Well, Christmas is already here in my neck of the woods - so Merry Christmas if you're celebrating! Hope you're having a wonderful time with your loved ones and a good weekend!
The working title for this one was 'Christmas XXX', which is all it really is, with some fluff and snow woven in. I regret nothing.
It wasn't that Claire didn't like the holidays, but somewhere along the way she got fundamentally disillusioned about them. No, there were Christmas nights in her life filled with twinkling lights that felt like magic, piles of presents, and cookies and milk left for Santa under the tree. But between her parents who started to skip the most exciting night of the year, choosing to work instead and leave her and Karen in the care of a babysitter, and then essentially growing up, it was bound to happen.
And then Jurassic World came along, with Christmas being the busiest time of the year when the park was booked to a full capacity. Claire couldn't take the time off for fear of jeopardizing her career, and thus she ended up having a glass of wine in her tree-less suite on Christmas Eve for seven years straight, usually while going through one report or another. She certainly did not resent the festivities, moderately enjoying the bright decorations adorning the streets of the resort, but she also couldn't say she cared about this time of the year in any particular way.
Naturally, the fact that the Indominus Rex incident happened around Christmas time didn't bode well for any fond memories, either. If anything, she couldn't help but cringe at the mere thought of it. Even now, a year later, it snuck up on her now and then, making her feel like she was still on the island, still running. She wondered if she would ever stop.
Claire looked out the window, feeling her lips curve into a small smile. It was snowing, again. These days, it always seemed like it was snowing, and she didn't even realize how much she'd missed it.
Being back in Madison, she felt like her life had made a full circle, bringing her back to where she'd started. Somehow between the court hearings regarding the incident and trying to figure out what she wanted to do next, she ended up here – partly because she felt bad about inadvertently putting Zach and Gray through honest-to-god hell and was now desperately trying to make up for it as best she could; and partly because the striking contrast between the chilly Wisconsin and a tropical island was making her feel at peace with herself.
Her phone chimed, and she grabbed it from the couch, her smile growing wider by the second. "Hey," she breathed out as her heart made that small leap that tended to leave her a little out of balance. Every. Single. Time.
"Hey, baby," Owen's voice sounded as if it was coming from across the globe, muffled and distant, but so familiar and dear it almost hurt.
After failing to quit InGen due to his contractual obligations with the NAVY, he had no other choice but to stay behind for a while until he was transferred to the Midwest. And before Claire even knew it was happening, he was within her arm's reach again, and once the realization had finally dawned on her, she didn't have it in her to tell him not to do it, not to change his plans and turn his life upside down for her. She wanted him there, and she'd denied herself the things she wanted for so long she could barely stand the idea of losing someone who was now her whole world. The way their relationship unfolded, it felt almost effortless at times – never easy, but always simple.
Once his transfer was settled, he decided to forgo the active duty, choosing to teach the new cadets in the Recruit School instead – probably because every time he brought it up, Claire would turn ashen, the idea of him running among the bullets whistling past his head making her sick and more than a little nauseated. They were toying with the possibility of him walking away, but he needed a job, and finding one after the incident turned out being much harder than either of them anticipated – people were curious about him, about what had really happened on the island. No one even read his resume, he got calls based solely on his reputation and his 15 minutes of fame, and it was driving him nuts.
It sounded like a good plan at the time, still did actually, except his new base was in Illinois, and he was flying back and forth every few weeks to see her. It wasn't forever, Owen promised her. Just for a bit, until he figured out what to do next while also making some money. She didn't protest, reveling in the magic of having him with her when he was around, falling harder and deeper and stronger than she could ever imagine. She missed him like crazy, but it made their time together all the more wonderful. Like fireworks that ignited her blood, making it run like molten gold in her veins.
"Where are you?" She asked. "You sound like you're calling from a bunker."
He wasn't meant to come back until the next weekend, which meant she was going to spend Charismas alone. Well, not alone – she was spending it with her sister, but it was not the same, and she couldn't help but feel that her ache for his presence would make her implode.
"Yeah, almost." He laughed, and the image of his easy smile flashed in her mind. "Hey, I know I promised we could talk now, but would it be okay if I called you back in 15? Something came up…."
