Disclaimer: I don't own the characters you read before you. All rights belong to Wolf Films and all that.

Author's Note: A request theme lemon for Blood Hath the Victory. It should be nice compensation for her awesome photomanip and icon work.

Beta: Still Looking.

Timeline: Post Season 11.


D.A. Abbie Carmichael was fixated on the wall clock. Following a swift measure of the minutes, she dialed a familiar number on her office line. After three rings, a serrated male voice answered.


"Hey, Jack. Please tell me you're also looking at your watch — only four more hours to go."

He sniffled vociferously. "Hey yourself. And, yeah, I am, but I think I've just developed a minor cold on my way to work. Don't worry; I'll be set for tonight."

"We don't have to. The last thing I want is to strain you and help that virus."

"Abbie, it's been three weeks of non-stop work — we hardly see each other anymore. I'm not going to let a simple cold get in my way."

"I'll pick you up something. See you at your place?"

"Yeah. And what about Praeger? Is he going to let his top prosecutor skip off for the night?"

"Let that be the prick's problem. Besides, I've done enough red tape to shut him up for a while."

"The lady sounds anxious," Jack jibed.

"I think I've earned the right."

"Well, I do keep telling you to indulge." Her lips pursed at the underlying smirk.

"Point taken, Counselor. See you soon." She hung up the phone and once more focused on the timepiece.

"Three hours, fifty-eight minutes, and counting," she muttered.


Abbie immediately darted to the elevator at 5:00 P.M., her paperwork deposited with her boss' receptionist. Her SUV practically soared above New York's infamous gridlock and reached Jack's apartment in record time. The youth sprinted to the residence with a shopping bag in hand.

She entered with her key. "Jack? You in here?"

"Yeah," the congested occupant replied from the restroom. "Though, you better get away from me; I have a lovely stomach flu." She attended to her boyfriend, presently hunching over the toilet.

"I told you to get away from me."

She crouched down to his level. "You know I'm too stubborn for that — like a mule, remember? Now, how bad is it?"

"Bad enough to vomit either my lunch or my internal organs every two seconds, so you tell me."

"At least you're not spitting up blood or anything like that. I got you some Ginger Ale, or do you think you're going to need a truckload of the stuff?"

"Mouthwash would be better." His stomach churned noisily. "Never mind; how about you put me out of my misery?"

She patted his shoulder. "That defeats the whole purpose, then. Otherwise, why bother getting together in the first place? I'll buy you some more Ginger Ale and some antacid."

"Abbie, I'll be fine."

"Oh, there it is: your pride flaring up again. Look, we both know how things will end up: you by this rim, pleading for my assistance. So, can you spare me tonight?"

"I just love your bedsnide manner."


He flinched slightly. "Alright, I'm sorry. Going through the motions is part of who I am."

Her expression softened. "I know."

"There goes our night," he said in disappointment.

"I'm disappointed, too. I even swallowed my own pride and bought this one-piece from one of those lingerie stores and—"

"Abbie, I don't need the mental image right now. It's hard to have an erection while you're…" He failed to complete his sentence for his intestine raged on.

"You make me feel sexy, too, Baby," she deadpanned.


Two colon attacks and guzzling a Ginger Ale gallon later, Jack clutched onto his abdomen, groaning in bed.

"Is it time to milk you yet?" Abbie quipped whilst undressing.

"What's that mean?"

She garbed herself in one of his sky-blue business shirts. "It means you're mooing like a sick cow."

"Lovely, is that what you had to deal with, while working down on the farm?"

She had lain beside him. "I've never worked on a farm."

"It would be a hot farm, though, like now."

Her palm was on his forehead. "Great. Now, you got a fever."

"I'm fine."

She flicked his ear lightly. "There you go again; I'll get you an icepack."

The Southerner up and returned with a cold compress, dabbing tenderly. "This would be more romantic if you weren't heaving your guts out right about now."

He shuddered. "Tell me about it. Had roses, candles, the whole bit."

"Sounds perfect."

"Well, I do want to try, Abbie, but the romance game never was my forte."

She caressed his hair. "And sexual excitement never was mine."


She kissed him affectionately on the brow. "I missed you, too, Jack."

"My body is thinking, 'don't', but my head, on the other hand…,"

"I know; I want it, too."

Abruptly, he scurried toward the lavatory. She pursued the ailing man, slumping by the wall nearest the toilet bowl.

"My timing seems to be either perfect or wretched," Jack puffed.

"Well, if Muhammad won't go to the bedroom…."

"What's that mean?"

