White Rabbit

James Conrad x Reader

Rating: M

Words: 2419

Summary: Over the course of the final weeks of the Vietnam War, you had become best friends with a certain British ex-special forces solider. What happens when you find out you'll be separated for months; you back to America, him to Skull Island?

Warnings: A combination of fluff, friendship, and, once it starts, pure smut.

A/N: Kong is amazing! Tom is sexy as hell! And I really, really wanted to write my first reader fic with Conrad. I hope you like it! (Sorry it's so long!)

Title Note: Named purely for White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane, the song that plays in the background of the bar fight scene in Kong: Skull Island.

One of these days, you needed to stop poking the proverbial hornet's nest. Here you were, in the middle of the Vietnam, one of the few Americans willing to come over here in the first place. You wanted to help people—you were very skilled as a war nurse—and there was no one left at home, so why not enter the war?

It turned out to be one of the best decisions you ever made.

And led to the worst.

The streets of Saigon outside the bar were loud—you could almost hear the shouts and horn honks from inside. Inside, it was a dark, dismal, private place. People kept to themselves, whether they were there for a fling or to garner some extra cash. White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane blasted through the bar, ironically adding to your mood; in Vietnam, you sometimes felt like Alice lost in wonderland.

You sat at the bar, your eyes traveled over the various types of people who had come tonight, as you swayed to the music. There were the typical Ladies of the Night dancing on tables, some on men's laps, you didn't really care to stare at their intimate activities for fear of someone catching your eye and getting pissed off. That had happened once, never again. Never. Again.

The men who weren't busy feeding their cocks either sat nursing their beers, becoming one step closer to an alcoholic, or at the pool tables, gambling away their war wages for the chance to earn a few extra bucks.

Your best friend was one of these men. He had become your best friend a few weeks ago, the night you pissed off that prostitute and her client. You found yourself entranced by the way the woman had ground herself against the man. It was a dance you had never experienced; you were fascinated by it. But you should've looked away before they noticed you staring.

"Hey pervert!" The American man had called out to you. "I'll pay you fifty to get in on this!"

You bashfully murmured a no, but the solider, obviously intoxicated, was not accepting that answer. He pushed the Asian woman harshly off of him, grabbed her hand, and dragged her with him, issuing protests in Vietnamese, as he approached you. But before he could act on his intentions, you were shielded by another man—one who was much taller than you and very well-built, you couldn't help but notice—who caused the American man to cower away without even speaking.

The rest of that night had been spent stammering out a thank you, offering to buy the man a drink, and, finally, relaxing enough that you could introduce yourself.

"(Y/N.)" You stated plainly, holding out your hand.

"Conrad. James Conrad."

Your jaw practically dropped on the floor when your ears first heard his thick British accent. He licked his lips and focused his blues eyes on you, his large hand engulfing your own.

Everything about him had you practically dripping that moment. But you had kept your hormones from getting too out of hand and, instead, you both had talked through the night about every little thing there was to know about each other; both your stances on the war, what you planned for the future, favorite colors, food. You had become lifelong friends in the course of twenty-four hours.

Your thoughts stirred back to the present as James approached you. Automatically, you reminded yourself not to rake your eyes over his form, and instead to keep your gaze on his. His normally grumpy exterior changed as his eyes found your own. His thin lips lifted, slightly, into an almost recognizable smirk—not quite a smile—and his stocky gait turned into a decided prowl to reach you as fast as he could.

He was a sensitive soul, but, damn, could that man be cocky when he won a bet. And you loved it.

He was blocked from you, however, when two men—one large and one skinny—stood in his way. He frowned, his eyes flicking to you, and you swore he was about ready to growl at them. "It's ok." You mouthed, and James relaxed again, giving a curt nod to the gentlemen, following them to an empty table in the middle of the floor.

The meeting between the trio only took a few minutes, but it gave you the perfect opportunity to let your hormones have their way. You slowly took a sip from your beer, peering over the edge of the bottle at James. His hair was scuffled, his face unshaven, and his body covered in a sheen sweat from the heat of Vietnam that made him look positively delicious. Your eyes lingered on the part of his chest you could see through his opened shirt, and you grunted into your beer, hiding a moan. You imagined his biceps holding you against the wall, taking you every way you both could imagine. You felt yourself dampen and subtly squeezed your legs together, turning away from James to calm yourself with a few deep breaths.

God, you hoped he hadn't noticed that. But, knowing your luck, he probably had.

When you had successfully gotten your urges under decent control again, you turned to look back at James, whose eyes seemed to flick away. Your lips dove to a frown as you watched him shift in his seat and continue to talk with the men. Could he have caught you watching him? Was he watching you? Or was he weirded out?

You turned to the bartender and ordered two of your favorite beers—which was also James's—deciding it was time to get yourself some liquid courage to ask. As fate would have it, the two Americans got up and left as you walked towards James, making sure to swing your hips a bit more than normal. Maybe it was the buzz, but you swore his eyes had flashed over your form as you approached the table.

"What was that about?" You leaned over the table, pushing the beer towards James before sitting.

"Thanks." He nodded, taking a sip. "They want a tracker for an expedition in the South Pacific. Leaving tomorrow. Good money."

Your heart sank and you tried to hide your frown behind the bottle. "Oh."

He set his beer down on the table and sighed, running his thumb over the condensation. "It won't be for more than a few months." He was reassuring you that he'd be back, you knew that.

"Yeah, but I'll be back in America by then. The war's ended. My plane's flying out next week." Your heart sank further; this would be the last night you two would have together for who knows how long. Would you ever see each other again?

