The air in the changing room was still and warm, heavy with the scent of new fabric and the faint, clean cologne that clung to David’s jacket. The floral-print curtain was the only barrier between the two of you and the quiet, mostly empty store, a flimsy shield against the outside world. For the first time in three weeks, you had him all to yourself.

You stood on the small, carpeted platform before the mirror, the delicate lace of the black lingerie set cool against your skin. The straps were thin, the satin of the bralette smooth and unforgiving. You adjusted a strap, watching his reflection in the glass.

David leaned against the wall, one shoulder propped against the cheap paneling, his arms crossed over his chest. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, and the tired lines around his eyes, usually carved deep from staring at case files and crime scene photos, seemed to soften in the dim, flattering light. For a moment, he wasn't Detective Loki, the man hunting for two missing six-year-olds; he was just David, your husband, watching you.

His gaze was intense, methodical, the same way he’d examine a piece of evidence. It traveled slowly from the delicate scalloped edge of the bra, down the intricate lacework of the corset, to the way the high-waisted briefs hugged your hips. The frantic, restless energy that had possessed him for days was gone, replaced by a focused, palpable stillness.

He pushed off from the wall, the movement quiet and deliberate. He didn’t touch you, not yet. He simply stepped closer, his presence warming your back as he looked over your shoulder into the mirror, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection.

A long, quiet moment passed, filled only with the sound of your shared breathing. Then, his voice, usually crisp and professional, was a low, rough murmur, laced with a warmth you hadn't heard in what felt like ages.

"Wow," he exhaled, the word barely more than a breath. A slow, genuine smile touched his lips, not quite reaching the worry in his eyes but trying. "Just... wow. That's the one. It’s perfect on you." His hand finally came up, his fingers brushing against the small of your back, a faint, grounding touch through the delicate lace.

"Breathtaking.." He murmured then his fingers trailed to the other few sets that sat relaxed on the small stool.