The premise of the meme is simple. Two characters, lovers, have been separated for a time. How long is up to you, as is the reason for the separation. Was it unwilling - an imprisonment, a required journey - or because of a choice one of the characters made? The reason may, of course, color the reunion, and somebody may be pretty miffed, with good reason. Still, the theme is the same: intimacy after being apart.
This meme is mostly geared towards being a smut meme, but nobody will judge you for just doing so heavy fluff.
[She's barely thinking about whatever happens to slip out. If she was, she might have stopped herself, but it's too late now and he's not slowing down. On the contrary, even if he's saying nothing at all, his intent is clear and she'd thank him for it if she could still form a proper sentence. But he steals the words from her with each thrust of his fingers and each swipe of his tongue, undoing her in ways that make her toes curl.
They're replaced by desperate little sounds of pleasure paired with the roll of her hips now that her body is free to respond and push her on to that breaking point. She feels it coming, a cresting wave of desire so eager to crash and this time she's the one who holds herself there, on that edge, for as long as she can, muscles quivering, her fingers clenched tight in his hair holding him there- right there--
She comes with a choked sob and a shudder that jolts through her body, the tension finally releasing in a singular moment that seems to both stretch on forever and end all too soon. It leaves her dazed and panting for air, her one leg going limp over his shoulder and fingers trembling against his scalp. Heat curls through her veins, carried by her racing pulse, and she feels heavy and light at the same time.
And even then, though the foggy haze of her orgasm, she can sense a creeping fear that he'll leave the moment her guard is down and she gropes blind for his shoulders- to pull him up to her, to keep him from going, whether that was his intent or not. His name is on the tip of her tongue, a plea for him to stay, but it doesn't make it out. She swallows it back and hopes her hands are enough.
[He doesn't pull off her even as she comes, instead riding it out in tandem, wringing every noise and shudder out of her until he knows she won't be able to take it anymore. He gives her a reprieve after that, but it's hard to tear his mouth away, so he settles for a slow, deep kiss against her as he slides fingers out of her and grips her thighs again.
Eventually, however, he knows he has to stop, and he surfaces a little breathlessly, something that might be a laugh in the back of his throat.
His cheek rests against her thigh for a moment as he catches his breath drags the back of his hand across his mouth just in case she doesn't want to be kissed with that wetness all over his face. He crawls his way back up to her, burying his forehead in her shoulder, no air between them.]
[She shouldn't have doubted. She should be trusting him, even when it feels so easy to assume the worst these days. But he's as attentive- as steadfast- as ever and she whimpers and moans for him when he refuses to be pulled away despite her pawing hands. She's aches by the time he's done, the deep, satisfied kind, bordering just shy of uncomfortable. It's a good feeling.
He finally moves up and in the hazy afterglow, it's second nature to open her arms to him, bearing the weight of his body against hers without a wayward thought. Her fingers draw aimless lines up and down the back of his neck and between his shoulders as she nuzzles into his hair, lazy kisses pressed to the top of his head.]
[He lets out a breathless little laugh into her collarbone, one that sounds almost real, this time. 76 knows he should be asking her how much time they have left, but now that they're this close, he's not sure he ever wants to move. Propping himself up a little so that he's not putting his full weight on her also gives him a good opportunity to just look at her for a few long moments. He'd forgotten how nice it is to see her flushed and glowing.
Whatever hesitance he had with regards to his own pleasure seems to have lifted slightly, and as he settles his forehead against her and kisses her neck, his erection pressing a little shamelessly against the inside of her thigh.
[She's not sure she knows the words to describe how happy it makes her to hear that laugh growing stronger, to have him stay and be near and with her. She's not sure there are words for it, so she makes do with the warm smile that spreads across her face when he pushes up to look at her. It's hard not to feel a little self conscious, regardless of how silly it is, considering their situation, and the awkward giggle that tries to slip out is only half stifled by the way she bites her lip.
It becomes impossible to stop the moment his mouth is on her neck, the feeling fluttering in her stomach. The feeling of him against her thigh is a reminder that he's been putting off what his own body wants, whether he wants to admit it or not. It's not so different from how it had once been, she supposes; all those years ago, it had been what the mission needed, or the team, or Overwatch, or the UN... an endless list of things more important. All of that is gone now, of course, but there's no reason he would have gotten any better about it. Why would he.
