Author's Note: If you'll put down the leftover turkey and dressing and lend me your ears… Well, okay, it's actually your eyes I'll need for just a few minutes - but I'm sure you get my drift - I have something different for you to feast upon.

I don't often write truly in-depth bedroom scenes, and almost never in 'adults only' detail. As a rule, I'm content to allude to events that are about to take place, or have just taken place. Why? For one thing, I personally believe that adult-rated fan fiction often focuses too much attention on the physical act and too little on the emotions that accompany it. It's a delicate balance to strike and that's a big part of why I usually steer clear of it; because I'm afraid I won't do it justice with mere words. Additionally, I've tried it often enough to know that it makes me feel like I'm writing an X- rated how-to manual, as opposed to a romantic interlude.

However, following the close of An Ocean, Two Continents, Eight Time Zones and Heartache between Them; specifically the final portion which is titled How Can I Help, a significant number of my readers expressed in earnest that they would've liked a bigger window into the first-time intimate events that transpired between our favorite legal eagles; and it pleases me that those requests keep coming months after the fact.

I'm sure there are those who won't be fully satisfied with what follows, based on some of the JAG related smut I have come across on this site, but I've decided to give it a try. Let's just call it my attempt at giving thanks to my loyal readers.

On another note, please don't worry. All in Good Time will continue as planned. This was just a brief foray

Monday, August 20, 2007-Tuesday August 21, 2007

Sometime after Dark

Backing into the hall on silent feet, Sarah Mackenzie closes her niece's bedroom door as quietly as possible and tiptoes backwards three steps before turning to smile at the retired naval aviator turned lawyer who is leaning on his elbows and sipping coffee at the bar that separates her quaint cottage living room from its kitchen.

He flashes that smile; the one that use to make her warm all the way to her toes. "Damn." She thinks. "It still works! Thank God… It still works!"

"She finally go down?" Harm asks; interrupting her private musings.

Reining her slightly carnal thoughts in; Mac nods. "She fought hard… But she finally threw up the white flag. It's unusual though, Laura doesn't usually fight bedtime; especially not when she's overtired. The Marine smiles, and then adds in a softer voice." She likes you Harm."

"I like her too." He holds up a second coffee mug, indicating that it is meant for her, and she approaches wondering if it could really be this easy; the two of them settling into an old familiar after-hours routine after such a long absence from one another lives.

Crossing the room and taking the cup, she sips coffee, using the moment to try to sort through her muddled thoughts. There are so many things they need to talk about; so many things they should talk about. But she's not sure if either one of them is ready for a heavy conversation. But as easy, and as welcome, as their old comfortable routine would be, the truth is, she wants more. She's always wanted more. Years ago, she got used to the crackle of smoldering desire that is always present every time he is. But now, after their separation, it seems to have reached a new undeniable peak. Maybe she's out of practice, but she can't seem to ignore it. Not that she did before. She just simply chose to set it aside. Now she can't, or she doesn't want to. At the same time, he's here; now; in this room. That's more than either of them have been able to say for over two years. She's hesitant to make the first move, for fear that she will come on too strong, push too hard. She's familiar with what happens when she pushes him, of all men, too hard. She still deals with the pain she's experienced on such occasions. What to do? He's watching her; his blue eyes piercing her soul. He knows she's thinking, but probably not what she's thinking. He's waiting for her to say something. Still undecided, she opts to do something she doesn't usually do – let him call the shots.

She steps around the end of the bar between them into her kitchen and looks around; mildly puzzled by the empty sink, the sparkling clean counter tops and the newly swept tile. "What happened to the dirty dishes?"

He shrugs. "Not dirty anymore."

She raises an uncertain eyebrow. "You washed my dishes?"

He shrugs. "You were busy. I needed something to do. It's not a problem; is it?"

The surprised laughter she tries to hold in comes out sounding more like a discreet hiccup. She shakes her head adamantly. "No Harm, it's not a problem, not at all, just unexpected. For future reference though; feel free to wash my dishes anytime."

He smiles but his blue eyes narrow slightly; almost imperceptibly. Is he imagining things? Is it wishful thinking… Or is she flirting with him, just a little bit, maybe testing the waters? He's been asking himself the same question all evening. Sometimes he's certain of it, other moments he questions everything.

