Basically, this is just a smutty Japril oneshot for Valentine's Day because this week hasn't been too good for them and we could all do with some good stuff. It's set within the marriage bubble phase, so it's completely angst-free! Let me know what you think, and enjoy! :)
In twenty years, she's going to remember this.
She'll remember the way he'd been surprisingly romantic, had planned a whole evening for her without having to take a hint. Not that she'd ever consider hinting at anything in the first place.
She'd always considered him to be a Valentine's Day hater, loather, far from being a closet romantic.
But alas, no.
He was sweet, not that he wasn't always, most of the time at least, and as soon as her shift had ended he'd whisked her off back to his, their, apartment to freshen up in the bathroom while he did in the guest one.
She'd been exhausted after a long day running the ER, having stood-in on two surgeries in the afternoon alone.
But his words, and the look she was seeing in his eyes was giving her a little more energy.
Get through the night, he planned it all for you as a surprise so you can at least have the decency to stay awake. Have dinner, go dancing, bat yours eyelashes and lick your lips and play the role of a dotting housewife for a couple of hours.
Pretend you didn't just spend a day surrounded by chaos, blood and death. Pretend you'd rather have a nice romantic candle-lit dinner in public with your new husband, instead of curling up with said husband on the couch with a bottle a wine before he holds you while you sleep. Pretend you're not half asleep but half awake instead.
And she did.
She stayed up, got dressed up, got dolled up.
She wore a black dress, and heels, and she applied lipstick for the first time in four days.
She went out to dinner with her husband, she pretended they were still on their short-lived honeymoon down in the valley of Nevada.
She pretended, but her acting turned to reality, and now she's wide awake and wanting more.
"That was perfect." April licks her lips, bites the bottom one as her hands run up and down his chest.
He'd taken her to some fancy restaurant whose name she can't even begin to pronounce, but had of course attempted to in exchange for a rare smile from him.
Jackson grins, moves his hands to her waist as she lets go of him, turns around to face the door, her fingers messing with the key in her hand.
His head drops onto her shoulder, lets his lips brush against her bare skin for a second as he mumbles, "Need a hand?"
The trauma surgeon rolls her eyes, pushing open the front of their apartment and ushering him inside behind her. "Do you?"
He perks a brow at that, green eyes brightening up as he removes his jacket, watching as she closes and locks the door before pinning her keys on the hook. "Are you offering?"
He smirks, lets a boyish grin cover his face as he approaches her, catches her by surprise, hands slipping past her waist and pining her against the door.
April swallows a breath, kicks off her shoes as she stands against him, lowers herself down an inch or two in the process, "Maybe."
"I mean, I did just take you to dinner." He reasons, keeps his hands in place against the grey wood, lets his gaze pierce her own as he breathes over her, the very faint smell of red wine on his breath.
She's no better, she's the same, if only just a little more tipsy.
April ducks her head, leans her shoulders back against the door as her hips move forward, her hazel gaze watching as his fingers wrap around her hips then. "You did, didn't you?"
She giggles softly with a low voice, raises an arm by her face to push back a strand of hair before dropping it back onto his arm, cupping his elbow in her grasp.
"Well, see," She begins, glancing around the tidy place before finding his eyes again, looking up at him innocently through long lashes. She presses into him, slips her hands from his arms and hands them by her sides carelessly. "I had a different idea."
He squints an eye then, peeks down at her carefully, "Yeah?"
He's not a fool. He knows she's tired, exhausted from an overlong shift.
The day had worn her out and he'd organised the diner to settle her, calm her, treat her, with no goal in mind. But if she was the one who wanted to, then-
"Yep." She pops the 'p' with a soft click of the tongue before she grasps the hands lingering on her hips and pushes them away.
"And just what was this idea?" His voice is low, quiet almost, husky and almost dangerous enough to make her lace panties drop right there.
April smiles mischievously. "I want my husband," she sighs, walks around him and over into the kitchen backwards, facing him directly. She stops in front of the counter, taps the surface a couple of times with a glint in her eye, "to make love to me right here."
His eyes widen then as he strides towards her, clearly unable to refuse her request.
"Your husband thinks that that is a…" Jackson pauses towards the end, takes a small second to lick his lips and eye up her own, "great idea."
"He does?" She squeals as she finishes speaking, finding the wind in her lungs cut out as he picks her up to deposit her on top of the island in their kitchen.
She laughs, notices the way he grips her thighs as he leans closer to kiss her.
"Uh huh. He loves it. He loves you, too."
"And does my husband know that I love him, too?"
Jackson knits his brows.
"I know." He mutters, briefly leans his forehead against hers before he captures her mouth, forces his way between her teeth with his tongue.