She shifts under him with a breathy little sigh and a roll of her hips, enough to slide her thigh against his cock and remind him that it's still there. And that she's not going to let him ignore it forever.]
[He spends another moment just looking at her, trying to commit this to memory all over again. In lieu of anything else he can possibly take from this chance encounter, he wants to remember the way she looks, flushed and breathless beneath him, especially if he’s not sure they’re ever going to see each other again.
She doesn’t have to say anything, because the way she rolls her hips is all the permission he needs. It’s almost effortless to line himself up and start to sink into her, and he takes it slow, as if trying to keep drawing it out as much as possible. His forehead falls against her shoulder and he breathes out audibly. Angela is wet enough that there’s almost no resistance, but he’s cautious anyway—it’s been a long time for him, and he doesn’t want to seem too eager.
But he will capture her lips again—he’s unabashed about that.]
[Even for as ready as she is, it's been some time for her as well, and that first intrusion is met with a steadying inhale, matching the warm wash of breath from him that she feels against her shoulder. She'll take slow right now as she remembers what it feels like to have him fill her like this, the pressure that his fingers, even for as wonderful as they are, will never quite match.
She moans softly into his mouth when he kisses her and drags her hands down his back, trembling fingers pressed into firm muscle as silent encouragement.]
[It takes a moment for him to adjust—remember—sinking deeper and deeper until he’s all the way inside. The feeling is almost overwhelming, and he’s increasingly less concerned with not letting that show.]
God, you’re so good.
[In a lot of ways, not just the most immediate, carnal one. He’s struck again by the notion that he shouldn’t be allowed this this—her, but he’s also determined not to get hung up on all of his regrets and mistakes.
There will be plenty of time for that, later.
For now, it’s just the two of them, fitting together almost like they used to, and he’s brushing hair out of her face and kissing the side of her mouth and slipping his free hand behind the small of her back as he shifts them upward a little, starting to work his hips in and out.]
[He seats himself in her and she only half manages to suppress the quiet whimper that answers the feeling of being so full after so long; he's not the only one that needs to adjust. But time apart hasn't completely erased how well they go together and her body is quick enough to be reminded.
She thinks there should be some answer for him, some reassurance that he was worth the affection--the love and intimacy--she had offered him, then and now. But he kisses the corner of her parted lips and his fingertips are gentle across her brow, and the words stick in the back of her throat, tangling up around a soft panting when he starts to move.
Maybe she'll never convince him that he still deserves to be happy, even for a little bit, but she can do her best to offer the moment anyway, as fleeting as it may be. She brings one hand back and curls her fingers tenderly against his cheek, her body answering the way he holds her in the curve of her back and the drape of her legs around his hips. Her other hand is still an encouraging pressure between his shoulders, keeping him close, needing (selfishly, perhaps) the warmth and weight of his body pressed to hers.]
For you- oh, Gott- always...
me too, apparently. welcome back and sorry for the wait!
[Always nearly tips him over the edge right then and there, and likely would, if not for the fact that the way she gasps it out elicits another pang in his chest. But he can't stop now--isn't about to, not when he can still make her feel this way. It might even be a nice little ego boost, in better circumstances.
He buries himself to the hilt, holds himself there for a moment before dragging out again, settling into a steady rhythm that slowly gains momentum with every thrust. Jack holds her as close as he can, pressing his forehead into her shoulder, her words against him the only thing he wants to hear.]
I never stopped thinking about you.
[His voice is quiet, throaty, gasped out more than anything else. It's like he can't stop himself, suddenly realizing how much lost time he needs to make up for.]
[She cradles his head against her shoulder, fingers carding back through his hair and soft, desperate little kisses pressed over and over to his temple. Her heart aches so terribly, knowing that she hadn't been forgotten, and she can feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes if only because she has no other way to express the painful tangle of emotions lodged in her chest.]
Ah- Jack, I- mmnh- [Trying to form a full sentence is quickly growing into an impossible task with each push of his hips, but she struggles on anyway.] I've missed you. I.. I need- oh!
