Like Gasoline to Fire
Instead of shouting, smashing the highball glass in her hands, or throwing objects, she's clearly past the point of words, simply shooting him a final look of disgust before storming off down the hallway.
"Jane!" he rasps, hot on her heels. It's so cliché, the next phrase he'll have to utter. But it's the truth, however convoluted. "It's not what it looks like!"
He sees her flinch at his words, shake her head, and speed up determinedly, heels clicking furiously down the empty hallway. Unfamiliar with this part of the building, she arbitrarily opens a door to escape him and storms in; Kurt knows that it's a tiny old storage and print room, barely the size of a broom closet. He springs in behind her, slamming the door behind them, before she can turn around.
Her back is to his and he wraps his arms around her as if to both comfort her and quell her anger. She struggles briefly, resisting; he knows that, if she truly wanted to, she could easily break out of his grasp, run out of the tiny room, all while leaving him a broken nose as a parting gift. She eventually stills, breathing hard. Unable to turn around in his firm grasp, she settles for holding herself away from his body a millimeter or two, which feels more like a meter, to him.
"Jane," he repeats her name like a mantra, as if soothing a nervous animal. She's stiff in his arms, her back full of tension. "Please. There's nothing going on. She was drunk and flirtatious. I handed her off to her friend. I would never take advantage of someone in that state, and certainly not her." He declines to mention that he is several martinis in, and is certain that Jane is on par, with her bourbon.
"You certainly seem to enjoy the attention though," she remarks at last, voice frosty. "Tonight, and every time she stops by headquarters." Her chin dips, and she mumbles under her breath, almost too soft for him to hear. "Which is entirely too often lately."
"I'm just being friendly to someone I used to date," he counters reasonably. "When we're working the same case, it wouldn't help anyone if things were awkward."
"Awkward for whom?" Jane responds defiantly. "It's just…you know that we…have this…there is something between us!" Several glasses of bourbon have lowered walls, warmed her chilly demeanor toward him, and her irritation is revealed.
"Is there?" he responds, voice droll and infinitely patient. "We should talk about that," he murmurs in her ear persuasively. His mouth grazes her earlobe, and her scent floats up as she shifts in his arms, intoxicating him. He feels an almost savage pleasure when he notices the gooseflesh on her neck, thrown into relief by the dim light, a chill running down her back in response to his touch. She's still responsive, despite her frustratingly distant demeanor over the past few weeks, and this gives him the motivation to confront her.
"Considering that you decided to kiss me, save my ass, pull away, and stand me up in one week…and then follow that up the next week by throwing me up against a locker and kissing my brains out, and then more distance, ass-saving, and avoidance…doing that over and over, the past month and a half or so, I don't know what the hell to think!" he ends up growling, a frisson of anger starting to bloom. He wants to shake her, force answers out of her in his growing irritation.
The woman is infuriating, and he knows he's no better, allowing her to kiss him and pull away, kiss him and pull away again, like a deranged bungee jumper. He hadn't pressed for answers, kept his rising anger in check, trying to understand, unwilling to frighten her off. Unwilling to break the spell, feeling their connection even through her distance, Kurt maintained the patience of a monk as she fought her demons. Or maybe you're just a sucker, enthralled with a woman that can't make up her damn mind, another little voice would whisper, which he stubbornly continued to ignore.
Every kiss seemed to be enough to sustain him through the following chill, enough to heat the blood in his veins to fire, simmering to embers before being set alight by another. There were so few moments that were just them, and she always seemed to take the opportunity to steal his breath away, green eyes burning into his with desire and intent.
Then there would be an interruption, a phone call, and her eyes would close to him like a door slammed shut, a shell-shocked look upon her face as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd done, the boundaries she'd crossed. Again and again. She'd then withdraw and grow cold, but always she watched him, and he couldn't tear his eyes away in return, always hoping for that spark to reignite. Hoping against hope that she'd finally open her heart to him fully, and share the burden that rested with an almost physical weight on her shoulders.
He'd feel more pathetic about it if it didn't seem like she was fighting some kind of daily internal battle, torment manifesting in the dark circles under her eyes, and the weariness in her face. He'd gently probe for answers, and her sullen silence would be her only reply.
"Jane, I know there is something bothering you. I know there is something on your mind. I thought that we trusted each other, that you could tell me anything. Am I wrong? Should I give up on you? Or are you enjoying this?" he snaps, fury growing, his voice low and intense in her ear. It seems that his pent-up emotions have chosen this moment to erupt, overriding his iron self-control.
