John Grimm leaned back against the leather seat, feeling the helicopter vibrate under him. Through his slightly open eyes he could see Sam sleeping opposite him. Really he didn't need his eyes open to sense her… not anymore. He could hear her heartbeat in her chest, feel the heat of her skin even though he was over a meter away, he could even smell her, which was mildly disturbing honestly.
He closed his eyes completely, listening to the heartbeats of everyone else. They were new, he wasn't familiar with them. But there was one… a heartbeat he was so inttuned with his own had synched up to it whenever he was near… But he couldn't hear it, couldn't hear her soft breaths, or feel the heat of her skin… But he could see her, he did every time he closed his eyes. Light golden brown curls to her jaw, pale green eyes, slender and delicate… she looked like a china doll and was nearly as fragile.
Even as he sat there he could almost feel her slim body in his arms, her heartbeat against his chest, her breath along his skin. His fear, the ever present fear of what he had become, disappeared into a haze at just the thought of her. The haunting memories, the terror of what he had saved his sister from faded into memories of her smile, the sun in her hair, the taste of her skin. Though she wasn't with him physically she was still with him, and he was at peace.
Lily lay curled up on her side, her breathing was erratic as she fought to calm herself. The nightmares were back because he was still not home, even curling up in his bed, where his scent was strongest, didn't help. He was supposed to be home three days ago. She hadn't gotten a call, hadn't gotten an email, just… nothing. He was supposed to be back… She tried not to worry, tried to tell herself if he'd been hurt the boys would have called…
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forcing her worry from her mind. He was a big boy. R.R.T.S. had made him stronger than he had been, but he'd been strong to begin with. Strong, loyal, and good, if a little damaged. He would come home to her, home safe and sound. They'd keep each other's monsters at bay.
She woke suddenly to the soft, gentle touch of slightly calloused fingers brushing across her eyelids, down her nose, along the seem of her lips. "John," she murmured, smiling, without opening her eyes. "John you're home."
The gentle fingers left her face and instead she was wrapped in arms stronger than steel. She curled against him as he crushed her to his chest, he was so WARM, so real. "Last minute mission." He explained, though she hadn't asked.
She opened her eyes to look at him through the darkness. He looked fine physically but she could see the haunted darkness to his usually pale grey eyes. "I don't care about that, just as long as your home."
Their apartment had two bedrooms and he carried Sam to the door to his room. He was surprised to see his bed already occupied. With a small, bitter smile he carried his sleeping sister to Lily's room. He'd explain to her in the morning, but he knew she wouldn't care. Sam didn't stir when he placed her in the bed or when he covered her with the heavy duvet. Considering the drugs she had in her system he wasn't surprised.
He slid from Lily's room and into his own, gazing lovingly down at the small form of his beautiful Lily. Her hair was longer, brushing her shoulders, her skin a little paler, her body a little slimmer… she'd lost weight. But she was still beautiful, still his. And just being back… being home. He felt better already.
He was slightly light headed, his blood seemed warmer, he felt high. He sat on the edge of the small bed and reached out with trembling fingers. Would she welcome him home? Would she be angry at his late return? Would she forgive him the atrocities he had seen, done, and not been able to prevent? His fingers gently brushed across her trembling eyelids. He loved her eyes. Light, bright and expressive, he wanted to see himself reflected in those eyes once more, he wanted to see the good man she saw, the hero.
He knew when she woke. Her heartbeat increased, her breathing changed. He let his fingers brush down her delicate blade of a nose, the cupid's bow of her lips. He felt them smile under his touch.
"John," she whispered, like a prayer. Her voice made his stomach clench and his heart soar. His name never sounded the same when she said it, never had such a reaction on him as when she said it. She didn't open her eyes, just lean slightly against his hand, pressing her lips to his fingers- his calloused and blood-stained fingers. "John, you're home."
He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He pulled his hands away from her face and lay beside her, pulling her into his arms and crushing her against his chest, ever mindful of his strength and her frailty.