[She practically squeaks when he stumbles across just the right spot- or maybe on purpose and he remembers more than he lets on- but her nails dig into his shoulder and her toes curl and she moans]
Right- ah, right there, Jack. Just- just a little.. harder, oh, please--
[It takes him right back to furtive visits and late nights, both of them meant to be finishing up one project or another but getting lost in each other instead. Jack doesn't quite feel young again--that would be too convenient, but it is nice, in a way, to know that he can still bring her to this state. He can almost pretend that nothing between them has changed, if he closes his eyes and listens to her pleas. He laughs into her shoulder at the request, a breathy sort of sound as he drives into her again and again.
This close, it's impossible not to see the tears in her eyes, and he feels something twist inside him. It's a little hard to multitask, but he brings his hand up and tries to brush them away with the pad of his thumb.]
Don't cry.
[He knows that might be fruitless--that it might not even be directly related to the overwhelming emotions they're both feeling, but it feels impossible not to say something. Try and make it hurt a little less.]
[Is she crying? She hadn't meant to, and it's not his fault, not in any way she would dream of objecting to anyway. She shakes her head and laughs with him, utterly breathless.]
I'm not- I-
[She turns her head to kiss him, capturing his mouth a little gracelessly in her eagerness to answer his reassurances. It's been so long; she remembers the days when they could do this without fumbling over each other, too. Or at least when that fumbling was more intentional, clothing and limbs getting in the way, tangling up in a different sort or urgency. Having to explain why she needed a replacement table centrifuge when they'd just delivered the new one a day before and now it had somehow ended up broken on the floor...
She wants to keep kissing him, but she's panting for breath against his lips instead, her fingers clenching around what she can manage to grip of his short cropped hair. Her nerves are still humming on the heels of her last orgasm, overly sensitive to every little thing, feeling as if he could still so easily drive her mad.
She tries to form the words needed to warn him, but the only thing that makes it out of her throat is a choked little sound as she teeters right on the edge of coming again, clawing to hang on just a little longer- draw it out for as long as she can. She doesn't want to give up the feeling of him inside of her, of their bodies pressed together, the smell and feel of him.]
--Jack! [It's the only word she can manage when she does finally come, his name tangled up in a shuddering cry that she tries (and fails) to muffle into his shoulder. Trembling legs lock around his waist and she shudders, rocking her hips up desperately in time with his thrusts, chasing after the fleeting feelings that burn so hot and bright.]
[Jack is sometimes a little dense, especially in the interpersonal department. It had always been something vaguely contradictory about him--able to navigate political situations and play diplomat when necessary, but too absorbed in his work to be completely in tune with the people closest to him. It had been something they'd been over a few times in the years they'd spent together, but even with that level of self-awareness, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Jack to miss some of the more obvious social cues. His mind was often elsewhere.
Right now, however, there's no doubt--no way to misconstrue or second guess. He crushes his mouth over hers, arm tight around her waist, driving into her with all that he has. Jack needs this, more than he ever thought that he did, after so many years alone.
It's the way she says his name that pushes him over the edge, chasing her orgasm by seconds--and it's been so long for him that he can't manage to stifle the choked noise that escapes him.]
[She's always been so willing to be swept away by him and maybe that had been part of the problem back then, or why they had struggled along for so long in the end: that willingness to be lost in each other beyond sense or reason. In this moment, at least, it does them some favors, and she gladly--senselessly--gives herself over to him. She'd forgotten just how it had felt to surrender for once. For him, he's the only one she would.
She clutches him to her and takes his orgasm with a soft sound that she refuses to admit is a whimper, shaking in his arms, hot and sweaty and more satisfied than she'd been in years.]
It's okay. It's okay... [Her voice is unsteady and maybe the reassurance is as much for herself as it is for him, as her hands stroke over his back and shoulders. Her lips press against his temple and she mumbles it into his skin.] It's okay.
[Jack is overwhelmed--not only by his own release, but by the way she tries to comfort him, when he knows how much this is hurting her in turn. He's got no idea how either of them will feel tomorrow, after he's gone and they have to get back to their own missions, pretending like this never happened. Perhaps, with time, he'll be able to think of this as some kind of fever dream, but he knows something like this is not so easily written off.
