Title: My Weakness
Disclaimer: Neither of the characters in this story are mine.
Summary: My desire was lost because I hadn't admitted what he means to me and now I have, I just want him to make love to me. Cullen's Bullpen Challenge Piece!
A/N: This is my very first Angela/Hodgins M rated piece. I have found the two of them to be very difficult to write about in regards to sex. I hope everyone likes.
I have always been good at expressing myself artistically. In fact, I have always been good at expressing myself, period. In school I was always the brash, outgoing Angela Montenegro – the girl who never got embarrassed and was not afraid to speak her mind. I didn't see the point in embarrassment; if I was comfortable having an opinion I didn't see how there could be any point in suppressing that belief.
When I went to college I met friends who only released their inhibitions whenever they were drunk or high. I was ever the same, bold and outgoing. I did enjoy a bottle of beer or a shot of vodka on occasion, but it was far from essential if it was fun that I was after!
Sexually, I have never felt self-conscious about my body because I am a realistic woman and I know that perfection does not exist and if there is a man out there who doesn't want me for who I am well, I wouldn't want him either. So I figured I'd always grab the bull by the horns and enjoy sex as it was supposed to be enjoyed; with no anticipation of disappoint - either on my behalf or his.
Confidence has always been vitally important to me and who I am. But recently I found myself unable to coax the impulsive part of myself out into the open. I am hesitant, always thinking twice and, to be honest, I find it damn frustrating! Especially when it comes to my new relationship with Jack; instead of playing the 'seductive girlfriend' routine, I am reserved and always waiting on him making the first move and I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why.
Instead of feeling bundles of raging desire, I have none. Nothing. I am, for the moment, completely asexual. I know he has noticed because when he touches me, I freeze. What was once my best feature has become my weakness. There have been so many perfect opportunities for mind-blowing sex and each time I have found some stupid excuse.
With Kirk there was no hesitation. I was wild and according to him there had never been a girl like me. I cannot imagine why, with Jack, I have no libido. He makes me laugh and he is the smartest man I have ever met; perhaps with the exception of Zach who we sometimes refer to as 'the Android'. Jack tells me I am beautiful all the time. In fact, he means more to me than any man ever has before.
Driving along the narrow road to where he lives, I contemplate weaknesses. Mine is so all-consuming that I cannot think straight. I wonder if it is my lack of desire that has me preoccupied or just Jack Hodgins in general. He has, almost overnight, become the only person I could ever want and my heart aches every time I think I am not satisfying him as I should. I have become the woman I always swore I never would. Instead of telling myself that Jack can take me or leave me, I am asking myself what I can do to rectify the problem.
Even having the radio on does not deflect my thoughts. I drive my car up the long driveway to the main house; a gorgeous two storey building with wide arched windows and a semi-circle balcony accessible through the master bedroom; a room I have seen only once as part of Jack's guided tour. The balustrade balcony overlooks a stunning fountain that is the centre piece of the forecourt. I have spent several afternoons in the lounge, drawing the fountain because I am always drawn to its fabulous design; cherubs and birds and angels that are so unlike Jack.
My tires crunch over the gravel and I always imagine he'll be alerted to my arrival, but he much prefers the back of the house, overlooking the gardens. It seems so fitting that he would be most comfortable with flowers and trees. The work he has done to the gardens is extraordinary and I have often told him that, if he had chosen a different field, he could easily have become a landscaper.
When I get out, the front door swings open and Philip stands with his arms behind his back, smiling broadly at me. Jack's butler is not the clichéd eighty year-old man with white hair. He is barely past thirty-five and he greets me as 'Angela' not 'Miss' or 'Ma'am'. Sometimes his children play in the garden because his wife, Eleanor works double shifts as a nurse. Jack never seems to mind because he always tells me that the children are fascinated by his house.
"How are you today, Angela?" Philip asks me, allowing me into the airy foyer that is almost entirely marble. Our voices carry to the high ceilings and even a whisper sounds as though we are shouting.
"Good," I reply, turning to the sweeping staircase. To the left, a set of double doors lead to the library, part of Jack's personal paradise and to the right, another set of identical doors lead to the lounge, where I have spent almost all of my time at this house, drawing. "Is Jack outside?" I ask. Philip shakes his head.
"No," he replies. "He's been playing the piano all day." It takes a moment for this new piece of information to be absorbed. I did not know Jack played the piano, much less that he would spend a Saturday afternoon doing it. "Upstairs," Philip says, "fourth door on the right." Even though I had been shown the house, I had never noticed any music instruments. Climbing the stairs to the first floor, a feel a prickle in my spine at the thought of Jack being musically inclined.