Coyly, she unbuttoned her garment's upper half, revealing cleavage.

He gulped fretfully. "Abbie, don't taunt me."

She sashayed over to him, pinning him in place. "Oh, I'm not, Jack. As long as you don't vomit on me, that is."

"Good thing we're by the toilet, then," he chuckled.

She pressed her ring fingers alongside his temple, cooling him temporarily. "I won't say it feels wrong or right either way, but it's been too damn long for me. If you want me to say it, I will: if I don't touch you or hold you soon, I might just die."

He swallowed again, forcing the rising bile downward. "I think there is where the angel and the devil would pop upon my shoulders, giving suggestions. The angel would say, 'don't, for the good of the body', while the devil, well, we know what the devil would say."

Abbie's free right hand descended, groping for his mounting bulge. "I have a pretty good idea."

He enwrapped his clammy arms around her. "Either way, it's a body issue: my desire vs. the flu."

"Trading one illness for another, huh?" She grated her teeth on the nape of his neck.

He quivered. "Something like that. Careful or you might get sick, too. Then the wheels of justice will be grounded to a halt."

"I'll take my chances. Anytime you want to stop, say so. Or if you suddenly have to stop, I'll certainly understand."

"The good old role reversal — you sound like me now."

She had a devilish leer whilst she stripped off his T-Shirt and his slacks, exposing him. "Does that make me the man here?"

His face would have been red, were it not for his already splotched features. "Counselor, you have me by what we call the 'shorthairs.'"

"I hope so."

His indigestion roared intensely. "Abbie, now or never. I hate putting it like that, but…"

"I'll try to be fast and painless."

Jack unfastened her article of clothing, the material sliding off her skin. "We're sounding like a bunch of horny teenagers."

"With you, it doesn't sound nearly as bad." She propped her leg upon the porcelain lid, her tapered fingers massaging the underside of his solidified penis.

"It's all about control, right?"

She kneaded his secondary head. "I'd settle for you controlling your stomach — I'll do the rest."

"Abbie, I…" A surge of bile on his lips, it trickled southward from his jawbone to her breast.

"You've done enough for one day, thank you. Now, it's my turn." She propelled her body to his, his erection squirming in between.

"I'm keeping it down, but the occasional spit-up…" He dribbled a bit on her neckline.

Abbie embedded her ringed hand into his scalp and guided him to her moistened vagina with the other.

"Too bad I didn't have enough time to get the materials to play nurse; I would have loved to take your temperature," she purred lustily.

"With the special thermometer of course."

"Of course."

"You have been around me too long, Abbie — you sound like a porn star, almost."

She had no response as she slotted him inside, her folds squeezing all-around. While she licked his lips for access, the long suppressed gush of bile was disgorging forth. The young woman anticipated with her own saliva to counteract the bitter taste and maintain the probing kiss.

As they separated, the tart concoction was spat out, splattering on their chests. Further embracing one another, the sticky infusion bonded the pair. Afterward, Abbie wedged her arms amid the wall and Jack's spine, supporting herself. Proper position achieved, she increased the tempo.

"Good to know that I finally have you right where I want you," she huffed, her eyes locked onto his.

"Oh, Abbie! I'm losing control."

"Of yourself or your stomach?"

"Me, but hurry before I lose the other."

She swayed her hips into flurry, grinding his shaft. His tummy bellowed at the same pace as their contacting flesh. Glimpsing the large basin in her peripheral vision, she disengaged.

"We'll have to masturbate together, so you won't be delayed in dunking your head in there; no other choice," she ordered through clenched teeth.

"You're right, but I wanted you so bad." Jack stroked himself onward. His belly stirred silently for a moment.

In turn, she thumbed her pulsing clitoris. "Isn't that my line?"

"No, yours was, 'if I don't touch you or hold you soon, I might just die.'"

"Don't steal my lines, Jack," she grinned in throes of self-made passion. "I'm going to cum, and when you get better…." She then howled in pleasure of the climax, collapsing on the linoleum flooring. The discharge seeped on the carpet below.

The sight of her nude, marked with their respective fluids, was all the inducement he needed. "When I get better, my naughty nurse is going to make me…." Likewise, he couldn't finalize his statement for his orgasm all but coated the immediate ground.

"Before I say anything else, oh, God, I love you and…" His nausea hushed him in the mad dash to vomit.

"I love you, too," Abbie smiled, despite his thorough retching. "Considering my current state, I must be in love."

He would have concurred had the virus granted him permission.


Leave a review if you wish, and see you in the funny papers.