Punchline

Jude paced in her chambers, fingers tugging at her bottom lip. She was a nervous wreck. What if something happens? What if he gets caught? What if one of these loonies decides to climb their cell door and get their dick stuck in the grating again? Then he'll have to go take care of that situation and there won't be any -

[knock knock] Quietly. Subtle. Like they'd discussed. The coast was clear.

Her door was unlocked, anticipating his arrival. She opened it swiftly, a whisper in the recently-oiled hinges. He was a shadow in a darkened hallway, looking right and left, ever vigilant.

She couldn't contain a sinful grin. "Hey." Tugged him in by his sleeve.

"Jude," He hissed. "We can't keep meeting this way." But he chuckled.

She swatted his arm, salivating. "Hush, Frank. Did ya get 'em?"

"Yeah, yeah...of course I got 'em. Nice and cold too." He dug in his deep pockets. "Hid 'em in the meat locker all day." Two frosty Cheerwines in his hands.

"Oh, God bless ya!" She grabbed one.

Frank was at her desk, popping his top against the cherry wood. "Ya need me ta -" She popped her top, too - like he'd taught her a week earlier. "Well, look at you," he whistled. "Ya won't be needin' your salty old security guard anymore now, will ya?"

Jude held up a finger, indicating she had a response, but she was busily drinking the deep red concoction encased in contraband glass bottle. Frank blushed a little, grateful for the low lighting in her chambers.

They'd done this a few times, now - met for sodas. And he should have been used to it by now. The way her blonde curls gleamed. The motion in her neck as she drank. Her wet lips when she licked them, satisfied.

She certainly seemed used to him, anyway. Obviously comfortable enough to tiptoe around barefoot in her nightgown when he visited. But, he supposed...surely she wouldn't see him the way he saw her. She was a woman of the cloth, after all. A devoted sister.

Who just happened to have legs as long at the Tobin Bridge. He could see the shadow of them through the pure white of her long gown, especially by the firelight. He could see a lot of shadows through that long gown. And they were all very nice.

Or very bad. He chastised himself, sipping soda. Couldn't argue those brown eyes, though. Those were gorgeous. And that megawatt smile... He would sneak her sodas to the end of time to bask in that big smile.

Finally, she lowered the bottle. He waited for the lick, then the deep breath. "Damn, that's good, Frank." She covered a ladylike belch, still giggling after, and his heart melted...again.

"Always, Jude." He sipped. Avoided her eyes when she studied him a little more closely than usual.

Something was off tonight. She cocked her head, eyeing him suspiciously. Her favorite employee was...not his usual self. His dashing smile was a little more pensive tonight. His grey-blue eyes more grey than blue. Less twinkle. More looking away.

She approached her desk where he leaned, put a hand (cold from the soda bottle) against his arm. "Y'alright, Frank?"

"Hm?" He finally met her eyes - for only a moment. "Yeah, of course. Everything's fine."

But no, something definitely bothered the handsome widower. She didn't like it. "Ya aren't getting worried about these sodas, are ya?" She reassured him. "I put the bottles in the contraband drawer. I've been telling the Monsignor that they're confiscated. He doesn't care, Frank! I mean, honestly, in the grand scheme of things -"