DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.
A/N: No flipping idea where this came from. Don't overthink it timeline-wise, just go with it – I did.
DEDICATION: If you don't know who you are by now…
LAST NOTE: If you are not 18, please go read something else. If you are over 18, let me know if you enjoyed this – after the cold shower.
Need You Tonight
He smelled of stale sweat, fading aftershave and coffee spilled on his shirt. His breath reeked with Scotch. His chin was dark from two days' growth of hair. His face was pale, tight, the flesh drawn in upon the bones.
But it was his eyes that cut me to the center of my soul. Those deep, beguiling, blue eyes could always do that to me.
I almost didn't open the door to his knock. I knew it would be him. After the day's fallout there was no way he'd keep his distance. I didn't know what he'd say. I think I wanted him to rant, to blame me, to vent his anger, frustration and disappointment for once and for all.
Instead he looked at me with those eyes. Even though the peephole I could see them. And I was lost.
Haggard, exhausted, he nearly tumbled through the door. Instinct made me reach out for him, to steady him, as if the last year hadn't happened, as if we could just go back to how it once was. I should have known better. I probably did know better.
But this was Woody. This was the man I've loved longer than I care to admit, the one I've hurt in more ways than I care to count, the one who's managed to hurt me a few times, too.
The moment my hands touched him, I felt the bunch of his biceps under my fingers as he reached for me in the same motion. Then my hands were on his chest and his arms were around me, pulling me to him while his body pushed into the apartment. I felt more than saw or heard him kick the door shut and then his mouth was on mine. A second of hesitation flared within me, but never truly drew breath. His breath washed over my ear, his words sent hot shivers down my spine, straight to the center of my body. "Want you, Jordan. Want to fuck you."
It was crude and base, but after everything that had happened, it was the only thing that could be between us. It was also exactly what I wanted, needed even, from him. Something uncomplicated, primal but satisfying, a visceral reminder of what it meant to be alive.
Before I could respond his lips took possession of mine again, his tongue skating along them, insisting on being granted entrance. Mewling slightly, I opened my mouth for him, felt the invasive sweep of his tongue as he tasted me. His own taste of Scotch and some ineffective mouthwash served only to make me groan and nearly buckle my knees.
Frustrated at our progress toward my bed, his arms tightened around me and he lifted me off the floor, bearing me blindly toward the mattress even as his mouth continued to plunder mine. I groaned softly when he broke away, panting heavily and setting me down, my knees against the bed.
Still mute, he reached for the hem of my t-shirt and tugged the garment off me before my spinning head could catch up. His own tie and button-down followed quickly. I fumbled for the button on my jeans only to find his fingers faster, almost rough, in a delicious way. There was no finesse in him as he stripped me, nor did he slow down when he divested himself of his own clothing.
I reached for him, but he blocked me again, catching my hands in one of his, steadying me while his free hand slipped between my thighs. I gasped at the feel of his fingers against me, seeking a specific target. He dragged his index finger along the sensitive bundle of nerves he'd been seeking and this time I did buckle into him, gasping his name, my eyes closing. I gave a strangled cry when that same finger pushed into me, penetrating deeply, stroking in and out smoothly, teasingly. I was shocked to hear myself whimper. "Woody."
"God, you're wet," he murmured into my hair, his voice as raspy as his face against my cheek. I could feel him grin as his words provoked a shudder in my body. Then we were falling backwards, hitting the bed with small exhalations of sound. Without preamble he was over me, guiding himself into me, making me cry out with the feel of him. He stilled for a moment. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, his eyes dark, unreadable for once. He dipped his mouth to my ear. "Next time I'll make love to you, Jo. That's not what this is about though."
Caught in his gaze, I shook my head. "Fuck me, Woody," I whispered.
Grunting, his quadriceps bunching, he pulled out and then pushed back in, seating him to the hilt in my willing body. I arched into him, locking my heels around his back. He buried one hand in my hair, tangling his fingers in the dark strands, trapping my head where he wanted it. His mouth descended on mine again, his lips aggressive, hard even as they possessed mine. Moving rhythmically and strongly inside me, his body quickly pulled mine toward the brink.
I could hear myself breathing heavily, making small sounds, the nonsense syllables begging implicitly for release. As if he understood with perfect clarity – which he may well have – he reached between us, stroking the apex of my sex again, flicking, pinching lightly, pressing until I was falling apart in his arms, calling his name over and over. His heat and length within me, hitting exactly the right place time and time again, and the movement of his finger prolonged the pleasure until I felt wrung out with it. It wasn't until I went limp beneath him that he seemed content to let my body come down from its high and to allow himself his own pleasure. I couldn't keep from murmuring a soft "Oh!" when I felt him pulse inside me. Nor could I stop myself from clinging to him, one hand tugging at his short, dark hair, the other digging its nails into his back.
He collapsed on me, his elbows bent enough to keep all of his weight off me. I relished the feel of him though, heavy, solid, hot pushing my body into the mattress. His breath, as rapid as mine, flowed over my face until he dipped his head to the curve where my neck and shoulder joined. If I thought he had exhausted whatever deep urge had brought him here, had driven him to possess me, I was wrong. His mouth fastened on the skin he found and he sucked, marking me, branding me as his. Any other time I would have pushed him away, castigated him for such behavior, but the last months had been too long, too draining, too empty. I wanted to belong. More, I wanted to belong to him.
