Tru Calling: Parts of a Recipe
As hard as he can, he tries. He tries to figure her out. He tries to crack open the shell that she dare not let crack for fear of letting anyone else in.
He sees her as a worthy opponent, determination igniting her fierce brown eyes. But he also sees her as a mystery. Something more. Something he can't quite unravel or figure out.
She is like a recipe without all of the ingredients properly mixed in or too much of one ingredient and not enough of another.
She is two parts stubborn, one part fiery. Two parts beauty, one part hypnotizing. Equal parts confident and motivated. She is like a recipe.
His recipe. A mystery left unresolved, but also explored, if only a little deeper…
She sees him as Death, a particular swagger in his step. She thinks she has him figured out. Mystery solved. Plain and simple. He's Death. What else is there to know?
He is a different kind of recipe. One that could deceive you with its unsteady temperatures. Two parts cocky and self-righteous, one part unforgiving. Two parts all-knowing, one part knowing nothing. He annoys her to no end, teasing and taunting her in this game they play, but maybe it's because a part of her lets him. Some part of her recipe that still holds a twisted desire, a palpable intrigue. He is a different kind of recipe.
Her recipe. One she wishes she could leave unmixed or half-baked. She wishes she could resist the temptation, but she gives in almost unwillingly, exploring a little deeper…
"Hey, baby," he says softly, pulling her to him in a gentle embrace.
"Don't call me that," she instantly retorts, yet does not extricate herself from his passionate embrace. They are in the morgue and the early hours of the morning barely creeps past the horizon. She works the graveyard shift. He just happens to show up and the amusing smirk playing on his lips lingers until she finally acknowledges his presence. After a heated exchange, she suddenly finds herself in his arms. She hopes this isn't a trick or an act of seduction that she might come to regret later.
But the feelings in her heart persist. She wants him. She needs him.
Two parts musky cologne, one part scented aftershave. Two parts awareness and warning, one part warmth and tenderness. His tenderness surprises her. Maybe it was his secret ingredient.
He holds her in his arms as he savors a rare moment of their closeness. His hand becomes lost in her tangle of brown hair as he breathes in her irresistible scent. Two parts spicy cinnamon, one part lavender and vanilla. He notices her in a way he hadn't noticed before. He takes a chance, plunging into the very mystery that is Tru Davies.
Later, they make love back at his apartment. Sweat clings to the sheets, now drenched in the scent of rampant sexual tension and burning passion.
He watches her sleep peacefully beside him. He finds himself watching her for a long time until she stirs slightly.
"What? Why are you staring at me?" she asks sleepily.
He chuckles softly.
"Go back to sleep," he tells her, kissing her forehead as she closes her eyes and rolls over.
Even now, she's still a mystery. There are parts of a recipe still left to be desired. But as he drifts into a deep slumber, his arm now protectively around her, he realizes he wouldn't have it any other way. Only the mystery.
Some parts of a recipe best left alone.
Author's Note: Just a short piece, especially considering I haven't written any Tru/Jack fic lately. Hope everyone enjoyed reading this!