James nodded and took another sip. Orders were orders and this would be the only chance for you to get out of Vietnam for a very long time. You had a family—sisters, a brother, your parents—who were waiting for your return. He, however, was a drifter, going where he was needed and where the pay was good. Theoretically, he could come to America. But you couldn't possibly ask him—

"Give me your address, I'll come to you."

"Surely, I can't ask you to—"

His blue eyes bore into you, unwavering; you knew he meant every word.

"Ok! Ok!" You laughed, your heart practically bursting from your chest in your excitement.

James held out a pen to you and you took it, frantically writing your American address down on a scrap of a napkin that had been on the table for who knows how long. You handed it to him, as well as the pen, and he placed it in the pocket of his shirt, patting his chest for emphasis.

"I won't lose it." He licked his lips and smiled at you.

Suddenly the room around you and James stilled and you felt like anything was possible, so you did the unthinkable; you grabbed his shirt by the collar and pulled him across the table, slamming your lips to his. It was an awkward kiss—his chapped lips remained stiff and unmoved—and, as your mind caught up to your actions, you let go of him quickly, hiding your face behind your hair.

A few people in the bar cheered. Some even had cash handed over to them.

"Sorry, James. I—"

But before you could finish your apology, James grabbed your hand and gently led you into the nearest bathroom. You jumped as he bellowed "OUT!" to the few girls at the sink and slammed the door behind them as they obeyed his orders.

"James, there's no need for this." You stammered, your face red, tears pooling in your eyes. "I'm sorry. Let's forget about—"

Yet again, you were cut off.

But, this time, as James stormed towards you and pulled you to him, kissing you hard and full on the lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your arms grasped his shoulders, pulling you to him. He pressed his body against yours, walking you so your back was against the nearest wall. You both moaned as his hips pressed straight into your core. He took advantage of this and deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue against yours and causing you to moan yet again.

You ground your hips against his, smiling as he panted and broke the kiss, pressing his lips to your neck. He immediately found the proverbial spot to drive you wild—the juncture between your neck and shoulder—that made the heat in your abdomen surge to a point where it was almost unbearable. Your hands grasped at his shirt, tearing at the buttons.

"Off!" You gritted through your teeth in frustration.

He gave a short laugh and arched back, sucking at your neck as he wrenched his shirt open so that some buttons clinked across the bathroom floor. You tore your own shirt over your head, discarding it without a thought. James, however, paused to gently lay his shirt on the corner of a sink, patting the pocket to make sure the napkin was still there.

His blue eyes claimed yours, they told you he would never lose that napkin. That, one day, he would find you, and you would never be a part again.

That look alone, the meaning you knew that was behind it, ignited a flame through your body so intense that you couldn't stand to have those few inches separating you any longer. You needed him, entirely, completely, and he needed you.

You grasped the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips again. Your arms locked around his neck as he unclasped both your pants, causing them, along with both of your underwear, to clatter to the floor.

You pulled back and bit your lip, suddenly nervous. James, seeming to read your mind, caressed the side of your head, his fingers trailing through your hair. You leaned your head into his hand.

"You haven't done this before?" His voice was hoarse with desire, his eyes caring. He didn't want to hurt you. He only wanted to be with you; body, mind, and soul.

"No." Your voice sounded equally croaky.

James suddenly seemed self-conscious himself, analyzed the bathroom. "This is hardly the place for your first time."

You lifted your fingers to his chin, gently turning him to face you. "This is the perfect place." You said, stern and resolute. You had waited for him for too long; you weren't going to wait any longer. "Any place is perfect as long as you're with me."

His hand trailed down your arm, a smirk overtook his lips at your stubbornness. His hands traveled down your abdomen, towards the source of your heat. Your hips surged forward instinctively, craving con as the tips of his fingers brushed their way through your curls.

"Well, then, let's get you ready." James brushed his lips against yours.

His hand found your heat, tracing through your lower lips until they reached your clit. You threw your head back against the wall, mewling. His lips found the spot on your neck again, his thumb steadily circling your nub as his forefinger thrust inside you, curling. Your hips thrust towards him and you panted, entirely overstimulated.

"James, please." You whimpered. You wanted him inside you. Now.

He grunted and inserted another finger into your core, stretching it. Your moan turned into a yelp as he bit down on your shoulder, causing you to clench down on his fingers.

"James!" You gasped out impatiently.

His fingers removed, only to be quickly replaced by his member running through your slit. His blue eyes penetrated yours, asking for permission.

"Yes." You huffed, winding your fingers back through his hair.

He gripped the back of your legs, lifting you so that you were pinned between his body and the wall. You whimpered as his member entered you—the pain, sharp at first, dulled to a gradual throb. James thrust his hips sharply, causing you to yelp at the sudden fullness you felt. He pulled back out and thrust back in, faster and harder.

"God! James!" You cried out, throwing your head back again. Your fingers scraped against his scalp, tugging at his hair.

He picked up pace to an aggressive frenzy, slamming your hips against the wall every time he thrust into you, causing your back to arch every time he pulled out. You didn't try to hide the loud moans issuing from your mouth. He didn't try to control the loud grunts and curses that spilled from his lips. The inferno blazing inside of you tightened to an almost uncomfortable level, before suddenly releasing, causing your toes to curl and your fingernails to dig into his scalp.

"Oh, god!" You both screamed, reaching your orgasms simultaneously.

James leaned his head against your shoulder, kissing it affectionately between pants. You kept your eyes closed, trying to regain control of your speeding heart, for, surely, it would break out of your chest at any moment!

"So," you panted, "that's how that feels!"

James laughed and shook his head. "It never feels like that." He brushed the damp strands of your hair out of your face. "I love you and I will find you again."

Your face broke into a wide grin, crinkling your nose and the corners of your eyes. You pulled James to you and kissed him, pouring every amount of love into him.

"I know."