"Last minute mission." He murmured into her ear, feeling her curls brush against his face. He had to explain in some way, though he might never tell her all of the terrible details. He inhaled and fought back a quiver as his enhanced senses took a detailed inventory of her scent.
She smelled like him, like his clothing (he noticed she was in one of his shirts and nothing else), like her vanilla soap, her strawberry shampoo, a hint of grease and engine oil, and woman… HIS woman.
She twisted in his arms, facing him, her small hands brushing his cheeks that were rough with stubble. He saw her eyes find his and she stared at him for a moment, searching. "I don't care about that." She whispered, her fingertips brushing across his cheeks, making a pleasant rasping feeling. "Just as long as you're home." And then she kissed him.
Her lips were soft, smooth, and warm as they moved against his. It wasn't a forceful, passionate kiss like he was used to receiving from her upon coming home. It was loving, languid, and tender. He quivered under the gentle assault, fighting back the terribly violent urge to turn the tables on her. She wouldn't mind, she'd probably encourage it, and he wanted it… but he needed this.
Her hands left his face, traced down his neck and across his broad shoulders then back, her fingers dancing and leaving trails of smoldering heat. He let her control the situation, fighting the control-freak nature that made him such an amazing Marine. Her lips pulled from his mouth, brushing along his jawline and up to his cheek. Though the injury had healed with no mark she pressed kisses along where he'd been cut.
He was through being idle. He rolled himself onto his back, pulling her atop his chest, she laughed softly but didn't fight him- like she'd stand a chance if she did. Instead she stradled his stomach and began unbuttoning his shirt, pressing soft, tender kisses to the flesh she exposed. "You could have said something." She murmured against his sternum.
One of his hands trailed up her back and into her hair, a silent request for her to not stop, the other trailed under HIS shirt and across the soft, unblemished skin of her back. He didn't answer her, didn't need to. They both knew he'd simply lost his control for a brief moment. She laughed again, leaving his chest and pressing a kiss to his lips, suckling on his lower lip, teasing it with her teeth. He groaned, the first sound he'd made since he'd spoken.
She smiled softly. "Are you trying to be quiet for a reason?" She asked as her fingers continued to unbutton his shirt and her lips moved to his ear, pressing a soft kiss behind it.
"Sam's in the other room." He murmured, biting back a growl of satisfaction, his fingers curling tighter in her hair. She knew who Sam was, she was Sam's closest friend, had been their best friend through out high school.
She giggled softly against his throat. "Just like old times." She murmured, making him chuckle, in spite of himself. Just like high school, when she'd been for a sleepover with Sam, but after his sister had crashed she'd slip into his room and spend the night in his arms.
"No," he growled softly, making her look at him. "Then we never did anything." He pressed a kiss to her jaw, teasing her with his teeth. He reveled in her hiss of pleasure.
"We kissed, you gave me hickies." She answered. He rolled his eyes and she smiled, kissing him again and sliding her hands across his chest, forcing his shirt to open. The exposed skin, he knew, was scarred and taunt over hard muscles. Logically he knew she didn't mind but every time she saw him he expected her to see the monster and run screaming for the hills.
Again she defied all logic and stayed, sitting back on her heels and tugging him up so he was sitting. She kissed him and slid her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, twining her fingers with his once the shirt was removed. He shook with the force of the buzz her fingers over his over worked muscles, her touch making him tingle. 'That's new,' he thought absent-mindedly, silently asking permission to deepen the kiss.
She let him, finally, and rather quickly the fire she'd set smoldering in his blood became a blaze. He pulled his fingers from hers and grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it over her head, letting his fingers scrape along the soft skin he exposed. With his hands he mapped her, reminding himself of what she liked, how hard, where, the incredibly soft texture of her skin, the feel of lean muscle under it.
She writhed on his lap, gasping against his lips and he chuckled. "Miss me?" He asked, teasingly. His mind finally completely free of the dark snarl it had been in, now entirely focused on her.
