Joss Carter drove hurriedly through the darkness out to Mount Vernon. She knew her close friend, Rasheena, was safe, that the local cops were there, that her friend's nightmare was almost over, but she wanted to see her and make sure for herself. She also wanted to make sure Rasheena had stuck to her story and left John out of it as much as possible, especially since it was Joss's fault he got involved in the first place.
Just a few days ago, Rasheena had called her on the verge on panic. She had been dating a man named Brian Walter who she thought was a good man, but when she discovered his lies and broke up with him, he refused to leave her alone and it had turned into a full blown stalker situation. She'd gotten a restraining order but, since they only work on relatively sane people, it hadn't helped much. He had been violating it and she unfortunately was having trouble getting proof. Her tires had been slashed, but there were no witnesses. He called constantly, but never from his own cell phone. He emailed regularly, but he posed as someone else and the local police wouldn't bother investigating.
Once her friend had finally let her in on what was happening, Carter knew exactly how serious the situation was; she had boxes of homicide case files full of restraining order failures. She didn't have any reach within the MVPD so her hands were pretty much tied. She did, however, have Harold Finch and John Reese.
Her features softened and her hands loosened their tight grip on the steering wheel as she thought about them. About John in particular. He had left his regular duties to Shaw in order to personally handle this one. Although he didn't say it, she knew it was because Rasheena was her friend and not just another case of theirs. She sighed.
That man.
She tried not to think about him too much because that led to her thinking about him. Which just aggravated the full hell out of her. She knew what she was feeling, but she refused to call her own ass out on it. Absolutely refused. In fact, it had taken her almost an entire year of knowing him to even admit to herself that he was a good looking man. And that was as far as she was comfortably willing to go. Because she saw good looking men everywhere, all the time, and there was nothing wrong with acknowledging it. Andre in SVU was good looking, Kevin at her regular coffee spot was good looking, John was good looking. Perfectly normal observations.
The real struggle came, however, when she was near him. When she stood next to him, sat with him, occupied the same general space he did. She felt small, protected by him, her femininity accentuated and contrasted by his strong masculinity. And he had the nerve to always smell good, too. Butterflies came, cheeks felt flushed. Every single time lately. It even happened when the Unknown popped up on her phone before she even heard his voice. It was incredibly unnerving to not have any control over it, to feel what she felt after getting to know Paul. And it was getting to the point where she avoided him whenever she could, difficult as that was to maintain since he always seemed to know where to find her.
She was secretly jonesing for him, and him doing little things like saving her good friend's life on top of her son's and hers was not helping. It wasn't the danger or secrecy. She was already in deep with him and his mission. It wasn't that she didn't think he felt something for her. She was ninety percent certain he did. She just….wasn't ready for things to change. And took his lack of action as confirmation that he wasn't ready either. Probably never would be.
She sighed again as she neared Rasheena's house and tried to remember how much he thoroughly annoyed her so that she could face him when she arrived. She already knew he was lurking around somewhere close by, waiting for her to arrive.
Cop cars and a few nosy neighbors marked the outside of Rasheena's house and Carter pulled up behind them. She looked around when she got out and her stomach did what she knew it would when she saw John's silhouette two blocks down the road. Knowing that he saw her and would wait while she handled her business, she put her hands in her jacket pockets and headed up the stairs into the house.
"Joss. Hey." Rasheena rose from the couch where she was flanked by her mother and a neighbor. Carter couldn't help but notice the relief in her eyes, and when she hugged her, she thought for a split second that she was going to be leaving her friend's house with cracked ribs. By all indications, Walter had been taken away, probably by ambulance since this was John he had dealt with, and the few cops in the living room were wrapping up their incident reports.
When Rasheena released her, Joss held her by her upper arms and scanned her from head to foot. She was okay. Walter hadn't had the chance to get to her. Thank you, John. "You okay?"
Rasheena released a long stream of air, eyeing her pointedly, letting her know the cops had accepted whatever story John had coached her to give. Because Joss didn't want Rasheena living in fear any longer than she had to, she had told her about John. That he was her bodyguard friend and would be following Walter 24/7. Walter's behavior had been steadily escalating and experience taught her it wouldn't be long before he violated the restraining order again, and John would make sure there was proof. But she had also warned her to keep his involvement off the record and answered as many of the questions that ensued as she could.