Angela deserves better than that, either way. If he can't stay, the least he can do is allow himself to remember this fondly. Use it as fuel when he needs to remember that there are people counting on him.
For now, he lets out a choked sort of noise as his arms encircle her tightly, his forehead buried against her shoulder. It seems he's content to stay just like this, if only for a moment.]
[In the aftermath, as her breath steadies and her heartbeat comes down from its frantic hammering, she's willing to let Jack lend his strength to their embrace. The tension eases from her and she does her best not to let the thoughts of what was coming creep up too swiftly and ruin what should be a moment of peace for them. It's never going to be exactly what they need, but it's close enough for now.]
Oh, liebling. [She cradles the back of his head and rubs her cheek against his hair, her thumb rubbing comforting little circles just behind his ear.] I miss you.
[She has a feeling he'll know what she really means: that she misses a man that doesn't exist anymore. They both know there's no point in trying to fool themselves otherwise, but for a small moment in time, the memory of him had been welcomed.]
[It takes him a long moment to come down from it, longer, maybe, now that he's older, but there's something nice about the way their heartbeats slow and their breathing synchronizes. Jack is louder than he wants to be, sighing as he catches his breath and settles into the couch, not wanting to pull his arms from around her. He's sticky with sweat--they both are, but that's the last thing on his mind as Jack pulls her closer, pressing his mouth into her shoulder.
He understands what she means. He wishes he had something reassuring to say to her, but he doesn't think he'd be so good at that anymore. Jack has to remind himself that this is not at all how he planned for his day to go.]
I know.
[I'm sorry. It's half-mumbled, because he's otherwise unable to say that he misses them, and the way things used to be. Even if he manages to set it all right, there still won't be any going back. All he can really do is settle into the quiet with her, trying to make the moment last as long as he can. As the sweat cools on his skin, his attention is drawn to a different wetness--he's bled through his bandage.
Unsurprising, given the exertion, and it doesn't hurt (or at least, he's weathered much worse), but his instinct is to shift upward to better inspect it, even if it breaks their quiet moment.]
[Maybe he thinks he's too old, too creaky, but there's a comfort in the sound of him, in his sighs and grunts as he settles himself into the couch. It makes him real and it puts him here, with her, and not in some far away place. It takes away some of the melancholy and Angela hides a soft, sad smile against his chest as she curls in against the warmth of his body. She'll gladly put up with the sweat and the stickiness between her legs if it means just a little while longer with him like this, listening to his breathing and feeling his heartbeat against her cheek.
He smells like leather and smoke and sex- and the coppery hint of blood. She catches it almost at the same time as he does, blue eyes refocusing against the lazy haze of their afterglow when he starts to push himself up and she looks down to see the growing bloom of red staining his side.]
Ah- careful, Jack. [She starts to wiggle herself out from under him, her hand gingerly pressed to the bandage to try and stabilize the pulled stitches as he moves.]
I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-- [She cuts herself off before she can go any further. There was no point in blaming herself; or him. They had made the decision and she doesn't regret what had come of it.] Nevermind. Can you lay back? My staff is in the kitchen.
[Jack is starting to be hyper-aware of his own age, as much as he tries to downplay it or push himself the way he used to. He imagines that if he stuck around any longer she’d start to chastise him for it, but for now it only manifests in an apologetic glance as he shifts back into a seated position and presses a hand to his side.]
Don’t apologize.
[All of this had been mutual, and Jack won’t let her feel guilty about something he willingly agreed to. This kind of physical exertion was bound to re-open his wounds. He should just be thankful that all the shrapnel is out, and she can patch him up that much easier. Jack watches her try to take the blame and then feels something twist in his chest when she brushes it off. She’s always been strong, and it’s not surprising that she’s bottling up her feelings in order to get to work.
It’s what they’re both good at, in the end.
Jack doesn’t want to lay back, but he does stay still, the warm patch of bandage starting to itch a little as it soaks through. To his credit, he’s patient, but he does call out to her after a moment.</small.]
Angela, it's nothing.