"Sure, of course."
It was their thing – come rain or shine, hell or high water, they talked every day, finding the way around each other's schedules. Mostly about nothing. The weather, their jobs, the films they saw or the books they read, their conversations laced with unspoken longing. It was never enough, and Claire was always left wishing for more, but the sound of his voice smoothed out her sharp edges and calmed the storms inside her, and sometimes it was all she needed.
She put down the book she was trying to read – with little success, and padded into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, pausing briefly by the window. She'd always loved watching the snow fall, ever since she was little. Loved the way it made the world look like the white blanket made it seem completely reborn. A fresh canvas, unmarked and pristine. Like anything was possible. She didn't enjoy the cold, never had, being constantly chilly even on the warmest of days, but in her time on the island she missed the real winter with its delicate lace of frost on the windows and the smell of hot chocolate.
In a way, it was a relief to come back to it, to the comfort of something familiar that ran deeper than simply recognizing the streets she'd known her entire life. For all she knew, she loved the snow for as long as her soul existed.
A knock on the door came just as she reached for the kettle, making her frown momentarily. She wasn't expecting anyone, although Karen didn't need an invitation, and neither did the boys who didn't have a problem dropping by announced now and then. In the worst-case scenario, it was a very unfortunate solicitor stuck in the snowstorm.
It was neither of them.
"Hi," Owen grinned at her, his hair dusted with snowflakes from the quick walk from the cab that was peeling off the curb right now to the door.
"Owen…." Claire muttered, disbelieving, her heart fluttering in her throat.
She squealed then and pressed her hand to her mouth for a second before throwing herself at him, arms wrapped around his neck so tight she thought she would throttle them both in the process. His traveling bag hit the porch floor with a dull thud, and the next moment, his arms locked around her in a death grip. He smelled of snow and his aftershave and everything she grew to associate with him, and she inhaled deeply, unable to stop smiling, feeling like her face was about crack open.
"Missed you," Owen murmured into her hair, finally kicking his bag into the hallway and pulling Claire inside before she froze to death in her thin sweater that was not meant for the outside wear when it was so cold.
He slammed the door closed behind them and Claire pulled back just far enough away to take in his face, her gaze skimming over the smiley lines in her corners of his eyes, his hair that was curling over his forehead because of the moisture clinging to it, the curve of his lips, not quite certain yet that she was actually seeing him.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, tracing her fingers along his jaw, his stubble prickling her fingertips.
Owen leaned into her touch without breaking the eye contact to kiss the palm of her hand. "Couldn't leave you alone on Christmas, could I?" He whispered.
Her chest tightened. "And when you called-"
"From the cab," he confessed. "Surprise."
Claire let out a shaky, excited laugh, and pulled up on her tiptoes to nuzzle into her cheek, melting into him, her fingers clutching at his overcoat that felt rough and cold to the touch, smelling faintly of the gasoline fumes of the car. The four weeks that she hadn't seen him felt like forever now, and all she could do was try and seep in as much of him as she could before he was gone again so she could bottle up the memory and hold on to it later.
"Are you tired? Hungry?" She asked quietly.
"No. Yes."
"Let me make something for you," she offered. "There's lasagna-"
"No, for this." A hand on her cheek, he tilted her head up and captured her lips with his, urgent and desperate, his need shooting through Claire like a jolt of electric current that left her weak in the knees.
Her phone chirped in the kitchen, giving them both a start, and then proceeded to ring persistently.
"Take it," Owen breathed out between the kisses.
"No."
"Take it, Claire, it'll only stress you out more if you don't." He pulled back and pecked her quickly on the tip of her nose.
"It'll only be a second," she promised peeling away from him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.
Owen finally shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his boots caked with the packed snow that was starting to melt, leaving slushy puddles on the floor, and followed Claire into the kitchen, rubbing his cold hands together.
"Hey, Karen!" He caught her say. "No, just at home… Well, actually-"
He slid over to where she was standing near the counter and wrapped his arms around her, "Don't tell her anything." His hoarse whisper sent a shiver down her body, effectively cutting Claire off.
