Y'all this is what you get when this [.com/dayart/20101122/621snow_jt_] is my commute home. 4 hours last night, to do what normally takes 40 minutes, let's just say I had a lot of time to think. The title is from Magnetic Man - I Need Air though this version [.com/watch?v=u7Qf11iT6Ko] is my current obsession.
When it snows in Seattle the city shuts down, it made him laugh, because really, fishing the Bering Sea doesn't stop for 40 foot waves but the entire city of Seattle stops for 4 inches of snow.
It's not quite as entertaining when he's waiting at home for Jill to get off work, watching as the snow piles up on the deck and as traffic becomes more and more snarled. He's not used to worrying about her, to feeling the pit in his stomach as he watched semis jack-knife and cars spin out trying to make it the small hill alongside her house.
Jill's been at work since 5:30 in the morning and by 7 a.m. she's reached the point where she doesn't want to talk about snow anymore, she doesn't want to hear anymore about traffic, about accidents, about how no one expected this but here it is happening anyway.
The babies in the NICU don't have a lot to say about snow and for that Jill is grateful. She spent her time charting and snuggling instead of worrying and thinking a lot about just what a mess things are outside the silent walls of the NICU.
She threw a hoodie on over her scrubs and ducked into her car. Pulling down the hill she immediately saw that her commute, normally 20 minutes, was going to be a mess. Traffic moved slower than she'd ever seen it move before. As she crawled along the freeway she alternated between singing at the top of her lungs and playing tetris on her phone.
As she approached home she took her place securely in the wagon train of cars travelling 25 miles-an-hour and made a completely illegal not-hands-free phone call to her waiting boyfriend.
"I'm so cranky," she groaned when she heard his voice. "I've gone a quarter of a mile in the last 40 minutes. I think I'm going to have an anxiety attack, I hate this car, I never want to see this car again. All I want is to be home," she whined.
"You'll be here soon," he grinned, "and there's a fire in the fireplace and I'll be waiting."
"And that's the best news of all," she smiled, "I gotta go babe, I'm getting off the freeway."
She hung up the phone and slowly navigated the icy off-ramp toward her house.
A week earlier they'd hung icicle lights along the roofline of the townhouse that they shared, the friendly sparkling lights danced in the swirling wind as she pulled her car into the garage next to his.
Resting her head against the steering wheel she took a deep and shaky breath, the mental stress of her day and relief warring against each other and manifesting in a tremble in her hands.
Standing on shaky legs she pulled her bag from the backseat and walked into the warm kitchen.
"Joshua," she called, toeing her shoes off and padding down the hall to the living room.
Her breath caught at the sight before her, the lights were off, and curtains open to let in the glow from the lights reflected off the snow. Two plates sat on the coffee table filled with steak, baked potatoes and green beans and a smiling Josh, beer bottle held loosely in his hand as he stood from the couch.
"Surprise," he grinned as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Stomach full, head buzzed on wine she leaned back against his chest. Cuddled on the couch, his strong arms wrapped around her, he soothed the day away with a kiss to her jaw, to the sensitive skin behind her ear.
She pulled the blanket around them more tightly and watched as outside the snow blew in front of the window, drifting and creating patterns while she was warm inside.
She touched her lips to his knuckles, lacing their fingers together and pulling him impossibly tighter against him.
He opened his mouth against her neck, he always expected her to smell like the hospital when she came home from work, instead she smelled like an intoxicating combination of baby powder and Clinique Happy.
"I love you," he whispered in her ear, it's not the first time he's said it, she's seen it in his clear brown eyes, but her heart still skipped a beat every time she heard it.
"I love you," she turned in his lap to kiss him, to meet his lips sweetly and bury her head against his neck.
She gives her love freely, loves with her whole heart but it still shocks him to hear those words directed towards him. His heart still stumbles when she grabs his hand, meets his eyes, when she smiles just for him.
He held her face in his hands, looking into her eyes before he kissed her, his lips met hers slowly, the slow burn of his tongue against hers enough to drive her crazy.
Reaching down she's suddenly anxious for more of him, she wants to take and taste and just be with him.
Under his jeans he's warm and thick and it makes her unreasonably wet just taking him in her mouth. She flipped up the edge of his t-shirt to run her hands along his bony hips, her fingers tracing a pattern across his skin that would be distracting on it's own, but for her mouth on him.
"Fuck Jill," his low voice rumbles, his fingers twisting in her hair as she ran her tongue along the underside of him, he thrust gently against her hand on his hip, her eyes sliding up to meet his as she worked him into a frenzy.
When it's almost too much to bear he pulls her off, kissing her while he held her hands above her head, stripping off the scrub top and long-sleeved shirt she wore against the chill, popping the hook on her bra and filling his hands with her breasts. His rough, callused hands sending electric bolts of lust through her body.
The thin material of her scrub pants allows her to rub against his hardness, and the friction is almost as good as the real thing, except not even close and she tugged at the strings on her pants, anxious to be free of the last barriers.
Laughing as her feet tangled in the pants she stood quickly to strip her pants and he lifted and peeled his jeans from his legs.
She straddled him and wove her hands through his hair as his hands cupped her hips to guide her against him. She sheathed herself slowly, tortuous pace driving them both crazy as she braced her hands against his chest.
"God Josh," she rocked slowly against him, tiny movements that hit her clit every time she stroked against him. He leaned forward to capture her mouth and arched against her.
The little scream is what gets him, what propels him forward onto his knees. And then she's laid out in front of him, hips arching to meeting his thrusts, the running commentary of muttered curse words and begging and his name over and over again driving him higher and higher.
She bit her lip when she came and the contractions around him set him off, he pulled her up onto his bent knees, pushing even deeper inside her to come and the flood of warmth sent her off again and she sunk her teeth into his ear lobe and whispered his name.
He pushed back to rest against the couch cushions, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping the discarded blanket around them both. "This day sucked," she rested her head on his shoulder, fingers running absently over his bare chest, "but the end totally made up for it."
As the snow blew beyond the windows she focused on the heat under the blanket.