"Yeah, I'm fine. You just don't know how glad I am that he's off the streets for now. I can finally get some decent sleep tonight."
"Yeah, definitely. What happened?" Carter played the role, asked the pertinent question just in case. Rasheena did the same and answered: she had just pulled into her driveway and gotten out of her car, Brian had bum rushed her brandishing a knife, then some guy in sweats came out of nowhere and got him off her before Walter could hurt her. This same guy knocked him unconscious, tied him up, told her to call 911, and disappeared.
It was nice and neat: a Good Samaritan who didn't want to get involved.
"I swear, I cannot thank him enough. If I could even find him."
Just enough to sound sincere even though the sentiment definitely wasn't a lie. Joss nodded in understanding and approval. "That's amazing." Carter hugged her friend again. "There are definitely some good people out there."
"I know it."
Carter released her.
"Took him away in ambulance, too. Think that guy broke every bone in his body."
Joss plastered a shocked expression on her face that was only half phony. Then she remembered the Marshall Jennings debacle and the slight shock she felt faded away. John did not care for abusive or stalking men. At all. And she loved that about him.
She lingered for awhile longer, waiting until the cops left and telling Rasheena what to expect in the next few days. Since her mom and neighbor friend didn't make any moves to leave, they didn't get a chance to touch base about what really went down. Nevertheless, Joss told her she'd call her later and then left the three women in the house to go find John.
She headed down the street and spotted him again. He caught her eye in the darkness and jerked his head toward a narrow sidewalk running between two seemingly unoccupied houses before disappearing out of sight. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being paid any attention to, she continued her trek toward him, her thoughts whirling.
Turning down the narrow walkway, she stopped when she spotted him standing a few yards away, waiting for her. He had done it. Again. Saved someone from becoming another statistic. But not just anyone. Rasheena, her friend who'd been there for her almost as much as her own mother when she became a single mother. She was hit hard at that moment. By the magnitude of his presence in her life. For all the things she could never thank him enough for.
She stood there, watching him. He watched her back, his expression neutral with a hint of curiosity. She could read it in his face: Why is she acting weird?
Why was she acting weird? What exactly was she doing? She wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea, but she wanted to do something they had never done before. Something that was long overdue. Her legs carried her over to him and she wrapped her arms around him. She didn't know what she had been expecting, or if she'd even been expecting anything, but the first thing she noticed was that he felt warm and solid. He'd always looked on the skinny side to her, but his lean frame emanated strength as her body pressed against his. When his arms came up around her, when she was officially cocooned in his embrace, it happened. Everything she felt just being in the same room with him increased a hundredfold. That reluctance, that unreadiness she had felt seemed to slowly seep from her, replaced by a singular yearning.
She pulled back slightly, just so that she could look into his face. Did the fact that it was dark out, that his face was shrouded in shadow and mystery, embolden her? He was still looking at her curiously when she placed both hands on the sides of his face and drew his head down, kissing him sweetly, for just a brief moment. She looked between his eyes, seeing surprise, pleasant surprise, blanket his features. "Thank you," she told him. For so many things.
A smile, a soft one curved her lips and his soon mirrored hers. She looked into his stark, clear eyes and suddenly felt nervous again as she wrapped her mind around what she'd just done. Backing away from him, she felt exposed, suddenly shy, and she averted her eyes as she turned to walk away. Self-preservation urged her to put distance back between them, but she had also enjoyed the brief lack of space. A lot. That spontaneous feeling spurred her to turn around and face him again as she continued to back away, her steps a bit slower now.
He stood rooted to the same spot, that look of surprise having deepened into one of wondrous awe.
"You busy tomorrow?" She caught herself asking an on-call vigilante a stupid question and stopped moving as she clarified. "I mean, as far as you know?"
He shook his head slowly from side to side, that curious expression back on his face. Hopeful curiosity.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Wanna do dinner maybe? My place?"
The smile, wider this time, was back on his face. "Time?"
Not having thought that far ahead, she started walking backwards again. "Can I text you?"
He nodded, still grinning. "Okay."
She returned the nod and grin as she reached the main street. "Okay." She let out the breath she'd been holding and began to walk toward Rasheena's house when she heard him call her name. Her first name. She stopped and looked back toward him.
"Be careful going home."
Smiling, she continued on her way, her steps feeling lighter the entire way.