Halfway down the corridor, I pause, listening to the tinkle of high notes, flawlessly combined in an elegant, almost ethereal blend. My breath catches in my throat as I tiptoe the rest of the way, knowing that he wouldn't hear me anyway. I feel like a snoop but there is something extraordinarily exciting about witnessing a part of Jack that he had never shared with me before.
Turning the handle, I ease the door open, thankful that Jack's house is so well maintained and the hinges do not creak. His back is to me, his spine impossibly straight as he leans into the strokes of his fingers over the keys. I am unprepared for how I feel, seeing him there. Not just the reappearance of desire, however small, but something else. Something so inexplicably powerful that I feel tears sting my eyes. I press my fingertips to my heart and feel my rapid pulse against my chest. As the tempo of his melody quickens, his fingers dancing elegantly from ivory to ebony with perfect strokes, I am enlightened suddenly that I have been afraid; afraid to have sex with him because I am worried that it will somehow tarnish these wonderful feelings that I have for him already.
Stepping further into the room, I press my back against the door, closing my eyes.
My relationship with Jack is so grown up. He treats me with respect, always kisses me goodnight, calls when he says he will call and he makes me feel like no man ever has before. I understand that things are different with Jack because I have never had this kind of relationship with anyone.
Pursing my lips until his fingers slide off the ivory keys up his thighs, I watch him focus on the window outside and I realise he can see my car from where he is sitting. I know that he is probably aware of my presence after all, and I inhale sharply.
"I love you, Jack." I tell him. He turns towards me, looking so unlike a concert pianist in his jeans and t-shirt. He looks nothing like the mega-rich millionaire that he is and I cannot express how much his down-to-earth persona attracts me to him. Now, he looks stunned, his wide crystalline blue eyes boring into mine with the intensity of a frightened animal. I can almost hear the lingering sound of the last note he played, hanging between us… prolonging the hesitation.
I realise that I have been afraid to admit how much he means to me. There is a certain vulnerability in admitting love, isn't there? It's almost as though I have opened myself up and I am inviting some kind of inevitable hurt into my heart and there is nothing sexy about getting emotionally broken. Jack's features soften and his fingers move over the rough, trendy denim of his jeans; probably worth hundreds of dollars.
My desire was lost because I hadn't admitted what he means to me and now I have, I just want him to make love to me. "I was wondering when you were going to say it," he says, blinking slowly. I am captivated by his glorious eyes as I have been since the day I met him. He has eyes I want to paint, but I am afraid I won't find a colour that is just right.
"You knew?" I ask, crossing my arms. Jack turns back to the piano. I am satisfied at the teeny tremble of his fingers as he begins to play again.
"Come sit with me, Ange," he says over the music. I edge across the room to the window, where a large armchair faces the piano. I recognise the subtle, eroticism of the tune and I sink into the cushions of the chair, my heart swelling with pride at the seemingly endless talents of this man I have grown to love so fondly. Jack, who sifts through dirt all day in the lab, can prune and nurture flowers, knows the names of the most elite of roses and can play the piano as though he'd been doing it for years. Perhaps he has.
He studies the sheet music intently and I close my eyes, listening to the music as it washes over me, drawing me in. Everything about Jack Hodgins draws me in and I cannot help but be captivated by him. Despite never imagining that he'd be my type; he so is!
"Ange?" he says when he music stops again. I notice that he hasn't finished the song. "I'm glad you came over." Things have been marginally tense since he pilfered what Booth believed to be evidence from the Bancroft case but I know in my heart he did not want his dead friend's wife. I do believe that he felt some kind of loyalty resurface and he wanted to do what was right by his childhood buddy.
"I am too," I tell him, reaching out to take his hand. He feels warm to my touch and I watch our fingers entwine as he pulls me from the chair, into his arms. I sit next to him on the piano stool, our hips touching as he presses the softest of kisses to my temple. I realise this is his way of not pressurising me into anything and I cannot wait to show him that I am finally ready to let him see my vulnerability.
Turning my face towards him, his eyes look into mine and I see a thousand questions, all relating to where we are in our relationship. I offer a small smile in response, and tilt my mouth towards his. His breath touches my skin, hot and fast and I sense his heart has started beating just a little faster in response to my advance. After a long moment, his lips brush mine, as though he is trying to savour the feel of our mouths together.
My spine is stiff as I shift closer. Jack's hand moves over my back, more cradling me against his body, rather than pressing. My eyes fall closed – I feel safe here, nestled in his arms. His tongue parts my lips in the gentlest of touches but I am willing, now, a new found raging desire flaring inside my body. He tastes of cranberries as my tongue meets his. His teeth play with my lower lip, his tongue soothing the flesh that he bites and I moan against his mouth.
