Disclaimer: I don't own 24 or its characters…
Author's note: Just a bit of Jack/Chloe randomness. Not really in character and not really related to the events of any Season/Day in particular.
Warning: Some mild coarse language. And it does contain references to mature subject matter, but nothing too explicit.
"Jack, you seem a little distracted," Chloe commented, catching up to the target of her earlier offensive, and placing a hand on his arm. She smiled smugly when he started at her appearance.
"Jesus, Chloe," he remarked huskily. At first he seemed either unwilling or unable to look directly at her, but it passed within a few moments, and he skewered her with one of his piercing looks. "What'd you do that for?"
She wasn't about to let him get away with playing the victim in their little game, especially when he had been the one who initiated it originally. And not only was it all his fault, but he always had her on the defensive. But not this time.
"Admit it," she cornered him, stepping in a little closer. The heat was still radiating from his body from her earlier stoking. "I won."
The muscles in his jaw tightened as he closed his eyes and winced.
"You can't do it, can you?" Chloe announced incredulously. "You are just an egotistical bastard who can never admit defeat."
"Alright," Jack conceded with a sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You won this battle..."
He stepped in a little closer, a mischievous, challenging look in his eyes, and added, "But the war's not over yet."
"Bullshit! I got you to a degree that you never got me." Chloe found herself poking him in the chest with an accusatory finger for the lack of room to properly gesticulate her frustration. He stepped back to escape the physical turn of her aggression.
"Maybe so, but you shouldn't have...during a Division briefing, what were you thinking?!" he threw her outrage back at her.
"Oh, no you don't!" She barely caught herself, keeping her exclamation to a harsh, breathy whisper so as to not draw unwanted attention. "Do not put this on me, Jack Bauer. You're the one who started themselves down the path to a sexual harassment suit."
It had been so subtle that she hadn't even realized his intent was anything besides platonic, at least at first. There were always touches; normal, everyday reassuring pats on the shoulder, taps to get her attention. When they started to linger a little longer than what constituted socially acceptable colleague interaction, she had failed to notice. Honestly, any fleeting contact with the man made her skin tingle in ways it shouldn't. And so judiciously he had chosen the perfect moments to escalate the game, like when she was wholly absorbed in hacking some program or another, that she too failed to notice any behavioral aberration at first. He'd pull up a chair or hover over her shoulder as usual, but touches became caresses.
It took his hand making it halfway up her thigh before her body even alerted her brain that something was odd. She had looked at her leg to confirm what she felt there, and then had given him a look of pure consternation, which went entirely unacknowledged. He had simply continued to stare at the computer screen and ask her questions about the data she had called up upon his request.
And that's how it had continued to play out, no acknowledgment of the game whatsoever. No. That wasn't true. She had caught that self-satisfied smirk before he had hidden it, upon one of the numerous occasions she had to stop his hand before it went a little too far for her comfort. It was always his play, with her on the defensive, and when he weaseled his way under her shirt, to caress the bare skin of her lower back, causing her to blush horribly (much to his amusement no doubt), she had decided that was enough of that. She wanted some control over the bizarre, inappropriate game in which she had enabled and indulged him.
The next time his hand found her knee, she collectedly slipped it under the hem of her skirt. Perhaps it was unwise to escalate it to a new level, but the risk of failing to maintain a stoic exterior as he slid his hand over her naked thigh was worth the possibility of unsettling him as well. Unfortunately, he had remained as calm as ever as his hand traveled up her thigh, over her hip and back to her knee again. She knew there was pleasure in it for him, even though while he did it, there was no evidence of that fact. It was during other times, when she caught him looking at her in that certain way that made the breath hitch in her throat, that she witnessed the extent of his attraction.
In control, he was always the one in control. If he called, she'd come running. He'd touch her, and she'd melt into his caress. He'd look at her with those damn blue eyes, and she'd willingly surrender her soul. And then he'd walk away and she would passively let him.
But she had grown sick of playing the docile, smitten fool. And she had let him know in the context of their strange game. Weeks, she had waited patiently for the perfect moment, for that seat at the conference table beside his to be free that she might assume it without suspicion.
Oddly, he had always remained diligent, and Chloe had never feared that they'd be caught. But taking on the offensive in a meeting with the majority of their colleagues present was more than a little risky. It was also why she had chosen it, in order to really get him, she knew there needed to be danger of discovery.
Once the briefing had commenced, and she was fairly assured the coast was clear, Chloe placed her hand on his knee and squeezed slightly. His response was barely recognizable, but nevertheless there was a small involuntary twitch in his muscles. Taking it as encouraging sign, she had continued, moving her hand up the inside of his thigh. When his face began to take on a pinkish hue, the beginnings of the desired flush, she began to rub his thigh in little concentric circles with her fingertips. It had been immensely difficult to suppress the urge to gloat, as he became visibly uncomfortable and yet refused to concede by removing or staying her hand. Eventually someone had commented on how he looked ill, and he used the excuse to pardon himself from the meeting, and Chloe's aggressive play.
Not willing to let him off the hook so easily, she had excused herself to check on him, which had led to their present confrontation, one that in her opinion was long overdue.
"I would've never done it, if I had any doubt that you wanted it," Jack explained, stepping in close and backing her against a wall. And then he was leaning with a hand placed above her head, his entire body beginning to press in on her.
"Tell me that you didn't like it, that you don't enjoy it. Tell me to stop, and I will."
He was so close that she could taste his aftershave, feel his lips despite the fact that they remained a torturous centimeter from hers. Her head buzzed with a thousand different pleas from various nerve clusters throughout her body.
"I want..." She desperately fought the urge to give in to him completely. No longer would he have such a hold on her! "...you to..."
"To what, Chloe?" It was so low and husky it was practically a growl and threatened to break her tenuous resolve.
"Dammit!" She swore harshly but softly, realizing that however much she despised the extent of her submissiveness to the man, she'd be devastated without any affection at all from him, despite how dysfunctional it was. She sighed and whispered her reply, "I don't want you to stop."
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that," he teased her, receiving a hateful glare.
Something in the depths of Jack's eyes said that he wanted to kiss her, and it was too much for Chloe to handle. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself and anticipated that which she had desired for so long. However, instead of receiving a taste of those tantalizing, teasing lips, his breath tickled her ear as he spoke.
"I won't stop, not until I win the war."
And then Chloe was left alone to sag against the wall, fighting to catch her breath.
"Son of a bitch."
She would have her victory yet.
A/N: Apologies for ridiculousness... I just wanted to play...