Joss was a planner. She liked to be prepared and didn't like to rush because doing so often led to mistakes. In her professional life, mistakes were not tolerated, and in her personal one, she couldn't tolerate them. That was why it was Friday evening, dinner was already prepared, and her ass was sitting around waiting for John to arrive with nothing but time on her hands.
She had been mostly fine since the night before, since she made that uncharacteristic move, but the closer it got to showtime, the more anxious she became. She had never in her life asked a man out before and could barely handle it when one shamelessly pursued her. Did her mouth write a check she wasn't going to be able to cash? She shook her head to herself. How was she a warrior at work but the opposite at home?
She breathed deeply in and out once she heard the doorbell. It was already weird. John ringing the doorbell. No longer feeling ready but knowing it was too late to stop what was already in motion, she smoothed out the bottom of her black sundress and headed toward the door. She hadn't been quite sure of what to wear, so she opted for this dress that straddled the line between dressy and casual. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and flat, strappy snakeskin sandals covered her feet, showing off her white pedicure.
Looking out the peephole, she verified that it was him and opened the door. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and a single red rose in the other. Her heart pounded a little harder at the implication, but she wouldn't draw attention to it.
Black appeared to be the color choice of the night as he was dressed in it from head to toe. Black, non-faded jeans, long-sleeved black button down shirt, black shoes. He looked good, as usual. And she wanted to melt into his chest again-do more than that really-but she didn't have a valid excuse this time. Instead, she smiled at the offerings in his hands and to take the sting out of her words. "Hm. You usually only bring trouble when you come by."
His mouth curved into a one-sided smirk as he shrugged one shoulder, stepping inside as she let him in and closed the door behind him. "I do have some home training." When he turned to face her, he held the items out to her.
"Thanks." She took them from him and headed toward the kitchen, talking over her shoulder as she went. "Food's done. Was just waiting on you." She set the wine bottle on the counter and wondered what to do with the rose. It had been so long since she'd received flowers, she didn't know where her lone vase was holed up. Figuring it would take too long to find it, she reached into the cupboard, pulled down an empty mason jar, filled it with water, and set the rose temporarily inside. Next, she turned the oven off from its warm setting and got her oven mitts to take the food out.
John appeared in the kitchen threshold. "It smells good." He took two steps toward her. "Need any help?"
She straightened and looked around. "Um, no, I got it." Her eyes landed on the wine he brought. "Well, you can pour the wine if you want to." She had already set a bottle on the table but she figured what he'd brought was probably better.
He moved until he was standing right behind her, smelling good and making her stomach flutter as she removed the foil from the pans. He was doing it on purpose and she knew it.
"Red or white?" he asked.
She liked that he didn't assume she'd want his wine offering with her dinner and answered him quickly so he'd stop borrowing her personal space. "The one you brought is fine." She didn't bother telling him where the wine opener was and, as he moved toward the correct drawer, she knew she'd been right in saving her breath.
While he busied himself removing the foil and working the corkscrew, she grabbed two of her fanciest dinner plates and began portioning out the food.
"Glasses on the table?"
"Yeah, go sit."
He followed orders and she took a moment to release a breath. His presence was suffocating and she blamed it on her nerves. Breathing in and out easily now, she finished with her task, satisfied with the generous helpings on the plates and the food's turnout overall. Spinach and goat cheese stuffed chicken breast, roasted asparagus, parmesan marinara baked mussels, garlic mashed red potatoes, and french bread laid beautifully arranged while chocolate mousse cake chilled in the refrigerator.
Taking another deep breath, Carter picked up both plates and headed to the dining room. John was sitting at one end and his eyes fell on her as she approached him. The table was set with a white tablecloth and red cloth napkins, silverware properly arranged, wine glasses already filled courtesy of John, and a single lit candle served as the centerpiece. Soft jazz filled the background and, now that he was here, now that they were really doing this, she suddenly wondered if she had done too much. In her mind, it was going to be a relaxed, chill dinner date, but looking at all of this now, she felt like she had done the most and was promptly hit with a little embarrassment.
Trying to clear her thoughts, she continued toward him and he slowly rose out of his chair as she placed his plate in front of him. Walking quickly to the opposite side of the table, he pulled her chair out while she set her plate on the table. She didn't look at him as she thanked him and didn't watch him walk back to his seat. Instead, she reached for her wine glass and took a much needed sip. "This is good."