"Oh, no, nothing. I was just…." Her voice trailed off and her breath hitched when Owen pressed a kiss to her neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse with his lips while his hands slipped under the hem of her sweater and started to roam over her belly, her skin so smooth he felt like he could break it with his touch. "I was…" She allowed her eyes to drop shut when Owen's fingers travelled along the waistband of her pants, not really hearing her sister over the blood rush in her ears. "I'll call you later."
Claire hung up without waiting for Karen's response and turned around in the circle of Owen's arms. "Great. Now she probably thinks I'm cheating on you," she giggled, tracing her mouth along his jaw while her fingers carded through his hair.
"I don't mind," Owen chuckled gruffly.
"Really?" She drew back, one eyebrow arched quizzically.
He rolled his eyes. "That she thinks that. So long as you're not cheating on me with me."
"That's not how-" she started, but he silenced her with another hard kiss, his hands siding up her body, skimming over the lines of her muscles, his palms still cold and calloused to her skin.
Claire arched her back, a low moan rising in her throat when he pushed her against the counter, trapping her between the cool granite and the heat radiating off of him and setting her blood on fire. She raised her arms, allowing him to pull her sweater off and toss it unceremoniously aside before he cupped her breast with hand and the back of her head with another, kissing her with an almost frightening desperation, his tongue darting past her teeth an into her mouth. Her belly warm with anticipation, she slid her fingers into the collar of his shirt and around his neck, gripping the hair on the back of his head, needing the proximity, lost in the familiar taste of him.
There was a hurried, dire need in every kiss, every touch, the clash of their lips and tongues and teeth against each other. Claire pushed his hooded shirt down his shoulders and tugged at his tee, almost ripping it off of him, skimming her fingers over his chest, palms splayed on his ribs, fingers digging into his flesh. He growled against her mouth when she scraped her nails down his sides, his muscle rippling under her touch as if she was shocking his at every point of contact.
Claire gasped when he pulled her slacks down and hoisted her onto the counted in one fluid motion, his eyes black with wanting, his gaze electrifying. She grabbed him by the belt loop of his jeans, pulling him closer while his finger ran along the waistband of her panties, slipping in just far in to make her yearn for more and raising goosebumps all over her body.
"Owen…" her mouth dropped slightly open when he pushed a strap of her bra down her shoulder, his lips latching onto her neck while his hands worked on pushing his jeans down his hips and stepping out of them.
One whole month too long, he thought, burying his fingers in her hair and kissing her again, drinking her, drowning in the taste that haunted his dreams since the day they bid their goodbyes at the airport weeks ago. Smiling against his mouth, Claire teased her hand down his sternum, stroking him through the fabric of his boxes before nudging them down his hips to have Owen shove them away with a primal grunt of barely contained desire. He lifted her, helping her wriggle out of her panties, and then thrust into her with a needy growl before they even hit the floor.
Claire stilled around him, panting, her chest heaving and her nails digging into his shoulders, leaving pale-pink half-moon marks all over him.
"Want you so bad," Owen mouthed soundlessly, marveling in the feeling of having her walls clenched around him, the anticipation of pleasure driving him mad.
The counter was high enough, but only barely so, leaving Claire perched on the very edge of it with her legs wrapped around his hips and his hand on the small of her back, keeping her safe in this precarious positon. Her huffed his want, snapping his hips up, testing their limitations, swallowed whole by the blackness of her widened pupils, the heat zinging from his core through his every nerve. Owen was used to tamping his instincts with her, holding back like she could break in his arms, but the weeks of missing her and needing her left him on the verge of losing his mind.
Claire nodded almost imperceptibly, and he threw himself into her, into the chaos of sensations, teetering on a brink of the void. She was moaning softly into his ear with each exhale, clutching and tugging and squeezing at him with every thrust, and he was falling, too fast and too soon, spiraling into her, gripping desperately onto her arms-waist-thighs, sleek with sweat.
"I'm sorry," Owen murmured into her neck, breathless, Claire's hands running over his shoulder, her body still singing to him. "Sorry." He kissed his way up and along her jaw, cupping her face in his hands, their breaths ragged from the effort and mingled together.