[Regrettably, there's nothing to wrap herself in as she makes her trek to the kitchen, although more for her own peace of mind than any silly notion of modesty; as if Jack hadn't had his face between her legs not too long ago. But it's chilly without his body to keep her warm and she knows she has to be walking a little funny. And yet they seem like trivial considerations when he's the one bleeding on the couch. Focus, Angela.]
Blood stays on the inside, Mr. Morrison. We've had this conversation before. [She calls back just before returning with her staff and the last clean towel she could find in the kitchen. She didn't like having her work undone, even if in this case it was her own fault, and she'd be a poor physician instead if she didn't fix it. He could grouse all he wanted, it wouldn't make a difference.
She sits down at his side and pushes her hair out of her face before reaching for the bloody bandage, staff balanced expertly across her bare thighs.]
You're going to go back out there and keep doing... whatever it is you do. [Plausible deniability. She doesn't want to know the details and she won't be asking. Not if he's going to keep on with his crusade and she has to pretend that she doesn't know.] The least I can do is make sure you start out again in one piece. Please hold still, this might sting.
[She has to peel away the bandage, doing her best to avoid upsetting any of the stitches that were still intact. The swelling and some of the bruising has already gone down, despite their.. activities, a testament to his body's ability to outpace the standard, even after so long. She drops the wet fabric on the floor with a quiet tsk and makes a few adjustments on her staff to calibrate the nanite stream properly before it's linked to his wounds, the soft golden glow of the energy field spreading over his side.
She can feel the guilt and the sadness starting to creep back in and pretends to be distracted by a setting on her equipment if only so he doesn't have to see the way her brows pinch together and thinks it's because of him. It isn't. She can't change what's on the horizon any more than she could change his mind about coming back.]
[He already feels badly about her having to go to the kitchen for her staff without anything she can cover herself with, but he finds himself watching her go, as if trying to burn the sight into his memory. Jack has no idea when he'll ever be able to have a reprieve like this again. He waits guiltily for her on the sofa, and though she's only gone for a few moments, when she returns he's sitting up and looking a little contrite.]
I know, Angela.
[Years ago there would have been an easiness to this kind of conversation--her sternly chastising him for one reckless maneuver or another, calling him Mr. Morrison almost playfully, but now all he feels is the weight of the situation between them. He doesn't want to sully what might be their last moments together, but staring at the bloodied bandage as she peels it off him just reminds him of what he has to do.
It only stings for a moment before the warmth of the nanites sets in and he can feel the wound stitching itself together, but he's seen the miracle enough times to keep his eyes on her, instead. He finds his hand moving before he even thinks about it, calloused thumb brushing the side of her face as she works, an unspoken thank you between them.]
[It feels as if he might as well have driven a knife into her chest for how much just the simple brush of his thumb causes her heart to ache, the tears she refuses to let herself shed anymore stinging the corners of her eyes. She knew it was going to hurt, but she's not sure she ever would have really been prepared for it. She glances up and finds him looking at her and it only twists that proverbial knife.
Before he can take it back, she reaches up and closes her hand around his, her grip tight despite her best efforts- and she presses her cheek against his knuckles. Hold me, is what she wants to say, but it feels like too much to ask of him.]
I should get dressed, [is what comes out instead, although there's little conviction in the softly spoken words, and she makes no effort to remove herself from his side. Time was ticking down and she was acting little better than a child digging her heels in and refusing to do what was needed.]
[It’s tempting to stay right where he is, the effort it takes to move almost unbearable. He leans into her, letting her keep his hand in hers, and presses his lips to her forehead. She breaks the silence before he can, and nodding in agreement is almost painful.]
They’re going to come looking soon.
[He hasn’t forgotten that she’s only bought them a limited amount of time, and getting caught is only going to ruin things for both of them, said as if something isn’t irrevocably broken between them.]
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bakerstreet2016-06-16 03:59 pm
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They're replaced by desperate little sounds of pleasure paired with the roll of her hips now that her body is free to respond and push her on to that breaking point. She feels it coming, a cresting wave of desire so eager to crash and this time she's the one who holds herself there, on that edge, for as long as she can, muscles quivering, her fingers clenched tight in his hair holding him there- right there--
She comes with a choked sob and a shudder that jolts through her body, the tension finally releasing in a singular moment that seems to both stretch on forever and end all too soon. It leaves her dazed and panting for air, her one leg going limp over his shoulder and fingers trembling against his scalp. Heat curls through her veins, carried by her racing pulse, and she feels heavy and light at the same time.