She wriggles against him in outrage with a muffled screech, and he wonders what's wrong with him when his urges and blood stir as her body presses against his. She finally breaks free of his arms, reaching for the door, but he slams his hand on the wall next to her shoulder, pinning her in. She whips around to face him, eyes flashing with anger, cheeks flushed. "Enjoying this? Does it look like I'm enjoying this? Do I look happy when I try to pull away to keep you safe-" Jane stops abruptly as if realizing she's said too much, clamping her mouth shut.
"Is that what this is about? Still?" he demands incredulously. "Your tattoos putting us in danger?" She looks away, agitated, indecisive, blowing out a breath through her teeth. "I thought I told you that I knew what I signed up for—"
"I don't think you do!" she responds heatedly. "You have NO idea who I was before, or what terrible things I did, or the kind of people I was involved with. People that would kill you without a second thought! People who…who aren't good like you!"
The initial measured anger of her response nearly ends in a wail, and she throws her elbow into his arm, shoving him back with her other hand, maneuvering toward the door, trying again to escape.
His reaction is instinctual, ingrained. He slams her against the wall, pinning her arms and legs with his bulk. "JANE!" he roars. "GODDAMMIT!"
For a single, shocked moment, they are both frozen with surprise. There is then another brief reactionary struggle, and Kurt is dimly surprised to find that, at the end, he is not yet bleeding, his bones are intact, and he still restrains her against the wall. Through the cloth of his suit and tie, the heat and contours of her body radiate through, speeding his heartbeat, and he presses his forehead to the wall, near her ear.
His words are controlled, measured. "Jane. I'm sorry. Please. Please. Talk to me." Unable to resist, he brushes his mouth on her earlobe, and she closes her eyes.
Jane's voice is low as she tries to focus and catch her breath. "What if I was a terrible person, before? Involved with terrible people? What if I chose you? Chose you as my target, my mark? And what if that now puts you in danger? Every moment I'm around you brings you closer to something happening to you, and I can't—I can't let that happen. It's all my fault!"
Kurt pulls away, blue eyes burning holes into her. His voice is too calm and level. "Is that it?"
Jane is again outraged. "Is that it?" She weakly struggles against him, but his hands clasp hers against the wall, and the firm length of his body presses against her in a manner that feels entirely too good, too comfortable, too right. In her heels, she is pleasingly close to his height, her body lining up with his.
His eyes meet hers, and she can't look away. "Remember when I said something along the lines of how it doesn't matter who you were before? It doesn't matter, because you're clearly a good person now?" Kurt's voice is rough. "I meant it. Still mean it. Your past doesn't define your future."
"You may have been Taylor, but you are now Jane," he adds, and her breath catches. "You are now entirely in control of the path you choose." Though he's still restraining her hands, she gradually starts to relax, tension draining, leaning against him.
He releases her hands, and she slowly runs them up his chest, linking her fingers around his neck. Still resting his weight on the wall, and her body, he murmurs into her ear, beard grazing her earlobe and neck. "You don't have to walk that path alone."
"What if you get hurt?" she breathes, after an interminable silence. "I couldn't—"
"I know. What I. Signed up for," he spits out through gritted teeth, lifting his head to glare at her. She returns his gaze with sharp green eyes, frowning stubbornly. He shakes his head, unable to staunch his affection for her hardheaded sense of honor, feeling like a crazy man, still besotted with this wild, fascinating, incredible woman.
For the first time, he takes his chance, leaning down, gently touching his mouth to hers, pressing into her as she responds, kissing him back, pulling him in closer. It's like electricity coursing through his body, the shock setting every nerve ending on fire, buzzing with want. He pushes his knee between her legs, grinding his hips into hers, his body almost moving of its own accord.
Her breath becomes shallow as she gasps for air; his mouth trails down the column of her throat, beard rasping over the soaring bird on her neck, to the sensitive hollow of her collarbone. Her skin is unaccountably soft, and he lingers there, exploring the contours exposed by her dress.
"Kurt," she murmurs as he runs her hands down her body, to her hips, grasping and pulling her in tightly. "Why don't you get the hell away from me? There's only danger ahead."
"I never did scare easily," he mutters, focusing on the interesting reaction provoked when he gently bites near the corner of her jaw. "And, no way in hell am I going to let you face this alone."
"If I'd known I'd get this reaction, I probably should've told you sooner," Jane joked weakly, closing her eyes to enjoy his attentions. She didn't think that the bourbon could still be affecting her, yet still felt inebriated, elated, nearly overcome with how good it felt to be in his arms, feel his hands all over her body, mouth devouring hers.