"It's okay," she murmured, smoothing down his hair, brushing her palms over his cheeks, her knees still locked around his ribs.
"No, it's not."
Owen kissed her slowly and deeply before abandoning her lips to trail his mouth down the pale column of her neck as his shaking fingers finally managed to undo the clasp on her bra to drop it down to the counter. His mouth closed around her nipple while his hand cupped around her other breast, his thumb running over its hardened peak, his skin pricking with the sound of her sharp inhale.
Hands sliding over her sides and around her hips, he lifted her off the counted and carried her to the bedroom, spreading her on the mattress, feeling the heat inside him rise again as his mouth started its quest down her body. His tongue traced the curves of navel as his fingers moved toward her center, Claire's hips rising to him in a silent invitation, her hands gripping fistfuls of sheets, struggling to keep on breathing.
"Damn it, Grady," she muttered, gasping when his mouth reached its final destination.
Owen chuckled and drew her knees wider apart, rubbing his bearded cheek on the inside of her thigh and coaxing a loud whimper out of her, teasing and tasting and caressing, hands firm on her thighs, holding her in place. She grasped his hair with a moan, ready for him, nails scraping over his scalp, the whole universe shifting around them. It never felt odd with Owen, never felt like asking for too much. He was giving willingly. With him, everything felt right.
She didn't last long, shattering under his touch and the artful movement of his tongue between her legs, her body quaking with spurts pure pleasure while he kissed his way back up her body, nuzzling into her soft belly with a quiet snort, finally collapsing next to her, spent in the best way.
"Now it's okay," Owen whispered, kissing her breasts again, one and then another, before resting his head on her sternum, Claire's rapid heartbeat pounding like a drum through him.
She let out a small, unsteady laugh, running her fingers slowly through his hair damp with sweat, pushing it back from his forehead. "We'll have to bleach the kitchen," she murmured thoughtfully, and he laughed, too, wrapping his arm possessively around her hips.
"Oh well, spring clean, winter clean…"
"Why didn't you call?" Claire asked after a little while when her breathing evened out.
"Wanted it to be a surprise," Owen rubbed his cheek against her ribs, making her giggle.
"Well, it worked," she assured him, playing lazily with his curls, sated and drowsy. "And what's with the secrecy? Why couldn't I tell Karen you were back?"
He started tracing slow patterns on her hip with his hand, sending small shocks right through her, not oblivious to her subtle response. "Wanted to have you all to myself for a while," he confessed.
"I thought you liked my family."
Owen propped himself up on the elbow to look her properly in the face, taking in the reddened cheeks and the ocean-green on her eyes, the gentle bow of her red lips, struck by her beauty that started to consume him years ago and never stopped since, feeling utterly dumbfounded by how it was even possible that she was his.
"I love your family," he promised her, then reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "But I'm not due to be back for a few more days, and we… it's been so long since it was just the two of us, and I missed you so bad, Claire."
His voice dropped as he watched her features soften and melt into something that resonated deep inside him, tugging at his very heart and snapping the strings that were holding it in place until it started to feel like it could flutter right out of his chest.
"And what did you have in mind?" She asked, one eyebrow arched.
His smile stretched wider and he allowed his gaze to travel up and down her body in a very suggestive way before their eyes met again, the echo of his desire reflecting in her own gaze. He scooted closed to her, a hand on her cheek and an arm looped around her waist as he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "Oh, I think we'll figure it out."
xoox
The late afternoon darkness had settled around them, crowding the corners, when Claire finally disentangled herself from Owen who'd dozed off earlier, exhausted from his trip. She paused beside him for a moment, reaching almost involuntarily to touch his hair, to feel its softness between her fingers. Her lips tugged upwards when he stirred without waking up, burying his face deeper into the pillow, her pillow, struck momentarily by how much younger he looked in his sleep, almost boyish in the indigo twilight that coloured everything around them in greys and blues, her chest tight with missing him even when he was right here beside her.
She brushed a quick kiss to his forehead and then slipped from under the covers. Wrapped in one of Owen's shirts, breathing his scent lingering on the fabric, she headed into the kitchen. The discarded garments of their clothing were strewn all over the floor, and she picked them up absently before diving into one of the cupboards, looking for something to eat, her stomach growling.
