Author's note: This is pure, plot-free smut. Angsty, emotional, smutty smut. You've been warned. It can be read as a standalone, but it fits between chapters 8 and 9 of the larger Hope Springs Eternal fic. For a more explicit version (yes, that is possible), find me (LemmingDancer) on Archive of Our Own. This is chapter 10 of HSE on that site.
Recap: Jack and Phryne had a long, stressful day after a night with very little sleep. Jack's father and his colleagues don't approve of Phryne, and they're taking it out on Jack. Phryne, sleuth that she is, tried to dig into Jack's responses, and got a bit more than she bargained for. They had the tiniest bit of an argument, which isn't resolved so much as derailed by a make out session at the kitchen sink…
Hope Springs Eternal Interlude II (Chapter 8b)
"Buttons," Phryne growled, picking at the buttons of Jack's vest with shaking fingers. She had never really noticed how many God-forsaken buttons there were to undo until now, when they were between her and Jack's bare skin. He got tired of waiting and just yanked, buttons popping off to ping against the stove, the walls. As he stripped out of his layers of shirts, Phryne tore off her blouse and camisole, but didn't get to her brassière before Jack pulled her tight against his bare chest.
Jack's hands roamed restlessly across her back as he kissed her shoulder, her neck. His lips, then his teeth found her earlobe, nipping gently. Phryne groaned into his shoulder, rubbing her body against his chest and skimming her nails down his back.
Jack loosened his arms, one hand sliding down to pin her to his side while the other traced her chin, her neck, then dropped lower, exploring her chest with stroking, grasping, possessive fingers that left Phryne craving more of his touch.
"I want you," Phryne said. She wrenched out of his hold and unbuttoned his trousers, dipping her hands into his drawers. Jack's body shuddered against hers, his ragged breathing loud in her ears as she wrapped her fingers around him. Phryne tugged his clothes out of the way, and began to slide down his body, but Jack caught her.
"Please Jack, I want…" you, as many ways as I can have you, she wanted to say, but he didn't give her the chance. In a sudden movement, Jack cupped his hands around her behind and lifted her off her feet, spinning around and spilling her out on the kitchen table. He didn't bother to remove her brassière, dragging it down and out of the way of his hands.
"Jack…" she gasped, writhing her hips closer to the end of the table, where he stood in the V formed by her legs. He stopped her with one hand spread on her lower belly; the other dragged her skirt up and yanked her knickers down, baring her to his burning gaze. Phryne stilled. She'd been lusted after, worshipped even, by many men, but something in Jack's eyes as they scraped up and down her body, the tenderness and wonder that was there even now, just behind the madness of need, of frustration and hurt, made her feel wanted, body and soul.
Jack met her eyes with his glowing ones, and Phryne tried to raise her arms to him, but the shoulder straps of her brassière held them loosely to her sides. His grin was feral as he bent over her, kissing his way down her neck, her collarbone, just above her nipple, then just below, carefully avoiding the sensitive tip of her breast. One strong hand held her twitching hips in place.
"Please, Jack..." she groaned, but he started again on the other side, down her neck, to her collarbone, above her nipple, then below. She almost whimpered with frustration as he hovered over her. Then he dropped his head to suck her breast as his sank one finger into her body. Phryne threw her head back, tilting her hips into his hand. His teeth were tugging at her nipple gently, his hand on the apex of her thighs strong and demanding, rotating, stroking. Phryne's back bowed involuntarily, her legs clenching around him as she shattered.
Jack continued to hold her as she shuddered, one arm around her waist and his head on her chest, his other hand stroking her gently. Phryne tugged on his gloriously mussed hair, and he met her eyes. The wildness was still there, the angry need, and she realized he hadn't made a sound since he'd asked her why she wanted to stay, not a single moan or gasp the whole, frenzied time. It scared Phryne, not because she was afraid he would hurt her, but because she was afraid of how much it would hurt him to think he had.
Jack straightened to stand above her, dragging her by her hips to the edge of the table.
"Stop," she breathed, as she felt him press against the entrance to her body. Jack froze, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Talk to me, Jack," Phryne commanded, forcing herself not to close the distance between them.
"Now?" he asked, his voice a rusty croak.
"I want to hear that lovely, husky voice of yours," Phryne whispered. His eyes opened and found hers, and in spite of the hunger in them, the corner of his mouth tilted up.
"Weather or politics?" he rasped. His near-bruising hold on Phryne's hips eased, and he toyed with her skirt where it was puddled around her waist. The whisper of the fabric across her skin tickled unbearably, and Phryne squirmed.
"I love you," Jack said. He rubbed himself against Phryne and her back arched.
"I love you too." Phryne managed. "And I want you."
"Enough talking?" he asked. "The elections are coming up, fascinating subject…" Phryne reached down to grab the edge of the table, using it to pull herself against him. Jack went silent, pressing into her slowly, burying himself in her body. Phryne moaned, an incomparable feeling of fullness, of rightness suffusing her. It felt like coming home.
"Mmm," Jack said, as Phryne wrapped her legs around him. He began to move, watching the place where their bodies met with a fire in his eyes that she could almost feel on her skin. Phryne rose to meet him, a tingle creeping into her legs. She ran her hands down her own body, reaching for the apex of her thighs, but Jack pushed them aside. He pressed his thumb to her, clumsier than Phryne would have been, but stronger, and all the more arousing because he wanted her pleasure, wanted to be the one who caused it. Her body tensed again, her nails scraping the top of the table as she cried out his name, the name of this amazing, unexpected man who held her body and her heart. A moment later, Jack's body went rigid, the ropey muscles of his chest clenched and his head thrown back.
Phryne panted, slowly coming back to herself. She was sprawled out on Jack's kitchen table, her skirt hiked up and her brassière pulled down. Jack was still standing between her legs, shaking with the after effects of his release. Phryne reached out for him, and he scooped her into a seated position at the edge of the table. He hugged her tightly, pinning her arms to her sides, their bodies still locked together. Phryne rubbed her nose against the sweat dampened hair on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it steadied.
"The weather has been exceedingly hot lately," Jack said. Phryne let out a strangled snort, and then began to laugh uncontrollably. She threw her head back, laughing at the wonderful, terrible world that had sent her this beautiful man, but no way to have him without hurting him.
Jack's chest began to shake, and Phryne realized he was laughing too, his near silent snickers a counterpoint to her loud guffaws, his reaction opposite but equal to hers, as usual. They held each other and laughed, because if they didn't, they would cry. And laughing was more fun.