Title: You've Got Indecent Mail
Author: Mindy
Rating: T sexual concepts
Disclaimer: You know it
For: hamnapkin
Prompt: voicemail
Spoilers: "The One with the Cast of Night Court"
Pairing: Jack/Liz, Jack/Claire
Summary: Liz hears something she doesn't want to
-x-
She saved the voicemail. The last one Claire sent her. As evidence. Of what, she's not exactly sure. She's not even sure she hears what she thinks she hears on it. Not that she's listened to the thing over and over again. That's…not what she's into. It's just that every time she dials in to hear her messages, she's reminded of its existence. Lurking in the depths of her phone's memory. And just its presence means she's forced to speculate on a regular basis whether it really is her name that Jack moans.
It hardly seems likely. He was pretty into Claire, by her recollection. And unfortunately enough for her, in their former friendship, she saw the woman naked enough times to understand why. He certainly sounded like he was enjoying whatever the hell was happening on the other end of the line during the first voicemail she received from Claire, documenting their intimacies. That one pretty much consisted of a whole lot of heavy breathing and some stuff being knocked over. But even so, that made her blush a fully-fledged, guilt-ridden red.
So the next one, in which Claire managed to capture the groans of Jack's, from the sounds of it, very intense, very satisfying orgasm, practically gave her post-traumatic stress syndrome. She shut the thing off and threw it at the couch before he'd even finished said satisfying orgasm. Not that that assuaged her shame at all. She felt dirty just digging it out again, hours later. And she wasn't even the one getting all naked and sweaty with a person she barely knew. But still. There were some things – especially about her best friend -- she did not need to know.
Like that he might mention her name during sex. That was just…unnecessary.
She did not ask for that information. She did not need it. And frankly, it confuses the hell out of her to think that he might. Especially considering how adamant he's always been about her complete, irredeemable grotesque-ness. The only explanation she has for it is that some weird thing, mid-sex-act, happened to annoy him – a sentiment his mind instinctively linked to her, and hence her name spilt from his lips. The only thing wrong with that theory of course, is that she knows exactly how Jack sounds when he is annoyed and….it isn't like that.
So she listened to it a few times. A few -- not hundreds. Not even dozens. Just a few. Not because she likes it. But because he says her name. Or she thinks he does. Or…she knows. At first, she thought it was just a really low, long "mmmm" sound. But again, she's heard Jack say her last name enough times to recognise it, despite any other distractions. Like Claire telling him how big and hard he is. Which, once again, is way too much information for her squeamish mind. And the only reason she allows it in, the only reason she persists in entertaining these thoughts is because any thought of her, plus any type of nakedness, plus Jack being big and hard just seems wrong, on so many levels. It raises questions her mind can't quite comprehend.
She has to wonder whether he was aware of being recorded, whether he was aware of the slip he made. And whether Claire was. Whether she did this merely to mess with her in some way, ruin her relationship with Jack or make her think there's something there that just isn't. Like that time she dared her to go flirt with that swarthy DJ dude who she swore black and blue had been asking about her. She ended up talking to him about her foot bunions while Claire had a good laugh at her expense. She just hopes Jack is not in on the joke this time. She's pretty sure he wouldn't be that mean. Because, sure, he can be critical and overbearing, but he's never vindictive.
But that still leaves her with the indisputable fact -- and it is fact, as much as she'd like to deny it (but she has the evidence) – that Jack, at least once that she knows of (and she doesn't want to think about it but he set the precedent so there may be other times she doesn't know about) thought of her, in fact, moaned her name whist involved in activities of a carnal nature. So…there's…that. She doesn't know how she feels about that. But it's…not good. Particularly not when she thinks about where his hands were and where his mouth might've been and who he was with when he, however unintentionally, brought her into this. She doesn't like being involved in sex on a normal day, under normal circumstances. So being the phantom third party in someone else's sick little tryst simply makes her uneasy. And a little cross.
Which is why she's frowning at her phone when Jack pops his head around the door of her office. "Good morning. Did you get my message?"
She looks up. "…What?"
"About the thing?"
She frowns at him: "I got no message, I want no message. I heard nothing. About any…thing."
He draws back, examining her warily: "Why are you scowling at me like that?"
She continues frowning at him, now more determinedly. "This is my office. I'm allowed to scowl in it, if I want to. It's free country and you're not the boss of me."
"Well, we both know at least one of those things isn't true," he murmurs, then straightens, hands in his pockets: "So…tonight?"
"What about it?"
"In my message," he prompts her patiently: "I asked you to accompany me to the very important dinner I've been telling you about for weeks."
She makes a face. "Oh. What for?"
"For the fun of it, Liz, why else?" he says then shoots her a bright, easy, handsome-guy smile.
She blinks at him, tipping her head. "You called me Liz."
"So/?"
"You…hardly ever call me that."
"I sometimes do," he shrugs, turning to leave: "So, shall I take that as a yes then?"
She frowns some more. Blinks some more. Clutches her phone in her hand.
"Excellent." Jack bobs his head once: "I'll see you at seven."
Liz remains where she is, her butt against the edge of her desk. She sighs to the empty room, shoulders slumping. She's gonna have to go down to Wardrobe now and try to find a dress to fit her ass into. She's gonna have to wear heels and get her hair done and stand up straight for an entire evening. She's gonna have to forgo her night cheese and suffer through Jack's veiled insults and maybe even stop him from drinking too much and flirting with her.
But first thing's first. She's got to delete that damn message off her damn phone. Immediately.
Just as long as it doesn't require a freeking password.
END.