I sense that both of us have things we want to say; to explain, but somehow there are no words that either of us can voice that will adequately explain how long we have waited for this moment. He has been so patient with me; a perfect gentleman, and now, the desire I feel cannot be compared to any I have ever felt before.
His fingers slip under the hem of my dusky-pink sweater, softer than the cashmere that the garment his made of, I want to have him touch me everywhere. I lean into him, urging his fingers towards my breasts. His tongue brushes my lip again and I tremble, my breath unsteady as the tips of his fingers stroke the curve of my breast, moving along the line of delicate lace, beneath which my nipples are achingly hard.
When his mouth moves along my throat, my hands shift over his thigh, sensing that he is already hard. His thumb grazes my nipple and I gasp, stroking him through the denim of his jeans. His tongue probes my clavicle, right where my heart is beating furiously against my skin. My fingers slide into his hair, curly and soft, as his head moves closer to my breast.
"Jack," I whisper, encouraging him. Shifting back on the chair, I begin to unbutton my sweater, breathless with anticipation. He watches my hands as I part the folds, showing him how he has affected me. His eyes rake over my nipples, straining against the gossamer lace of my bra. I have never felt self-conscious being naked, but Jack makes me want to be perfect. Any concerns I might have had about this, however, are erased in his next breath.
"God, Angela, you are so beautiful…" he tells me and my heart seems to still momentarily in my chest. He touches me as though I am made of porcelain and fills my heart full of love. I guide his fingers towards my breast, urging him to touch me as he pleases. I want him to know that I am his and I am truly ready.
Pulling aside the cup of my bra, his finger touches the puckered flesh of my nipple. After a moment, he bends forward and takes it between his lips, stroking with his hot tongue. My hips rise involuntarily as he sucks and I am flooded with arousal. I want him to touch every part of me, especially where I am throbbing between my thighs.
Unzipping his jeans, my fingers slip into the opening and I stroke him, wondering at how good it will feel when he is finally inside me. He shifts beneath my touch and I smile, knowing that he wants me just as much. He switches his attentions to my other nipple, sucking hard enough to make me wince, but I love it and my fingers curl around his penis, stroking his soft flesh and it seems to harden further beneath my ministrations.
Standing, he looks up at me, his lips shimmering with moisture, his eyes brighter than I have ever seen before. I reach for his hand, guiding him to the arm chair. When he sits, I pop the button on my skirt and let it drop to my feet. I am relieved that I wore matching underwear today – not that I think Jack would have noticed.
Reaching back, I unclip my bra and let it drop, too. His penis has sprung free from his jeans and I cannot help but look. He watches me and takes it in his hand, stroking slowly as if to arouse me further. I blink slowly, my lips parting as I release a breathless sigh.
Kneeling, I help him to remove his jeans, urging his t-shirt over his head until he is naked before me. I would never have imagined, had I not seen him in only a towel once, that he was so perfectly defined; toned abdominals and the tautest of pectorals I have ever seen. I open my fingers, pressing the flat of my palm against his stomach, moving over his body. He takes my wrist, pulling my wandering fingers to his lips, he touches each of them once in a tender kiss. I smile, rising to my feet again.
His hands move to the back of my thighs and I shift towards him, resting my weight on him. I am giddy with excitement as I position myself over his penis, feeling the silken skin against the inside of my thigh. He guides my hips until he slides into my body. I receive him eagerly and he breathes out, telling me that I am so hot inside. He thrusts into me and I feel a moan rise in my chest as his fingers slip between our bodies and stroke me.
With each movement, I feel as though he is worshipping me. He touches me with the most graceful of strokes, slow and deliberate. Jack is completely selfless as he thrusts, timing the jerk of his hips to synchronise with the circles he is rubbing on my clitoris. I call out his name, unconcerned about whether or not Philip might hear us.
His lips find my breast again, pulling my nipple between his teeth and flicking my nipple with his tongue. I am talking nonsensical words now, as I jerk my hips and draw him deep into my body. Desire rages through every fibre of my being and I feel him tense inside me. With several circles on my clitoris, I cry out, my muscles squeezing around him as I come hard.
Jack breathes my name, coming inside me and I feel the searing hot essence of him. His nose nuzzles my neck as we breathe in unison. I do not want to relinquish the feel of him inside me, so I do not move. He makes no effort to shift, instead cradling me against his chest, our hearts thudding.
"I'm sorry I took so long to get here," I tell him, my lips against his ear. He hums, the sound rumbling inside his ribs. I love everything about this man.
"At least I know you weren't using me for sex," he jokes and I chuckle and he kisses my nose. "I love you too, Ange," he says, "and I know you've had reservations about us, but I promise I'll never do anything to break your heart," he says and I nod.
"I know," I reply.
And I do.
I have been at this on and off all day so drop me a line to let me know if you liked!
Thanks and night-night! xo