He picked up his glass and watched her from across the table as he took his own sip. "Glad you like it. Something I had sitting around for about a year."
She raised her eyebrows at that. He'd brought the good stuff he'd been saving for some special occasion. It made her feel less self conscious about the too much that she'd done.
John surveyed the plate in front of him. "This looks good, Carter."
She smiled, brushing off the compliment and relishing in the familiarity of "Carter" rolling off his tongue. "It better taste good. I was in the kitchen all day."
He caught her eye as he poised his fork over his plate, but he didn't say anything. Just smiled a smile she found too sexy for her own good and felt the nerves come back. She dug into her own plate and waited for him to say something about how it tasted. It tasted damn good to her so she decided if he wasn't really feeling it, his taste buds were fired.
"Tastes good, too."
Smiling at her small victory, she picked up her knife and used it along with the fork to cut into her chicken breast.
John broke into the subsequent quiet clatter of busy knives and forks. "How's Rasheena?"
Carter nodded while she chewed and swallowed her food. "So much better, John. He's locked up, no bail. I can only imagine how relieved she feels."
John nodded as he chewed. "Good." He paused and looked at her. "You know, if you would've let me, I could've paralyzed him. Made sure he never went after anyone again."
He was serious and she was reminded once more of the menacing side to him that he channeled into more positive endeavors. He never told her about his past nor how he felt about it-she'd only gotten a glimpse when they were at Rikers-but she'd always assumed it was what drove him to do what he did now. Just how dark was it? How many ghosts was he running away from? Though it was far from a dinner date type of question, something made her want to ask him anyway. Something made her want to see how open he'd be with her. How much he trusted her.
She gentled her voice. "How many people have you killed?"
He stopped in mid-chew, eyes darting to hers. He looked surprised and then defensive. He looked like he was wondering where the hell that question had come from and why the hell she was interrupting a nice dinner to ask him such a thing. He sat back in his chair and swallowed his food. His body remained tense.
She was regretting the extremely loaded question almost immediately. The entire mood had shifted and she felt she had truly crossed a line before he did what interrogators expect and answered a question with a question.
"Why did you ask me out on a date, Detective?"
Neither of them said a word after that, both trying to get the upper hand in the staring contest unexpectedly going down between them. However, because his will was apparently as strong as he was physically, he won.
She didn't break eye contact but she answered. "You were taking too long."
His eyes softened a little and he accepted her answer graciously by extending her the same courtesy. "I stopped counting after eighty two."
She wasn't blown away-she figured the number was up there-but she was curious about that specific number. Eighty two. Odd number to stop at. She didn't ask though; she was just grateful that the tension had eased. She nodded slowly, making sure she exuded casual acceptance and a complete lack of judgment.
"What about you?" he asked.
"Three."
He looked down at his plate and nodded.
She wondered what he was thinking, if he was comparing the two of them in his mind, whether he was imagining himself not measuring up to her in some way. She didn't want him doing that so she circled back to his original question. "Why have you never asked me?"
He hesitated and then looked up at her. "I didn't think you wanted me."
She hesitated, too, ultimately deciding to lay all her cards out on the table. "For some insane reason, I do."
It went down again. Another staring contest. Only she was determined to lose after a short while because of the way he was looking at her. Their food was going to get cold, and she'd worked too hard for it to go to waste, so she lowered her eyes and went back to eating. She felt his eyes on her awhile longer before he finally did the same.
After a minute or two of quiet eating, John raised another question. A benign one this time. "What did you use for this?" His fork indicated the chicken. "I taste the lemon but what else? Dill? Rosemary?"
"A chef is not about to give away all her secrets." She mumbled the last part of her statement. "Like how a certain vigilante doesn't either….."
John's downturned head and smile showed that he knew he had walked right into that one. He recovered quickly and drained the rest of his glass. "Where'd you send Taylor off to?" He reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass. He held the bottle toward her not quite empty glass, waiting for her response to his gesture. She nodded and he filled it.
"You don't already know?"
Another dig. He smiled again in acknowledgement. "No."
"His dad is taking him to DC for the weekend."
Reese nodded.
"What's Harold up to tonight? What does he do when he's not working?" She paused. "He's not listening in on us, is he?"
