A/N: I have no idea what possessed me to write this. I really don't. Maybe because it's one of the less-explored pairings in Primeval…. I dunno. Whatever. If you haven't read "The Shadow of the Jaguar" this might not make the most sense, but it should still be understandable. If you have read the book, this is my 'missing scene' in the hotel after Jenny was kidnapped and rescued by Stark but before they went home.
"Cutter, I need to talk to you. Privately," said Jennifer Lewis as she stood in the doorway between the small kitchen and the main parlor of the hotel. Stephen, Connor, Abby, and Cutter were sitting around the small table, nursing glasses of ice water—though there was something suspiciously amber-coloured in the professor's glass. He turned to look at her, looking hesitant to stand up, but then he pushed to his feet and walked over to her. She took his hand and led him upstairs to her room.
Without a word, she drew him inside, shut the door, and locked it. Turning to face him, Jenny stood on her toes, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his own. She had been kidnapped, tormented, and almost killed by a pack of poachers that'd been paid to kill her and the rest of their team. She felt…fragile. Breakable, like she wasn't made of flesh and bone anymore; she was something made of spun glass, liable to shatter if the wind blew too hard. She was raw, exposed, excruciatingly aware she could've been killed—or worse—in the clutches of those men.
Cutter went rigid for a moment, his stunned mind unable to fully grasp what was happening, but then he was snapped back into reality. Reason screamed for him to push her away, but he felt just the same as her—too aware of his own mortality, shaken and vulnerable. His arms came around her, drawing her body in close and tight. His lips moved with hers, eyes closing for a moment. Breaking apart only when they needed to breathe, he began to kiss cheek, her neck, wincing slightly when his lips brushed swollen bruises and small scrapes and tasting the faint tang of sweat on her skin.
Her hands smoothed over his shoulders, moving down his arms and chest, whatever she could reach before she grasped the hem of his shirt and dragged it up over his head. Jenny saw matching bruises and scrapes all across his torso, raw wounds from where he'd been in the car wreck, scrapes and cuts. Cutter managed to fumble open the tiny buttons of her blouse with trembling fingers, peeling the fabric away from her sweaty skin. The heat of the room was almost tangible in the air, sticking to her skin. She grasped his wrist and drew his hand up to her breast, his skin hot even through the lace of her bra; a low moan escaped from his throat. She felt her heart pounding hard and fast, a sweet wetness between her thighs, aching to have him on her, in her, as close as they could get. She needed him, some way to concrete her own existence. Thoughts of her fiancé were wholly erased from her mind. Right now it was only her, Cutter, and the fire between them, emotions so carefully pushed aside and ignored now running rampant between them in a flurry of kisses.
Blindly, they staggered across the room and fell onto the bed, the old box springs creaking beneath their combined weight. She pulled him over on top of her, savouring the weight of his body. She pressed her mouth against his, parting her lips and letting his tongue slip past her teeth into her mouth, slow and unhurried. Christ, the man knew how to bloody kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, down his stomach, to his belt, hastily working open the buckle and yanking down the zip. He groaned quietly, pulling the zipper down on her skirt and drawing it down her legs. She lifted her hips for him to pull it off, stripping off her knickers as well. He slid a hand under her back to unhook her bra. Finally, there was nothing but bare skin between them. No matter that they were both sore and battered; they needed this as badly as they'd ever needed anything.
He grasped her hips and drove into her; Jenny's back arched off the bed, a soft cry leaving her throat. Her hands fisted on the sheets before sliding up to grasp his arms, moving across his shoulders and back, consigning the feel of him to memory. Cutter held himself still over her for a moment, trying to remember how exactly to breathe; he hadn't been inside a woman for the better part of a decade, and Christ, she felt so good wrapped around him that he was seeing damn stars. When he recovered his senses once more, he lowered his weight onto his elbows, slipping his hands beneath her shoulders to tangle around her thick hair. Her face was the very picture of pleasure, but her eyes were tight closed. He wanted to be able to see the look in her eyes whilst he loved her. "Jenny," he breathed softly. "Jenny, look at me. Open your eyes, love."
She parted her heavy lashes, forcing them open. He was looking down at her; the yellow-orange light from the lamp made his blue eyes look almost violet, blazing with fire. He began to move, making her shudder and moan with each deep stroke, unable to look away from his eyes. She lifted her hips to match his pace, sweat-slick skin gliding together, her hands fisting around his hair, damp with sweat. She could feel white fire building low in her belly, rising higher as their bodies moved together. Jenny cried out and bit down on his bare shoulder to muffle her scream of ecstasy, nails raking red lines down his back. Cutter cried out with her, burying his head against her neck as he came, spilling himself into her, the muscle of his back going tense. When the last ecstatic tremor of pleasure tapered away, he went heavy on her, feeling as if all his bones had turned to gelatin. For a moment, he lay on top of her, both of them too exhausted to move, but then he pulled out and rolled onto his back, breathing hard. Jenny turned and put her head on his shoulder, not minding the heat of the room.
They both knew it would never happen again, that once they dressed and left the room it would never be mentioned, never be acknowledged. Once they left this bedroom, as far as Nick Cutter and Jenny Lewis were concerned, it had never happened at all. But just for a moment, for just a heartbeat in time, they laid together with limbs entwined, skin-to-skin, sharing body heat and revelling in the closeness and comfort of being with another person.
Jenny tucked her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her cheek and forehead with tenderness, consigning the feel and taste of her to memory. Once she had fallen quite soundly asleep in his arms, Cutter buried his face into the soft curls of sweat-damp hair. "I love you, Jenny Lewis," he whispered hoarsely, then closed his eyes and nestled down deeper into the bed to sleep beside her.
It wasn't until the soft, rumbling sound of his snoring filled the air that her dark lashes parted, large brown eyes looking up at his sleeping face. "I love you, too, Nick Cutter," she said softly, knowing that she would never have the chance to say it again.