And even then, though the foggy haze of her orgasm, she can sense a creeping fear that he'll leave the moment her guard is down and she gropes blind for his shoulders- to pull him up to her, to keep him from going, whether that was his intent or not. His name is on the tip of her tongue, a plea for him to stay, but it doesn't make it out. She swallows it back and hopes her hands are enough.
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Eventually, however, he knows he has to stop, and he surfaces a little breathlessly, something that might be a laugh in the back of his throat.
His cheek rests against her thigh for a moment as he catches his breath drags the back of his hand across his mouth just in case she doesn't want to be kissed with that wetness all over his face. He crawls his way back up to her, burying his forehead in her shoulder, no air between them.]
God, Angie--
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He finally moves up and in the hazy afterglow, it's second nature to open her arms to him, bearing the weight of his body against hers without a wayward thought. Her fingers draw aimless lines up and down the back of his neck and between his shoulders as she nuzzles into his hair, lazy kisses pressed to the top of his head.]
Rusty or not, that was wonderful...
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Whatever hesitance he had with regards to his own pleasure seems to have lifted slightly, and as he settles his forehead against her and kisses her neck, his erection pressing a little shamelessly against the inside of her thigh.
He's going to hate to leave her.]
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It becomes impossible to stop the moment his mouth is on her neck, the feeling fluttering in her stomach. The feeling of him against her thigh is a reminder that he's been putting off what his own body wants, whether he wants to admit it or not. It's not so different from how it had once been, she supposes; all those years ago, it had been what the mission needed, or the team, or Overwatch, or the UN... an endless list of things more important. All of that is gone now, of course, but there's no reason he would have gotten any better about it. Why would he.
She shifts under him with a breathy little sigh and a roll of her hips, enough to slide her thigh against his cock and remind him that it's still there. And that she's not going to let him ignore it forever.]
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She doesn’t have to say anything, because the way she rolls her hips is all the permission he needs. It’s almost effortless to line himself up and start to sink into her, and he takes it slow, as if trying to keep drawing it out as much as possible. His forehead falls against her shoulder and he breathes out audibly. Angela is wet enough that there’s almost no resistance, but he’s cautious anyway—it’s been a long time for him, and he doesn’t want to seem too eager.
But he will capture her lips again—he’s unabashed about that.]
sorry for the tiny tag
She moans softly into his mouth when he kisses her and drags her hands down his back, trembling fingers pressed into firm muscle as silent encouragement.]
no subject
God, you’re so good.
[In a lot of ways, not just the most immediate, carnal one. He’s struck again by the notion that he shouldn’t be allowed this this—her, but he’s also determined not to get hung up on all of his regrets and mistakes.
There will be plenty of time for that, later.
For now, it’s just the two of them, fitting together almost like they used to, and he’s brushing hair out of her face and kissing the side of her mouth and slipping his free hand behind the small of her back as he shifts them upward a little, starting to work his hips in and out.]
You always were.
[In so many ways, more than he deserved.]
aaaand I'm back!
She thinks there should be some answer for him, some reassurance that he was worth the affection--the love and intimacy--she had offered him, then and now. But he kisses the corner of her parted lips and his fingertips are gentle across her brow, and the words stick in the back of her throat, tangling up around a soft panting when he starts to move.
Maybe she'll never convince him that he still deserves to be happy, even for a little bit, but she can do her best to offer the moment anyway, as fleeting as it may be. She brings one hand back and curls her fingers tenderly against his cheek, her body answering the way he holds her in the curve of her back and the drape of her legs around his hips. Her other hand is still an encouraging pressure between his shoulders, keeping him close, needing (selfishly, perhaps) the warmth and weight of his body pressed to hers.]
For you- oh, Gott- always...
me too, apparently. welcome back and sorry for the wait!
He buries himself to the hilt, holds himself there for a moment before dragging out again, settling into a steady rhythm that slowly gains momentum with every thrust. Jack holds her as close as he can, pressing his forehead into her shoulder, her words against him the only thing he wants to hear.]