"Harold's always working. I guess he's like me. Always needs to be doing something." He looked at her. "And, no, he's not."
She was curious. "What'd you tell him?"
"Not to track me tonight. Or you."
She rolled her eyes. "Bet he couldn't figure that one out."
He shrugged. "At least Fusco doesn't know." He went back to devouring his food. "Sesame oil on this asparagus?"
"You a closet chef, John?"
He plastered a cocky expression on his face. "I do okay."
"Hmm. Sounds like I'm gonna need you to return the favor. Cook me a meal."
"Whenever you're ready."
She knew he was talking about preparing a meal for her but she thought about her own mental battle. Ready, not ready. The confession was out there, but…..."You were right. Sesame oil."
John sat back in his chair a few moments later, his plate clean. "Delicious."
Her plate wasn't empty but she was full enough, wanting to have room for dessert. Hoping he had room for dessert because she had put her whole foot into that cake and wanted to continue to impress him.
Reading her mind, he asked, "What's for dessert?"
"Do you even have room?"
He patted his stomach. "I think so."
Then, he got up quickly, and she wondered for a split second if he was off to get the dessert his damn self. But instead he walked over to her and held out his hand. Confused, she wondered if they were supposed to go get it together or something. Strange dinner, strange man. Deciding to just go with it, she took his hand and felt herself surrendering to him, to something that she didn't yet know.
They didn't go far. They didn't go anywhere at all. And she realized he'd simply been biding his time after her confession. Once she was on her feet, he held her face in his hands and she knew he was going whether she was ready to or not. He rushed to kiss her, like he'd been waiting his entire life to do so, and her hands gripped his wrists to hold herself steady. Getting into it, deeply into it, she was glad he hadn't given her a chance to think, to back out. It felt too good to have possibly passed up.
He was always so in control it was surreal to feel him losing some, surreal to see him in such a frenzy. His tongue impatiently traced her lips, ran across her teeth. He desperately pulled at her top lip, her bottom. His tongue looped around hers before he changed his angle and did it all over again, this time mapping her mouth to memory. He let his hands fall from her face to embark on their own excursion. Her hips, her butt. Her waist, her back, the sides of her breasts. They discovered every landmark of her body.
In a fog of bliss, she felt the pressure of his hands on her hips pulling her away from the table and back towards the dining room wall. The chair rail molding along the perimeter pressed into her back. Her hands roamed along his sides, up his stomach and chest while the space at the juncture of her thighs prepared her body for his.
His hands were everywhere, roughly, all at once and she drew in a sharp intake of air when he drew his tongue to her earlobe before placing kisses down the side of her throat. But when he crouched his frame a bit and his hand shot up her thigh and massaged her through her panties, she let out a cry that was truly cringeworthy. For half a second, embarrassment edged past lust, flitting through her brain and rising to her cheeks. Then it retreated as quickly as it had come.
He was distracting her too good.
Covering her mouth with his again, his fingers rooted underneath her panties and she knew she was about to embarrass herself again. In fact, it seemed like some sadistic part of him wanted to make sure she would because he drew his lips away from her mouth and watched her. Just watched. Watched what he was making her do. Treated her like one of his prisoners, torturing all the information he wanted out of her. When he finally pierced her with one of his fingers, just one, the small but crude intrusion made her spill all. Everything.
She breathed like she'd just finished running a marathon and held onto his shoulders as her body trembled. And he just continued to watch her, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them, his face flushed, and his breathing measured carefully through his nose. Everything about him in that moment made her ire rise right along with her intense high. What he'd just made her do, how he'd made her fall for him. His evasiveness, his law breaking, his violence, all the extra paperwork and lying he made her do, his mission taking up all her damn free time, his smirk, his smile, his eyes, his tongue, his hands, his lips. She'd never felt so weak, so physically and emotionally controlled by another human being. She hated it. It excited her. A thrilling mix of desire and anger made her body hum, her ears ring, her moistened skin crackle.
Dropping her hands from his shoulders, she grasped the front of his waistband, shoving and turning him until his back hit the adjacent wall. She watched him like he watched her while she unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped. He looked impressed, encouraging, and he started to smirk before he cupped her face and hastily plundered her mouth again, fueling her raging libido. Pushing his jeans and underwear down, she grabbed him roughly and he cursed into her mouth. His back inadvertently hit the light switch, drenching the dining room in sudden darkness, the flickering of the lone candle on the table casting an erotic backdrop to their mating dance.