All through dinner while Laura chatted about Liam, about her dog, about her aunt, and a variety of other topics - it seems no topic is off limits to the six-year-old- Harm was aware of an almost indiscernible difference in Mac. He noticed, and took pleasure in the fact that before they even sat down to dinner, she seemed to touch him in a new way, and she did so whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was never anything indiscreet, a hand coming to rest softly on his shoulder in passing, a gentle poke in the ribs while they laughed over something funny Laura said. Tender sparks flew like fireflies floating on an evening breeze, when their hands accidentally touched when she passed him the napkin holder. He wonders if maybe he's going a little soft in the head. It's not like she's never touched him before; either accidentally or on purpose. He can't say that they've never shared an intimate moment either. And yeah, when they were out there on the beach, she did say later, and he knew what she meant, but still; there was something different in her this evening. At first he wondered if maybe he was over-thinking it. After all, they'd just closed the door on a two-year absence from each other's lives. Some things were bound to be different. But before Laura had gone to bed, Mac had been… At peace. That's what was different. She was sure of herself and of him. Suddenly, now that her niece is asleep, the old Mac is back; edgy and unsettled. He wonders, was Laura's presence some kind of buffer between them?

Now, he watches her turn about, looking this way and that in the small room. She's obviously searching for something. "What? What are you looking for?" he asks, hoping to help ease the low-current hum of tension in the air

"I don't know." She mutters absent-mindedly. She opens the refrigerator door, peers in, and then, after a second, closes it again; wondering why and her kitchen suddenly feels twice as small and wishing his natural scent wasn't quite so desirable.

"You don't know what you're looking for?"

"No, I don't." She prowls the small space restlessly, her internal thermostat registering a slight increase in room's temperature.

He watches her a moment longer and then something slides, mentally, into place; like the soft. nearly indiscernible, yet unmistakable, sound of a light switch being flipped into the on position. He smiles. He's seen her do this before more times than he can count, but he also realizes that he's just now recognizing it for what it truly is. It's a stalling tactic, a coping mechanism. She's attempting to self -sooth; looking for comfort. Until tonight, it's never occurred to him that this was her real purpose, or that his presence might be the very thing that had her so on edge. What's more, he can't decide if this makes him sad or really, really happy. How many times has he watched her do this while not fully comprehending the reason behind it? Often enough, they'd spend their evenings together doing trial prep for one case or another; usually at his loft. They would order pizza, or he would cook, and then start cleaning up after they were done. She'd sit at the bar and talk to him about case details, diving into work right away, as soon as the meal was through. Then, usually about twenty minutes later, right about the time he was through cleaning up, she'd start prowling his kitchen, looking for something sweet. It was something he got used to quickly; something he just learned to accept. His original assumption was that she needed twenty minutes to begin to digest dinner so that she could make room for dessert. Now, for the first time, he realizes that chocolate is her band aid… Or in this case, maybe 'substitute' is a better word. He doesn't know whether to grin boldly or bang his head on the cabinet door behind him. Idiot! He berates himself silently. Why the hell couldn't he have had this little epiphany years ago?

Setting down his coffee cup, he rises to his full height and looks around the room. He knows her well enough that he only has to open two cabinet doors before he finds what he's looking for. He reaches in and extracts the small tin of chocolate fudge with walnuts in it. She watches him curiously as he helps himself to another cabinet where he finds two saucers. He removes a knife from the silverware drawer, adds a couple of napkins to the collection, and picks up his coffee cup, motioning for her to follow.

She settles on the couch beside him and watches with the slightest of smiles as he serves up a small square of the treat. He watches her sample it, and though it's clear she enjoys it, the pleasure in her eyes is still somewhat flat.

"What's the matter?" He chuckles softly. "Not quite working for you?"

"It's fine." She sighs "I just remember it being better." She leans forward, shifting her position slightly, turning to face him as she sets the saucer on the coffee table. She smiles at him in surprise when he reaches out, taking her hand in his while she settles more comfortably on the cushion beside him.

"Maybe, it's the same as it's always been Mac. Maybe…" He raises an eyebrow. "It's just not what you want." He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it gently, noticing that, for the briefest of moments, there's a look of absolute panic in her dark eyes. However, his kiss seems to ease, if not completely sooth, her worries. He smiles and turns his head, softly kissing her palm when she eases her hand from his and rests it delicately against his cheek. She offers him a sweet but sad smile, then her gaze slides away and she stares awkwardly at her own knees for a moment.

"Mac?" he queries; trying hard to keep even the faintest hint of disappointment out of his voice. "You change your mind?" he sits up a little straighter. "It's okay if you did…" She shakes her head frantically even before he finishes. "But I need you to say so."