I never stopped thinking about you.
[His voice is quiet, throaty, gasped out more than anything else. It's like he can't stop himself, suddenly realizing how much lost time he needs to make up for.]
OK LITERALLY LIKE A *YEAR* LATER
Ah- Jack, I- mmnh- [Trying to form a full sentence is quickly growing into an impossible task with each push of his hips, but she struggles on anyway.] I've missed you. I.. I need- oh!
[She practically squeaks when he stumbles across just the right spot- or maybe on purpose and he remembers more than he lets on- but her nails dig into his shoulder and her toes curl and she moans]
Right- ah, right there, Jack. Just- just a little.. harder, oh, please--
[So much for coherent sentences.]
opens arms
This close, it's impossible not to see the tears in her eyes, and he feels something twist inside him. It's a little hard to multitask, but he brings his hand up and tries to brush them away with the pad of his thumb.]
Don't cry.
[He knows that might be fruitless--that it might not even be directly related to the overwhelming emotions they're both feeling, but it feels impossible not to say something. Try and make it hurt a little less.]
It's okay. I'm here.
no subject
I'm not- I-
[She turns her head to kiss him, capturing his mouth a little gracelessly in her eagerness to answer his reassurances. It's been so long; she remembers the days when they could do this without fumbling over each other, too. Or at least when that fumbling was more intentional, clothing and limbs getting in the way, tangling up in a different sort or urgency. Having to explain why she needed a replacement table centrifuge when they'd just delivered the new one a day before and now it had somehow ended up broken on the floor...
She wants to keep kissing him, but she's panting for breath against his lips instead, her fingers clenching around what she can manage to grip of his short cropped hair. Her nerves are still humming on the heels of her last orgasm, overly sensitive to every little thing, feeling as if he could still so easily drive her mad.
She tries to form the words needed to warn him, but the only thing that makes it out of her throat is a choked little sound as she teeters right on the edge of coming again, clawing to hang on just a little longer- draw it out for as long as she can. She doesn't want to give up the feeling of him inside of her, of their bodies pressed together, the smell and feel of him.]
--Jack! [It's the only word she can manage when she does finally come, his name tangled up in a shuddering cry that she tries (and fails) to muffle into his shoulder. Trembling legs lock around his waist and she shudders, rocking her hips up desperately in time with his thrusts, chasing after the fleeting feelings that burn so hot and bright.]
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Right now, however, there's no doubt--no way to misconstrue or second guess. He crushes his mouth over hers, arm tight around her waist, driving into her with all that he has. Jack needs this, more than he ever thought that he did, after so many years alone.
It's the way she says his name that pushes him over the edge, chasing her orgasm by seconds--and it's been so long for him that he can't manage to stifle the choked noise that escapes him.]
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She clutches him to her and takes his orgasm with a soft sound that she refuses to admit is a whimper, shaking in his arms, hot and sweaty and more satisfied than she'd been in years.]
It's okay. It's okay... [Her voice is unsteady and maybe the reassurance is as much for herself as it is for him, as her hands stroke over his back and shoulders. Her lips press against his temple and she mumbles it into his skin.] It's okay.
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Angela deserves better than that, either way. If he can't stay, the least he can do is allow himself to remember this fondly. Use it as fuel when he needs to remember that there are people counting on him.
For now, he lets out a choked sort of noise as his arms encircle her tightly, his forehead buried against her shoulder. It seems he's content to stay just like this, if only for a moment.]
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Oh, liebling. [She cradles the back of his head and rubs her cheek against his hair, her thumb rubbing comforting little circles just behind his ear.] I miss you.
[She has a feeling he'll know what she really means: that she misses a man that doesn't exist anymore. They both know there's no point in trying to fool themselves otherwise, but for a small moment in time, the memory of him had been welcomed.]
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He understands what she means. He wishes he had something reassuring to say to her, but he doesn't think he'd be so good at that anymore. Jack has to remind himself that this is not at all how he planned for his day to go.]
I know.
[I'm sorry. It's half-mumbled, because he's otherwise unable to say that he misses them, and the way things used to be. Even if he manages to set it all right, there still won't be any going back. All he can really do is settle into the quiet with her, trying to make the moment last as long as he can. As the sweat cools on his skin, his attention is drawn to a different wetness--he's bled through his bandage.