Reclaiming control, John grabbed her by the ass and lifted her up. Instinctively, she wrapped her limbs around him and he turned, shoving her back into the wall. Panting into her hair, he pressed his body into hers to hold her in place while he handled the barriers between them. Dress pushed up, panties to the side, he slid into her, immediately thrusting months, years of frustration into her. She threw her head back against the wall, mouth open while the pads of her fingers dug into his scalp. It was their own fault, she thought fleetingly. Their own fault it had reached this level.
Quick pain and long pleasure blunted her irrational anger at him while they took their formerly suppressed desires out on one another. They burned hot and bright, like a summertime thunderstorm, to a level that would not be sustained. He raised his head from the crook of her neck, open mouth gasping hotly into her ear just before his body jerked, strained, and shuddered to a halt. She tried to catch her breath, spent even though she hadn't made it there with him, and felt herself being whisked away from the wall. He shoved her dinner plate and wine glass aside with one arm and set her on the table, perilously close to the candle's flame. Pulling out of her, he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulled her panties down her legs, and finished her off with his fingers and hurricane tongue.
When Joss got herself together enough to sit up, she saw him sprawled out on the floor flat on his back and started to laugh from the absurdity of it all. John Reese, completely exhausted, defeated, so utterly done. And with his jeans and underwear still bunched around his ankles. Her mirth was infectious and she heard him start to chuckle as he laid his forearm over his forehead.
"Jocelyn. Carter."
It was all he said, her name laced with disbelief at the situation they were now in, and it prompted her to climb off the table and settle herself on the floor next to him. She leaned toward him, her right fist balled into the carpet to support her. It was awkward as hell but there was so much comfort in being in it with him. Remembering how good he made her feel didn't hurt either.
He moved his arm from his forehead and settled it onto his stomach, turning to look at her through the relative darkness. "This is some soft carpet, Carter."
"I hate carpet in the dining room."
"Take it out."
"Was going to. Then this suit-wearing whirlwind blew into town and took up all my free time."
He paused for a time. "That was rude of him."
"Yeah, it was."
His voice softened. "I don't think he could help it, though."
She reached out with her left hand and gently gripped his chin. "You didn't let me bring out the dessert."
"What is it?"
"Chocolate mousse cake."
He sighed dramatically, lifted his arm from his belly, and reached over to run his finger down her bare arm. "I think I have room for more dessert." He sat up and climbed to his feet, drawing his pants back up his long legs. He reached down and offered his hand to help her up before continuing to put himself back together.
Joss exhaled and headed into the kitchen, bypassing her panties on the floor and wincing a bit. It wasn't a bad thing in the long run at all, but the thought crossed her mind that she always managed to find the ones who were more than a little well-endowed.
She headed toward the refrigerator and reached inside to take the cake out when John entered the kitchen. No butterflies in her stomach this time, even as he sidled up beside her with her panties dangling from his index finger. The edge had been taken off and she was grateful for the reprieve. Finally.
"Forgot something." His eyes were bright and mischievous.
She narrowed her eyes at him and snatched them from him, throwing them into the living room. She let a tiny smile grace her lips. He was still him. "Wash your hands."
He watched them land somewhere in the other room, smirked, and turned toward her sink to do as ordered.
When he went to grab a paper towel to dry his hands, she washed hers and watched as he grabbed just one saucer plate from the cupboard. She dried her hands and continued to watch as he took over hosting duties and cut a slice of cake, placing it on the plate.
She went to stand next to him. He either didn't want any and that was her slice, or he was being a rude asshole and only serving himself. Waiting to see which assumption was correct, she saw him reach into the silverware drawer for a fork.
He turned to her, grabbed her waist, and hoisted her onto the countertop. It was going to take some getting used to-him being comfortable putting his hands on her whenever he wanted. She didn't hate it. It seemed she always managed to find the alpha types, too.
Wordlessly, he picked up the plate with one hand and scooped some cake onto the fork, guiding it toward her lips. She accepted it and watched him watch her chew. He sampled some himself and she waited for his reaction.
"This is good, too, Joss." He fed her another piece.
They went back and forth like that until the piece of cake was finished. Then, John set the plate and fork in the sink and stood between her legs, running his hands up and down the sides of her thighs. She wondered what he was thinking but she didn't have to wait long.