She didn't answer him, instead punishing him for his quip by pulling her lips from his and closing her teeth on his neck, too hard to ignore but not quite hard enough to hurt. "I'm in control tonight." She murmured against the abused skin as he groaned in pleasure into her sweet hair.
He quivered. "Yes Ma'm." She gently pushed him back onto the bed, her hands sliding down his chest to his fatigue pants. She cupped him through the material and he hissed, arching into the touch.
"My poor John," she murmured into his ear, "are these very uncomfortable?" He only nodded, not trusting his own voice. She smiles. "Come on then, take them off." Her fingers nimbly zipped the clothes and dipped under the layers, fatigues and boxers, to stroke the bare skin there. He lifted his hips and she removed them carefully from him, mindful of his raging erection.
Her fingers brushed across the new scars on his thighs, followed closely by her lips. She ignored his very prominent need to give the new scars on his chest and arms the same tender treatment, healing them and the memories that went with them the only way she could. It took everything he had to relinquish control to her again, to let her touch him and refrain from touching her.
Once she finished he flipped her. She opened her mouth to protest but he growled, "My Turn." At her and promptly clasped both her hands above her head, her thin wrists held in one large hand. She gave a token struggle but he saw her lips curl into a beautiful smile. He kissed her roughly, like he'd been dying to do since he walked in the room.
He could smell her respond to him, a startlingly hot new side effect of his change. He pulled his mouth from hers and slowly moved down her body, teasing her until she whimpered and writhed for his attention. "Please," she begged softly, "please, John."
He chuckled. "Don't you want to be in control?"
She glared at him and fought his hold lightly. "Yes." He grinned at her and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her throat, suckling on the tender flesh. She tipped her head back, her responses dying on her lips. Gently he slid a calloused finger into her, she gasped and arched up into his hand.
Making sure he left a mark, or two, he tormented her, letting her get close and leaving her hanging. Once he was sure he wouldn't hurt her he leaned himself over her but she frowned. "No way John." She pulled on her hands, he let her have them, and she pressed on his chest. "Lay down." He let her guide him back down and she straddled his waist, hovering just above him.
"I love you." She whispered before lowering herself onto him. He groaned at the wet, tight heat as much as the declaration. He'd missed hearing that, needed to hear it as much as he'd needed her.
She rode him, his hands on her hips only guiding, not controlling, her movements. His jaw clenched the entire time to prevent himself from turning the tables on her again. But when he came it was all the more powerful because of the slow, tortuous built up. He bit his lip hard enough to bite clean through it, in an attempt to keep from crying out (he was loud). She was quieter when she came, her release triggered by his, her stifled gasp the only noise she made.
She collapsed onto his bare, sweaty chest, panting. Gently he removed her and went to grab a wet cloth from his bathroom. She gave a weak, tired chuckle at the sight. "Don't I usually do that?" She asked softly, but he knew she was pleased.
He cleaned them both up and curled up against her bare back, pressing his cheek to her shoulder. "So we did do something we used to." He murmured, she made a curious noise and he grinned, pressing a kiss to the red and purple marks along her pale throat. "I've given you hickies again."
She smiled. "Those were always the best part you know." She told him sleepily, he could hear her heart slowing, her breathing evening out.
"The hickies?" He asked, smiling into her hair.
She nodded. "I always did like them, being marked as yours." His heart all but stopped in his chest before picking up a double time rhythm. She was his, and she liked it. Her heart slowed, her breathing deepened and slowed, she dropped into sleep, her fingers curled with his, holding his strong arms around her.
"I love you too Lily." He murmured to her, hoping one day he'd be able to tell her when she was awake. That he'd be able to tell her that she was the only thing that kept him going, kept him living. She was his drug, his antidote, his addiction, as well as the only woman he had ever loved as a man should love a woman.
He tightened his arms around her, his lips brushing her skin as the darkness slowly took him over.