Title: Spoon
Author: Mindy35
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Tina's et al.
For: hamnapkin
Prompt: shared hotel room
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Summary: Jack and Liz share a bed.
-x-x-x-
This should be awkward.
When they landed in this unintentional situation, Jack assumed that sharing a bed with Lemon would be awkward. More specifically, he thought it would be awkward for her. He is used to sharing his bed with women. Many women. Not all at once, but individually, is what he means, over years. Lemon is not the type of woman he generally shares his bed with, but she is still a woman. A fact that never quite escaped his notice, despite any effort he made to ignore it.
Lemon is a woman. With all the parts and all the contradictions and all the complications of a woman. All the appeal too, if only she knew how to use it.
She's the one though, with the unrelenting intimacy issues and chronic aversion to all physical expressions of love and lust that commonly take place in this arena. She is the one who developed a thing for him, which she is yet to get over, though he can hardly blame her on that score. She is the one who hasn't shared her bed with anything besides the universal remote she nicknamed 'Smitty' for nigh on four long months. Not that Lemon considers this a dry spell, just a breather. And not that Jack has been counting, or is interested. Except as her friend.
Liz is also the one who has him vaguely mystified as she lies on her stomach, arms flopped over the end of the bed, chin planted on a pillow and feet kicking back and forth in the air as she randomly lets out guttural belly laughs at the cartoons that play on the hotel room's tiny television screen. Sitting up against the headboard, in his navy pyjamas, Jack crosses his ankles, lays his book face down on his chest. He cocks his head as he regards her.
The hotel clerk thought he'd orchestrated this. As if Jack Donaghy needed any such machinations to get a woman into bed. Even a woman like Lemon. And by that, he means inexperienced and ingenuous. Perhaps though, he should actually say especially a woman like Lemon, considering how loath she is to do anything in bed except sleep, eat and apparently watch slapstick cartoons that a five year old would quickly find inane.
For the record, and despite the hotel clerk's knowing tone and stifled smirk, he did not deliberately book only one hotel room with one double bed (and calling it a double was even a stretch) in a town where clean rooms without flooding, pests or rampant asbestos were a rarity. And where the nearest city was a long, sludgy drive away. This whole thing was just a simple screw-up on Jonathan's part. And Jack intended to see him punished for it when they returned to New York from whatever backwater borough they were now in.
What's more, if by chance, Jack did want to get Liz Lemon into bed, he could think of far more effective and imaginative ways than a hotel room blunder. He knows her far too well to think that this would be the way into her heart. And/or pants. This is definitely not the way he would seduce her, if that's what he set his mind to. Not that Jack has ever considered making such a move. The idea is beyond preposterous.
Apparently Liz thinks so too. Because if she had any fear that he intended to even look at her funny, let alone touch her in any way, she wouldn't be as relaxed and happy as she currently seems. She seems perfectly at ease, splayed out in her worn White Haven High School sweater and flannel pyjama pants, hair in a messy ponytail. To be honest, Jack isn't sure how to feel about that. Whether to be flattered that she trusts him, is comfortable with him, is completely relaxed around him and has accepted this accidental situation. Or whether he should feel irritated and offended that she doesn't view him in even a slightly sexual light. It doesn't concern her that he might pose a threat to her virtue. It doesn't even occur to her what could potentially happen between them in this bed, on this very night.
If they were two completely different people, that is. If he wanted her. Or she wanted him. Or both extreme implausibilities occurred simultaneously.
After all, Jack considers himself an attractive man, as well as being an attentive, imaginative lover. So his hair is a little grey -- most women like that. And his eyes are not as blue as they once were – he can still make a woman weak at the knees with just one ravenous look from deep within them. And he may not have really tried to lose the weight from the incessant stress-eating that has escalated since Liz Lemon entered his life. He is still a fine, dashing, strapping hulk of a man. Objectively speaking. So even if it is implausible, even if Lemon is inherently trusting, even if he is her best friend in the world, this should still be a little awkward.
For her. It should be awkward for Liz.
Instead of showing any signs that it is though, she turns to him in the add break, eyes all lit-up as she asks if he wants to order room service. Before he can answer, she clambers over his lap, briefly collapsing on him as she reaches for the menu on his nightstand. He hasn't time to protest the move or fully process the feel of her breasts pressed against his thigh before she withdraws into a kneeling position, eagerly scanning the list of meals while her tongue runs over her lips with excessive relish. Jack clears his throat, watching her, and points out that it's far too late for room service to be available.
"Oh." Liz's shoulders slump, she throws the menu aside. "I wasn't that hungry anyway." She glances at the television, at the mini-bar next to it. "Wanna share some massively over-priced nuts or something?"
"You just said you weren't hungry," he murmurs.
She makes a face at him. "I'm always hungry, Jack. There are just levels of hunger. You, of all people, should get that--" she leans over and pokes his gut with her finger: "Mr 'The Muffin Basket is for the Board Meeting'."
Jack puts aside his book, pulls the covers up higher. "Actually, Lemon, I think we should both get some decent sleep tonight. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
She nods, then gets up off the bed and turns off the television. Jack sets the alarm clock for them, takes off his glasses and lays them on the nightstand. He is rubbing his eyes when Liz comes in from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from her mouth.
"I should tell you something," she says around the brush and foam in her mouth.
"What's that?"
"I kick."
"I beg your pardon?"
She takes the toothbrush out and enunciates clearly. "Sometimes -- in my sleep -- I kick."
Jack nods, brows drawn together. "…Why?"
"Who knows," she shrugs, then adds: "I also talk. Sleep-babble. Weird stuff, but not all the time. It depends."
"On?"
"Stress levels, prob'ly. But I'm miles away from both Tracy and Jenna so hopefully I won't do it tonight." She turns to the bathroom, then turns back to tell him: "And if I snore, which I also do sometimes, just, you know…" she makes a shoving action with both hands: "roll me over."
"I'll do that," Jack mutters.
Liz disappears back into the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilly tile. When she re-emerges, switching off the light, she comes to stand by the edge of the not-so-big double bed, looking down at him, already beneath the covers. "So…wanna go top to toe or what?"
"No, Lemon," he answers swiftly: "Not if you intend to kick me."
"I don't intend--"
"We have meetings tomorrow. For which I'd prefer not to have a bloodied nose."
"But--"
"Just--" he interrupts tiredly: "come to bed."
Liz draws in a breath: "Okay…" then climbs under the warm covers.
Jack turns out the light.
TBC...