I cried out softly as he increased the suction on the tender flesh, bruising me. With an audible sound, he pulled away, bringing his head up to peer down into my face. We'd still spoken fewer than twenty words to each other.
He reached up and held my face in his hands. The half-expected, almost-unwanted tenderness still did not come. Instead, he took my mouth again in another searing, possessive kiss. I could feel my lips already swelling from the punishment he'd inflicted on them and all I could think was that I wanted more. Even in his rough need, he did not, could not, hurt me. Rather, his urgency matched mine, fed mine.
Even as he broke away and began to kiss a line down the column of my neck, stopping to nip and lick and soothe the tiny marks he left, my hands began to explore the toned planes of his upper body. The dark, coarse hair on his chest tickled my finger tips while I could feel every defined curve of muscle in his abs. My wandering hands ventured lower, but he trumped me, his mouth latching on to one already taut, aching nipple.
I gripped his shoulders and arched my neck, my head pressed deeply into the bed, sensations zinging through my body in a nearly overwhelming barrage. The wash of his tongue over the sensitive peak, the gentle-then-increasing pressure of his lips as he suckled short circuited any higher brain function of which I'd still been capable. I clung to him helplessly, mewing, moaning, begging. He brought a hand to my other breast and began to massage it firmly, his fingers rolling and tweaking the nipple. Sharp, sweet, maddening jolts ran straight to my physical core. I thought the ache would split me in two. At the same time, I didn't want him to stop until he knew every inch of my body, until I was as completely his as I could be.
I cried out with loss when he released me. He hushed me gently, kissing his way down my stomach, his tongue swirling briefly, pleasurably in my navel while his fingers sketched the details of an inferno on the insides of my thighs. He nudged lightly and I opened to him, thrusting toward his hands. He laid one arm across my stomach as his mouth continued to kiss its way down, joining his fingers in their soft teasing of my body.
The moment his tongue slid over my body's most intimate opening, I bucked despite his restraining arm. He withdrew and I could feel the brush of his exhalation over me. I whined a desperate, needy plea and was rewarded with a low chuckle that rumbled from his chest straight into my belly and sharpened the ache inside me. Gently, he drew his tongue over me again, repeating the delicate torture until I was writhing beneath him. When at last, he gave in to the inevitable, licking, sucking, swirling his tongue in me, my synapses gave up entirely. I have no idea how long it was before I knew anything but the pleasure coursing through me, before I realized I was screaming in ecstasy, before I was tugging at his hair.
Even as he moved over me again, he chuckled. I had regained enough control to reach for him, stopping him mid-laugh. I wrapped a hand around him, stroking him slowly as he trembled above with me. Our eyes met, fire sparking at me from the depths of his blue ones, smoky desire rising to him from mine, I had no doubt. The desire to torment him vanished, replaced with the still fierce need to feel him inside me.
Somewhere in my brain I knew there was so much we needed to talk about, to establish, but for once my heart did the thinking. I had nearly lost this, nearly let him lose me. This was not going to be a substitute for the honesty we needed to give to each other, but for the moment it healed the wounds and said the things we didn't yet have words for.
He whispered my name as he entered me. Blindly, I reached for his hands. We twined our fingers as he began moving. I met him stroke for delicious stroke. His fingers spasmed around mine as my body did around him. His orgasm, the feel of him surging in me, pushed me over with him.
Unexpected, uncontrolled, unbidden, the words rushed from my mouth in a soft susurration. "I love you, Woody."
I felt him smile against me and he squeezed my hands.
"I never stopped," I added.
He looked at me, freeing one hand to tuck a lock of hair behind one of my ears. Then he traced the line of my cheekbone with a soft touch. "I love you, too, Jo. I've given up on ever loving anyone else."
"Good," I told him.
"Yeah?" He was grinning at me, those blue eyes dancing.
I nodded. "I have this feeling that I could get pretty jealous." I gave him a wicked grin. "And I could commit the perfect murder."
He laughed softly. "I'm going to have to keep that in mind, aren't I?"
I shrugged beneath him. "Wouldn't hurt."
His lips descended on mine, but this time the kiss held all the tenderness we were capable of. As he rolled off me and pulled me into his embrace, he asked, shyly suddenly, if he'd hurt me, starting to apologize, when I stopped him with assurances that he hadn't.
Lying spooned together, we fell asleep. I'd woken up in his arms one other time, my brain fuzzy upon wakening, my conscience shaming me as realization dawned. This time when my eyes blinked open and my body registered the weight of his arm, the texture of his body curved to mine, the scent of him enveloping me, my thoughts were clear and my conscience silent.
The road had been a long one. From Pollack to Lu, to a murder charge against me and my own flight, to the likelihood that my return, even as it cleared me, could cost him his badge, we had struggled to this place. I'd fought it so long, battled myself and him, only to give in at last to what helped to make me whole. I didn't fool myself into the belief that there were no more obstacles for us, but I let myself hope that we could finally face them together.
His voice, sleep-rough, rumbled in my ear. "What time is it?"
"Don't know," I murmured softly. "It's still dark."
"Good," he purred.
He disentangled himself from me. "Because it gives me time to do what I promised."
"And that was?" I arched a brow as I looked at him.
"Make love to you. Slowly, tenderly, gently."
I almost protested that he didn't have to do that, but then again, why stop him when the grin on his face told me he was so looking forward to it? I replied by leaning up and kissing him. Though not as crushing or possessive as our previous kisses, it had the same soul-searing heat.
Yep. Somehow we'd be all right.