"I wanted to ask you. Pretty much from the moment I met you."
She lowered her head and smiled. Then she brought her eyes back to his face. "Took me a little longer to want you to ask."
John grinned back at her. "Not your type?"
"At. All."
They both laughed and then John sobered. "Thank you for taking a chance on me."
From the seriousness in his eyes, his voice, she knew he wasn't just talking about her asking him to dinner. Instead of answering him, she leaned forward and opened her mouth to his. Just like he was getting comfortable touching her, she was getting used to being able to kiss him. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her heart was full, her body better than good, but her mind wasn't at ease quite yet. "I used to think I wasn't scared of anything except something happening to Taylor. But you scare me, too."
There was an almost negligible tilt of his head and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he waited for her to elaborate.
"I'm doing things I never thought I'd do because of you." She shook her head back and forth slowly while she gazed at him. "I wonder if I'm losing my mind."
John lowered his eyes for a second and nodded. "You know, it's funny," he spoke softly as he met her eyes again. "I could say the same thing."
Carter tilted her head and regarded him warmly. Of course he could. He'd looked like he was at rock bottom when she met him. From what she'd been able to piece together, he'd lost a love. The government he'd fought for had turned around and tried to kill him. And now he was entrusting a cop who could take him down anytime with his life. Maybe even a part of his heart. Yeah, he had plenty to fear, too. And, once again, there was comfort in being in it with him.
"So," he grabbed her by the waist again, pulling her off the countertop and sliding her down his body until her feet touched the floor. "If you end up in the nuthouse, you won't be alone."
She shivered. The full body contact was still so new but so immediately triggering. She looked up into his downturned gaze and it was then she realized they weren't done. They were still on the clock and had just been taking a fifteen minute break. She gave a weak semblance of a shrug and told him, "Could be stuck with someone worse," while wondering if she should take him upstairs. She hadn't really cleaned up there. And as much as he overstepped her boundaries, he never went into her bedroom. As far as she knew.
He smiled indifferently to her statement, his roving hands confirming that his thoughts were in line with hers.
She needed to make up her mind and fast.
John pressed her body against the countertop with his and leaned her backwards so he could kiss her, and she stopped thinking until he was done. She breathed heavily and placed her hands on his chest. It was a hot mess up there. Clothes everywhere, and she knew her bathroom hadn't been cleaned in two, probably three weeks. She had planned to tackle it tomorrow.
His thumb circled her nipple through her dress. His mouth dipped to her neck, then traversed the short distance to her ear, tongue swirling on the outer rim.
Dammit, she thought as she gave up. He never did shit on her timetable. Without a word, she abruptly pulled out of his clutches, purposefully leaving him hanging, and headed into the living room, stepping over her discarded panties. When she reached the stairs, she started climbing, refusing to look at him. "Comin'?" He didn't answer but she knew he would be hot on her heels.
She stood just inside the bedroom door and waited for him. When he crossed the threshold, she watched him quickly scan and map the space before he faced her.
He hadn't been in here before.
She knew it made her easy-being turned on by the fact that he'd respected the most personal of her boundaries-but there was a lot about this night she was going to have to dissect later. Right now she was way more interested in running her hands all over his body and feeling his muscles swell and contract under his skin. "Ignore the mess, please," she implored him while lowering one strap of her dress and then the other. It pooled at her feet. She watched his eyes fall to the large, starburst scar on her side, but they didn't linger.
He looked her up and down and immediately started toward her. "Not gonna be a problem."
And he was right. It wasn't a problem at all and soon it was the farthest thing from her mind. Soon she was running her hands across the expanse of his skin. Soon she was moaning and clenching the sheets. Soon she was cursing and marking his shoulders and back. Soon she was shouting his name and riding boundless waves of pleasure without a safety net. Soon she was whimpering and bearing the brunt of his staggering release. Soon she was silent, letting go of the last vestiges of her life without him prominently in it. And soon she was wrapped in his arms and falling in love.
With their flame finally extinguished, the candle downstairs flickered one last time, bathing the dining room in darkness while Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong belted out one last time:
I need no soft lights to enchant me
If you'll only grant me the right
To hold you ever so tight
And to feel in the night
the nearness of you.
~END
A/N: Thanks for reading :)