Grocery shopping wasn't her forte, and without Owen around, she tended to forget about it altogether. There was, however, a box of Pop Tarts sitting on the upper shelve—
"Where'd you go?"
She turned to the sound of Owen's voice to see him saunter into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips, yawning for all his was worth as he moved and scrubbing his hand down her face.
"I got hungry," Claire smiled when he wrapped his arm around her and dropped a kiss into her hair.
"Why didn't you wake me?" He murmured against her temple.
"Because then we wouldn't get here anytime soon," she pointed out, feeling his chest rumble with laughter.
"Probably," Owen didn't argue, running his palm along the small of her back. "Hey, where's the tree by the way?"
"Huh?" Claire finally wrestled a package of Pop Tarts open and offered him one before biting into her own, only now remembering that they skipped lunch.
"The tree." Hs gaze darted toward the living room across the hall. "There's no tree."
"Oh." She chewed and swallowed. "Well, you weren't supposed to come home until after Christmas and I was planning to spend it at Karen's, so a tree for just me seemed excessive."
Owen gaped at her, opening and closing his mouth comically. "That's blasphemy," he gasped in the end, making her giggle. "We're getting one tomorrow."
"It's probably a few weeks too late for that."
"C'mon," he leaned against the sink and drew her toward him. "This whole state couldn't possibly run out of Christmas trees even if it tried."
"Even if it tried?" She echoed, skeptical.
Owen pecked her quickly on the lips. "Mm, gotta love the taste of cherry on you."
The did clean the kitchen, and then Claire offered to order something to eat, maybe Chinese or a pizza, but Owen made them grilled cheese sandwiches instead, and they ate them squeezed into one armchair in the living room while The Santa Clause was playing on the TV and the snow continued to fall. She fell asleep with her legs stretched over his lap to the sound of the wind howling outside, lulled by the warmth of Owen's body and the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers.
When the credits started to roll, he turned off the TV and picked her up to carry her to bed, turning the lights off along the way. Her eyes fluttered open when he lowered her down, blinking sleepily until his face came into full focus.
"Are you really here?" She asked quietly.
The corner of his mouth cured up into a small smile. He touched his had to her hair, traced his fingertips along her cheekbone, "I think so."
Claire pulled him down and over her, her gaze darting between his eyes and the mischievous curve of his lips. "Prove it."
xoox
Claire turned out to be right, more or less. Most of the farms in the area had long been closed, having sold their supply of Christmas trees a couple of weeks ago.
Not that Owen would ever allow something quite as trivial as that to stop him. It was Wisconsin, for crying out loud! And they were going home with a tree even if he had to chop one himself! (Claire reminded him that it was illegal to reign in his enthusiasm.)
She didn't really care, and she told him as much. It was not about the tree, and now that he was home, she honestly couldn't care less about the technicalities of this holiday, but he was adamant, and persistent, and stubborn like only Owen Grady could be, and in the end, she decided not to swim against the current but follow it instead.
The clouds were low and heavy, the day grey, but snow had stopped sometime at night, and as they drove down the road, winding between the trees nearly buried in snowdrifts, she watched the occasional stray snowflakes float in the air, pushed around by the wind.
From the driver's seat, Owen reached for her hand and squeezed it, a pleasant warmth spreading all over her body at his touch. They had a lazy morning, lounging in bed way past the time Claire would normally get up, even on the weekends. But when she woke up to Owen pressing small kisses to her bare shoulder, slowly working his way toward her neck and that spot behind her ear that always made her melt, and there was no way they were skipping that.
With a suddenness that left her dizzy, like reaching the top of the loop on a rollercoaster and then plunging down at the speed of light, Owen was there, taking up her every thought, all the smallest spaces of her life, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Not for anything in the world. If he wanted to hunt down a Christmas tree – who cared?
Well, except it was starting to feel like a waste of time.
As if sensing what she was thinking, Owen promised, "Just one more place, and we're heading to Walmart to buy a plastic one, okay?"