She moans at the sudden contact, can't help but let her hands smooth along his shoulders, sculpt his frame and grasp the back of his neck between her palms. "Umm." She pulls back after a moment, when the pressure becomes too much and her cheeks begin to redden. "That's uh-"
"Yeah?"
With a shrug of the shoulder after a moment's thought, she gives up, gives in, pulls him closer and into her again.
His large tanned hands run along the skin of her legs, marking her once again as he pulls her knees apart, keeps a heavy stand between them.
He grasps the backs of her knees, gently slides her behind along the surface of the countertop until he feels her, and she feels his him against her centre.
April gasps quietly, her slipping open and away from his own as he runs his lips down her neck, down her chest. She moves her hands to his chest as he works her body, her fingertips quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
He continues down her body, fingers sliding the straps of her dress down her arms as she pants, pushes the shirt from his own shoulders.
Her dress comes to rest just beneath her breasts, tucked under the lace of her bra.
She rests back on her elbows as Jackson shifts down, grips the hem of her dress between his fingers and tugs it up, gathering the material around her waist.
April nods, as though he's asking her something and she's giving him permission, as though she can't wait.
"Please." She whispers when he reaches her thighs, hands wrapped behind her parted knees, lips dancing across her flesh.
He looks up at her then, slight beam, slight frown to his face, "Please, what?"
His teeth graze her flesh as he presses butterfly kisses her along the top of her panties, dragging down the thin cloth with this thumbs.
She throws her head back, ignores her own sharp breaths, avoids his stare. "Just-" He kisses her there, just once, and drops her seemingly useless underwear onto the tiled floor.
The redhead sobs aloud when he makes his way back up her body, naked breath tickling her skin and lips drawing patterns of her goosebumps.
She doesn't hear anything, too entrance by the sweat and lack of oxygen to pay attention, until she hears his pants drop, the faint sound of his belt hitting the tiles to join her forgotten panties.
And then she nods again, as though it's still a question.
It's more of a 'yes', a confirmation. What if she hadn't married him? What if she hadn't taken a chance? What if she had never been courageous to love him in the first place? He wouldn't be here about to do this, and she wouldn't be feeling what she's about to.
"Can-" She doesn't manage to get her words out before he does what she wanted.
They're in sync, now and forever, and he knows her thoughts before she even has time to finish thinking them up.
He's pressing into her, entering her body in one swift, regular, motion, the kind of sensation she's grown accustomed to and fond of for the second time in her life.
She loves it, the feel of him inside her, of 50% him belonging to 50% her for a few whole minutes, and vice versa.
They're used to this now, to the sex and the sweating and the nibbling and the kissing. But it's not bad routine, it's defining, challenging. He works her, brings out her dark side, tortures her soul. She weakens him, loosens him up, beings him to a physical and emotional level of emotion he never expresses otherwise.
They argue, but this, this is their game. They do this for fun. They do this because they want to, like to, because they love it.
They fit together like puzzles pieces that come as one in the box. They mould like hot glue that hasn't quite melted together yet. They touch like feathers falling from a freshly shredded pillow.
They're one, for a few moments every night, for most days of the week.
"You-" April gulps, feels the muscles in her neck contract, tighten, as her body does the same, grips him, holds him. She tosses her head back, closes her eyes to savour the effect.
She keeps him in place, hands gripping his elbows as he moves her, with her, his flesh burning her own over and over again with every heartbeat.
"Uh." He groans into her skin, because he's a groaner and his face is pressed so deeply into the swell of her breasts that it's hard to talk.
He frowns, creases his brows against her bones, glances up at her through half-tired eyes.
She's constantly biting her lip, but her hands fly to the back of his neck after a while, as her inner walls shiver, goosebumps covering her skin as she feels herself mount, reach the finish line.
He continues to love her, slam and feel and kiss, hands to her waist to hold her in place, fingertips pressing into the swell of her back to caress her, bring her over the edge as he copies.
"Jacks-" April hiccups, runs a hand through her hair as she pleads, leans upwards and into him, pushes herself past the brink of completion.
She moans, lets a soft squeak escape past her lips as she releases, her entire body tightening as he does the same, with a grunt of her name and a fast shift of his hips.
After a moment, she finally opens her eyes, lifts her head to face him, watch his body finish in her, watch her own spur him on just a little bit longer. She grips the back of his neck, pulls his towards her no matter how much it hurts, no matter how awkward the position.
The fingertips curl into the base of his skull as his finally finish moving and Jackson sighs, green eyes darken than before and brows as sweaty as hers.
She smiles and presses her forehead to his, letting her tongue soften her dry lips as she flicks her gaze back and forth between his eyes. "I love you, Valentine."
He kisses her in reply, hands snaking around her back protectively, palms flat against her shoulder-blades. "I love you, too."
She chews her lip for a second, notices the way he blinks over and over again, clearly in thought,
"Bedroom?"
"Yeah."