“Cheating?” he raised both of his eyebrows at her, questioning the assertion with little more than one word and a load of body language.  He recalled the moment where her hair formed a veil for any nefarious deeds that might have been done, and the pressure of her body on top of his, but apparently that was not classified as cheating.  He smirked, knowing that at times he could have a stronger resolve than her, but perhaps it was because of the ten-some-odd years she spent in mourning, basically holing herself up in a personal nunnery.

Archer had done well to get rid of that, for sure.  It was really cramping the idea of actually getting things going and now that the temperature was steadily rising, it was such a buzz kill when she threw verbal ice water on the fire.  Granted, it was now becoming a game, so her declaration didn’t mean much.  He just had to step-up the game. 

So, as she shifted, Archer also moved, placing his hands on the protrusion of her hip bones, wishing that she would showcase them more – the woman had a body that could not be appropriately appreciated in her usual garb.  If he were more adept at figuring out the balance between what she would actually wear and what he would like to see her in, he’d buy her something, but the last time he had tried, it ended up shoved in the back of a drawer.  Hopefully his request to at least see it on his birthday would hold up. 

Hopefully he would actually be around for his birthday.  It was a morbid though, but the business wasn’t exactly one where you could count on months.  Archer didn’t forsee any immediate dangers, but as he got further and further into the details of his own case, looking at other cases, and drawing connections, he did not foresee a very safe future.  He didn’t voice any of these concerns; however, as that would totally kill any chance he would have at saving himself from a night in front of the door, rather than in a comfortable, albeit slightly undersized for two people, bed. 

Shrugging his shoulders at her suggestion that he was being starved, Archer tried not to jostle too much, though the roguish grin on his face was more than a clue that he was not perturbed.  “I’ll be fairly full on other things, I’m sure.  Besides, bottom drawer of my desk is a stockpile,” he chuckled – of course this was not entirely true.  It was not the bottom drawer, it was the second drawer on the left side, as that was generally the last place anyone looked for anything and the miniature stockpile of Honeydukes goods suited him well during late nights, and when he knew he would be coming back to a house completely containing bunny food.

Responding rather positively to the stolen kiss, Archer’s grin became wider and more nefarious as the minutes passed.  He was still not getting exactly what he wanted, but her provocative statement gave him a glimmer of hope though, and Archer readjusted again, removing his hands from her waist and taking her arms around his neck, securing them with a wink, “As much as I love the floor,” he lifted his knees, her on his lap still – thank Merlin she was small or this would have been impossible, “I think the couch is a better option,” and he slid up the back, depositing himself and Tamis onto the couch cushions. 

He gripped her close and leaned his lips against her collar bone, breathing hotly onto the bone he could just barely feel.  If he were not so self-controlled he would have approached the situation with much more fervor, and instead, after taking a few moments, Archer leaned back into the plush cushion, closing his eyes, and yawned loudly, “Suddenly, I’m feeling less than energized… tired even,” he cracked one eye open to see her reaction, “I think I need some inspiration…”

“I know what drawer it is,” she replied, smugly. The two of them had co-existed for many years in their not-so-subtle warfare before she became Head of the Aurors. Even after they had become less hostile to each other some elements were simply the foundation of their interactions. She had raided, snooped though, and rigged his desk on more than one occasion in those first ten years on the force.

One of her eyebrows lifted as Archer shifted, securing her hands around the back of his neck. Her grip tightened when he suddenly lifted both of them and utilized the couch in a more traditional fashion. Well. In terms of actually sitting on it, that was. She might have commented on the manhandling but he kept her mind occupied elsewhere.

His breath warmed more than just her neck as he settled his mouth on the bony prominence below her neck. He pulled her closer, erasing the scant distance that had still separated them and took whatever hesitance she was feeling with it. It was more than slightly irritating that he could do that. It was partially in part that, after such emotionally taxing turmoil, there was some comfort to be had in the physical closeness. She knew it had more to do with the fact that the man knew just what buttons to push. What was worse was that he knew that he knew it, too.

He also picked the most inopportune times to become an arse, she wisely decided when he leaned back against the couch and away from her.

Tired? She had several indications that proved otherwise. He peeked an eye open at her to gauge her reaction. Ah huh. If that was the way that he wanted to play it… game on. Inspiration? He was really pushing it.

“That is too bad,” she lamented, working on the first several buttons of his shirt. She smoothed down the lapels to the sides, “that you tire so easily.”  She ran her hands along his exposed chest, “a true shame,” and leaned down to brush her lips against a close-call scar. … Then she sat up and gave him a much less romantic, much more platonic, pat on the chest. “Big day ahead. You should get some sleep,” she said pleasantly.

With that, she removed herself from his lap, working her way around the back of the couch. “Good night,” she called back, a small victorious smirk on her lips.