"Watch the road," she told him, trying to swallow a smile.
It wasn't just one – it was ever just one anything with him – but they got lucky at the second stop they made. A small place tucked off the main roads that Owen stumbled upon only because he got lost, despite his heated reassurances that he would never…
The farm wasn't overly crowded, filled mostly with the other last-minute customers, roaming among the trees peppered with snow. The air smelled strongly of pine tar and complementary hot chocolate that was left on the picnic table in the gazebo, mixed with the scent of gingersnap cookies and chimney smoke. Like holiday, Karen would say.
"Told you," Owen singsongs triumphantly, pulling Claire toward him by the thick scarf hanging around her neck and kissing her nose, flushed red in the cold. There were snowflakes on her eyelashes, melting from the heat of her body and glinting like diamond droplets, and he could swear she'd never looked more breathtaking to him.
"What?" Claire asked, watching him.
"Nothing." He tucked a strand of her hair that the wind kept blowing in her face behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her cheek. "It's good to be home."
It wasn't until they picked their tree, treated themselves to hot chocolate and cookies and drove back to Madison that Owen dropped the bomb, tough.
Dressed in leggings and his sweatshirt, Claire was rummaging through a box of ornaments in the living room, looking for her favourite ones while Owen poked and prodded at the logs in the fireplace, trying to get the fire started, his face scrunched in concentration, and Claire's fingers itched to smooth the crease between his eyebrows. The house wasn't cold, but it was old and drafty, and there was something about the crackling of the wood on winter nights that begged for the comfort of fire.
The snow started again soon after they came back home and Owen wrestled the almost 6-foot tall tree into the living room, leaving a trail of pine needles in his wake and making the whole house smell like a wintry forest.
"Hey, do you know if there's another box of ornaments?" Claire asked, looping her hair around her ears, her eyebrows knitted together. Considering the fact that she'd had the holiday stuff shoved into the farthest corner of the closet in her apartment in San Diego for almost a decade, it was a miracle she still had it, but not being able to locate something or another was still frustrating. "I can't find the tinsel." She glanced up when he didn't respond. "Owen?"
"Huh?" He looked up, distracted.
"Is everything okay?"
He shifted the logs with the fire poker, sending a flurry of sparkles into the air before plopping down onto the floor. He rested his arms on his bent knees and ran a weary hand down his face and through his hair.
"I'm not going back," he said after a moment or two. "I quit."
Claire dropped the green globe decorated with gold back into the box and frowned, uncertain she'd heard him right. "You quit?" She echoed. "Why? And…. Were you going to mention it?"
Owen winced a little, looking sheepish by the second. "Of course, I was. It's just… There were more important things to attend to." He offered her a contemplative grin and reached his hand out, and she finally abandoned her attempts at decorating and took it, allowing him to pull her into his lap. "I'm sorry, I should've… I wanted to tell you sooner." Owen's hands locked behind her back, warm even though the layers of fabric.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He shrugged and glanced quickly at the fire before meeting her eyes again; the flames reflected in her gaze, making it look like Claire herself was made of flamed, confined in a human form. "I asked them for a transfer, closer to here," he explained, running slow circles with his thumbs on her back. "There were no positions available. So I quit." Owen let out a long exhale, bringing back everything he had mulled over before making the final decision.
Her hands slipped around his neck, playing absently with the hair on the back of his head. "I thought you liked it."
"I did," Owen admitted. "But I didn't get off that godforsaken island so I could only see you every other month." He twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers, enthralled by how alive and alight it seemed in his hand. "I missed you. And I want to… I want to have this," he swept the room with his gaze, "every day. I want to be with you, period."
He tugged her closer and rubbed his nose against her jaw, breathing everything that was Claire.
"I don't want you doing it for me," she whispered.
"I'm doing it for me," Owen responded simply. "I mean, what's the point? It's just a job, I'll find a new one. Anything. I don't even care."
If there was one thing that the island taught him, it was that everything could change in a heartbeat, their lives could turn upside down in a split second, changing every aspect of their being forever. He had almost lost her once already, and the memory still haunted him like it only happened yesterday. And if he couldn't be with her, if he couldn't come back to her every day or wake up not to her every morning, then what was he even doing?