It seemed so sensible, at this point, to be fully honest with Kurt. He had never wavered in his support of her quest for identity, whether she had been Taylor Shaw or not. Whether she had been a terrible person beforehand or not, he had always stubbornly maintained his absolute acceptance of her current self, whoever she was now, as newly formed as a baby. He deserved her honesty, the full truth.
But honesty, to Jane, did include her desires. And she was all about taking advantage of a good opportunity to have Kurt to herself.
"Kurt…please," she murmurs, clasping his hand, tugging it down to the hem of her dress. Her hands reach up to his belt, nimbly working at the buckle.
He freezes, fighting with every ounce of hard-won self-control. "Jane. We shouldn't…"
She looks up at him, eyes dark, voice low. "I want this. Now. Please…don't say you don't feel the same."
"God, yes," he finally admits, voice strained.
She laughs softly, teasing him with smirk. "Now, if you end up getting yourself killed by continuing to pursue my tattoos, as you insist on doing, I'd regret not going for it." He treats her to a rare smile, eyes crinkled at the corners, and her heart, previously assumed by her to be dead and cold, flips in her chest.
Jane reaches up to tug gently at his tie, pulling him down for a simmering kiss. Her other hand skillfully continues to work at the buckle. He pulls away briefly to drop his coat carelessly on the floor, and she then leans back for a moment, enjoying the sight of him loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.
Kurt's belt is finally undone, and then she's exploring with gentle hands, driving him to madness. He responds swiftly, fiercely, running his hand down her bare leg, pulling it up. She hooks it around his waist as she frees him from his boxers; he tightly wraps his arm around her leg, tugging her closer, supporting her with his strength. With his other hand he pushes her dress up and panties aside, almost frantic with need for her, and she guides him in. In a single fierce thrust, he's inside her, slamming her into the wall, holding her up. They both cry out as one, and it's all he can do to brace her as the incredible pleasure rolls through them.
He'd imagined making love to her countless times before, in some kind of gauzy, romantic, candlelit sort of setting; worshiping every inch of her painted body in his bed with exquisite tenderness. He figures, at this point, it can wait for later…all he needs and wants right now is her, to give into his fierce hunger for her, muss her hair, wrinkle her dress, and smudge her perfect makeup as he makes her sweat.
He thrusts again and she moans, arms wrapped tightly around him. "Shhh," he warns her, meeting her eyes as he moves with barely restrained fury, capturing her mouth with his. Her body seems to be formed to melt into his, made to set every synapse on fire with precision, in their torturous rhythm. "Jane," he whispers hoarsely. His eyes are fixed on her flushed face, delicate beads of perspiration forming on her brow, green eyes darkened to malachite embers in pleasure.
Struggling to keep their voices down, their ragged breathing syncs with the movement of their bodies. She matches his unceasingly ferocious pace, letting herself go under, ravaging him as he does her. Jane breathes his name as she reaches the peak of pleasure, and he savors the raw emotion, cleft to the bone, revealing her heart to him, and his to her. He finally allows himself to let go, leaning heavily on the wall as he shudders with release.
Kurt presses his forehead to hers as they catch their breath, a wave of primal satisfaction washing over him as he lowers her shaking leg, smoothing her dress. Jane leans against the wall, breathing hard, as he adjusts his pants and picks up his coat from the rumpled pile on the floor, shrugging into it over his sweat-soaked button-down. He reaches up to adjust his tie, but she moves in, reaching up to button his shirt and fuss with his tie.
He takes advantage of her focus on his tie to cradle her face in his hands, smoothing away the beads of sweat from her temples, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She stills for a moment, her ministrations complete, eyes fluttering closed as he gently trails down to the corner of her jaw, and then to her mouth with infinite gentleness.
After some time, she reluctantly pulls away. "We should, uh, probably get back to the office party," she explains.
"They'll be fine without us," he counters gruffly. "Either way, I think I'll just head home."
"I might do the same," Jane responds. "To my safe house, I mean." She meets his eyes almost shyly. "I could use a ride back."
He smiles at her lopsidedly, affectionately. "I'll take you home," Kurt offers. Her slender hand reaches to clasp his, as he cracks open the utility closet door, surveying the still-empty hallway.
"Let's go."
Well, this probably sucks. But I REALLY needed some angry Jeller sex to soothe my poor tortured soul after 1x11. Enjoy the smut, my Blindspotter and pretzel darlings...it's probably going to be a VERY long time before we see anything even approaching this on the show!