Unsurprising, given the exertion, and it doesn't hurt (or at least, he's weathered much worse), but his instinct is to shift upward to better inspect it, even if it breaks their quiet moment.]
Damn it.
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He smells like leather and smoke and sex- and the coppery hint of blood. She catches it almost at the same time as he does, blue eyes refocusing against the lazy haze of their afterglow when he starts to push himself up and she looks down to see the growing bloom of red staining his side.]
Ah- careful, Jack. [She starts to wiggle herself out from under him, her hand gingerly pressed to the bandage to try and stabilize the pulled stitches as he moves.]
I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-- [She cuts herself off before she can go any further. There was no point in blaming herself; or him. They had made the decision and she doesn't regret what had come of it.] Nevermind. Can you lay back? My staff is in the kitchen.
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Don’t apologize.
[All of this had been mutual, and Jack won’t let her feel guilty about something he willingly agreed to. This kind of physical exertion was bound to re-open his wounds. He should just be thankful that all the shrapnel is out, and she can patch him up that much easier. Jack watches her try to take the blame and then feels something twist in his chest when she brushes it off. She’s always been strong, and it’s not surprising that she’s bottling up her feelings in order to get to work.
It’s what they’re both good at, in the end.
Jack doesn’t want to lay back, but he does stay still, the warm patch of bandage starting to itch a little as it soaks through. To his credit, he’s patient, but he does call out to her after a moment.</small.] Angela, it's nothing.
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Blood stays on the inside, Mr. Morrison. We've had this conversation before. [She calls back just before returning with her staff and the last clean towel she could find in the kitchen. She didn't like having her work undone, even if in this case it was her own fault, and she'd be a poor physician instead if she didn't fix it. He could grouse all he wanted, it wouldn't make a difference.
She sits down at his side and pushes her hair out of her face before reaching for the bloody bandage, staff balanced expertly across her bare thighs.]
You're going to go back out there and keep doing... whatever it is you do. [Plausible deniability. She doesn't want to know the details and she won't be asking. Not if he's going to keep on with his crusade and she has to pretend that she doesn't know.] The least I can do is make sure you start out again in one piece. Please hold still, this might sting.
[She has to peel away the bandage, doing her best to avoid upsetting any of the stitches that were still intact. The swelling and some of the bruising has already gone down, despite their.. activities, a testament to his body's ability to outpace the standard, even after so long. She drops the wet fabric on the floor with a quiet tsk and makes a few adjustments on her staff to calibrate the nanite stream properly before it's linked to his wounds, the soft golden glow of the energy field spreading over his side.
She can feel the guilt and the sadness starting to creep back in and pretends to be distracted by a setting on her equipment if only so he doesn't have to see the way her brows pinch together and thinks it's because of him. It isn't. She can't change what's on the horizon any more than she could change his mind about coming back.]
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I know, Angela.
[Years ago there would have been an easiness to this kind of conversation--her sternly chastising him for one reckless maneuver or another, calling him Mr. Morrison almost playfully, but now all he feels is the weight of the situation between them. He doesn't want to sully what might be their last moments together, but staring at the bloodied bandage as she peels it off him just reminds him of what he has to do.
It only stings for a moment before the warmth of the nanites sets in and he can feel the wound stitching itself together, but he's seen the miracle enough times to keep his eyes on her, instead. He finds his hand moving before he even thinks about it, calloused thumb brushing the side of her face as she works, an unspoken thank you between them.]
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Before he can take it back, she reaches up and closes her hand around his, her grip tight despite her best efforts- and she presses her cheek against his knuckles. Hold me, is what she wants to say, but it feels like too much to ask of him.]
I should get dressed, [is what comes out instead, although there's little conviction in the softly spoken words, and she makes no effort to remove herself from his side. Time was ticking down and she was acting little better than a child digging her heels in and refusing to do what was needed.]
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They’re going to come looking soon.
[He hasn’t forgotten that she’s only bought them a limited amount of time, and getting caught is only going to ruin things for both of them, said as if something isn’t irrevocably broken between them.]