Claire leaned into him, her breath on his temple. He didn't hear so much as feel her heartbeat, the warmth and the sweet weight of her in his arms.
"Aren't you worried you'll get sick of seeing too much of me?" She asked quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips and shooting straight for his heart.
Owen's hands slid up her thighs and behind her back, creeping under her sweatshirt. He pressed a kiss to her temple when her breath hitched, and then pulled her shirt off over her head, grinning at her for all he was worth. "There's only one way to find out."
…pale and smooth, Claire's skin glowed in the firelight as she moved above him, her hair falling over her shoulders in heavy waves and her eyes dropping shut with every rock of her hips. Sprawled on the pile of their clothes beneath her, with his fingers digging into her thighs, Owen could barely tear his gaze away from her – so blissful and happy and so damn beautiful.
As her breathing grew ragged and erratic, he sat them up, cupping his hand behind Claire head and clashing his mouth to hers, swallowing her moan of surrender and release, muting her outcry of pure bliss. His hand found the small of her back to continue their movements while he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck until his lips closed around her breast, and she was shuddering in his arms, coming fully undone.
His hand tangled in her hair, he continued his quest, pumping his hips while she was riding out her orgasm until he, too, was groaning into her ear. Suddenly too weak to keep the upright position, he collapsed back, taking Claire with him, her face buried in his neck, pressing her lips to his throat, his collarbone while the world exploded around them.
"God, that was…" She started breathlessly.
Owen chuckled, tightening his grip on her, their skin sticky with sweat and the musk of sex wrapped around them like a blanket. "Yeah," he agreed.
"You're not leaving," Claire repeated, as if still amazed by the news.
"Never." A pause. "Wait a sec," with a quick kiss to the crown of her head, Owen wiggled away from her to reach for his pants and dig out something from the pocket. When his palm opened, Claire saw his dog-tags, a silver chain pooling around the plates. He let them fall from his grasp, hanging between them for e few moment, and then put the chain over her head, pulling her hair from under it until the dog-tags nestled neatly in the crevice between her breasts, cool against her heated skin. "All yours now."
Claire traced the length of the chain, feeling the engravings on the plates with her fingertips before her gaze fastened on Owen's again.
"Mine."
xoox
Zach and Gray were the first to burst into the house in a flurry of loud voices and scarves and hats, talking over each other like there ten of them, not two.
"What's with the change of plans?" Karen huffed, following them inside with a dish wrapped in tinfoil in her hands.
"You didn't have to bring anything," Claire told her.
"Well, the dinner was supposed to be at my house and I cooked it-"
"Owen!" Someone shrieked in the depths of the house, probably Gray, but could be Zach, or both of them, and Karen's eyebrows climbed all the way up to her hairline as she pulled off her coat.
"When did that happen?" She followed Claire into the kitchen to put her potato pie into the oven to keep it warm.
"A couple of days ago," Claire admitted, not even bothering to hide her smile. "It was meant to be a surprise."
In the living room, Owen was tackled down to the floor, laughing while the Christmas tree – properly decorated and adorned with twinkling lights – gleamed in the corner, a pile of presents nearly as high as the tree itself surrounding it like a wall.
Claire folded her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe and regarding the whole scene with a great deal of fondness.
"What do you think is going on here?" Karen asked, pausing next to her, trying oh so hard not to grin.
"Not sure, but it sure looks like fun."
"Claire…"
She raised her hand. "I know, I know. I should've told you."
"No, what I wanted to say was that you look happy."
Claire looked at the man sitting on the floor, with the two boys in front of him, hanging hungrily on every word he was saying. She thought of what it was like to wake up next to him for the past few days, remembering the way he looked at her in the lazy moments between sleep and wakefulness, the way the sound of his voice was washing over her, making her feel whole.
Claire Dearing wasn't the one to believe in the concept of blessings, but she wasn't stupid not to see one when it was staring her straight in the face.
"I am," she said softly. "I really am." The wrapped her arm around Karen. "Merry Christmas, sis."
Happy holidays, y'all! Feedback is much appreciated :)