against Lindsay’s.

Knowing Lindsay, she anticipated maybe five minutes of the feeling, the warmth against her leg, the lovely tingle that settled over her entire lower body. After all, Lindsay wasn’t exactly touchy-feely. She had a thing about her personal space. If Cindy had known that Lindsay wasn’t going to move, and that they would end up sitting that way for forty minutes, leaving her completely unable to concentrate on anything but the tingles, the heat and the feel of Lindsay, even through two layers of pajama pants, she might have rethought the whole thing. Oh who was she kidding? Lindsay might be unattainable, but she would take what she could get.

She only knew that they had caught up to their starting point in the movie when Lindsay turned the TV off and rested her arm on the back of the sofa, not touching her, but around enough to make her light-headed.

“What’d ya think?”Lindsay asked.

Cindy struggled to form thoughts. TV… movie… comedy… funny. Ding ding ding.

“It was funny,” she answered, hoping her lack of laughter for the past forty minutes didn’t give her away.

“Yeah, it always is,” Lindsay said softly. “So, now what?”

Cindy glanced over at her and immediately regretted it. Lindsay was laid back against the cushions. She looked completely relaxed and open, her hair was all mussed, and her unwavering gaze was locked on Cindy. It wasn’t just a vision. It was a fantasy vision.

Cindy blamed the combination of that visual, the heat, and the lack of oxygen to her brain on the first answer her mind produced to Lindsay’s question. She looked away and grasped for something, anything, that could divert her from her current line of thought. It took some time, but finally she came up with something.

“Presents?”