"No Harm! I haven't changed my mind. It's just…" She laughs nervously, miserably. "I don't really know what to do it myself anymore. I've lost track of the number of times we've been here in this place. Well, I don't mean this place exactly. I mean…"

"I know what you mean Sarah." He whispers; the sound of her name on his lips causing a pleasant warmth to ripple through her body.

"It feels like we're closer this time; closer than ever before. Only, I don't want to push you. That's never worked before, and I doubt it will work now. I don't want to scare you away again." She admits, sounding as if she might cry. "But Harm, I don't think I can go back… Not to the way it was before. I can't do that dance anymore. There's no reason to. There's nothing between us…"

Realizing her mistake almost immediately when she sees panic rising in his eyes; she places a tender hand against his chest and shakes her head gently. "That's not what I mean Harm." She smiles; trying to clarify her own words. "I mean, there aren't any obstacles between us. Well… Not unless you count the fact that our addresses are on two separate continents with an ocean between them. That's rather minor compared to some of the obstacles we've faced. The Navy, The Marine Corps, the UCMJ, boyfriends and girlfriends, your baggage and mine. Most of it doesn't matter anymore, and at this moment I don't really care about the parts that still might. I meant what I said earlier on the beach. I want you to be here… with me tonight." She bites her lip; terrified to go on. "If you still can't, if you want to go… I need you to go now because I can't…"

The odd shift in her mood was born of fear, and with understanding, comes the freedom and the confidence he needs to act. He leans in close and she breathes the rest of it against his mouth just before his lips claim hers. "Do it anymore..." She talks in stops and starts around his warm kisses. "Missed you too much."

Their bodies begin to tingle sweetly; the way skin does when it is caressed by a gentle wind on a warm day. She threads the fingers of one hand through his hair and moves with him as he eases her back against the sofa cushions, but she braces herself on an elbow stopping short of lying down. "Can't do that anymore. Too hard now…" She mumbles on incoherently; finally stopping short when she realizes that his sweet kisses have stopped and he staring down at her; his gaze warmed by desire and fixed on her mouth expectantly, if also somewhat impatiently.

"Oh hi!" she says with soft enthusiasm; a wide smile finding its way to her lips as she clues in.

He chuckles quietly and flashes his smile as he repeats the same words back to her. "Oh hi! You done now?"

Still smiling, she squints and furrows her brow. "Think so. You're staying… Not leaving?" Her voice sounds just the slightest bit giddy to his ears.

Holding eye contact, he shakes his head slowly and then whispers as he kisses the delicate skin below her right ear, "Even if this house catches fire, you still might have to talk me into leaving."

Truly happy, she lifts her chin and turns her head slightly, giving him better access as she finally lies down completely. He moves with her, allowing her to shift position until he rests on his elbows, his body completely covering hers, and they're both considerably more comfortable.

Keeping one hand tangled lightly in his hair, her other hand begins to roam the solid expanse of his back as she begins a much desired, yet tender, exploration of his body; one that will take her hours to fully complete. For the moment though, she's content with this and allows his mouth to begin an exploration of its own; from her ear down the curve of her neck. Seconds later, when his progress is interrupted by the collar of her uniform blouse, they both grimace. When he lifts his head, she smiles apologetically and then frowns at her own attire.

"I usually change after work, but your car was in the driveway, I tripped over your shoes at the bottom of the back porch steps, and Laura was hungry." She shrugs beneath him, the simple movement bringing both of them a quiet kind of pleasure. "If I had thought about it, I would've changed into something a little more flattering."

If his blue eyes weren't currently dark with unspoken intimate desires that no ten-year-old boy has ever experienced, Mac might think that he looks just like the child who finds the gift he wants most beneath the tree on Christmas morning when he smiles at her and adamantly shakes his head. "Uh uh!" He objects heartily, trying to get his throat to form more adequate words. "Perfect!"

Surprised, she raises an eyebrow. "Really?" The simple word drips incredulity.

He nods, just as adamantly. "Pretty sure the Marine Corps didn't mean to create the sexiest ensemble on Earth, but they did. You have no idea how long I have been fantasizing about taking this thing off of you."

She giggles happily. "Harm you just made generations of Marine Corps commandants roll over in their graves."

He shrugs, wholly unconcerned, and returns his lips to the throbbing pulse point in her neck. "Who cares." He breathes; the light teasing contact of his tongue against her flesh sending enjoyable ripples of longing through her body that he feels and responds to immediately in a very noticeable, not to mention, tangible way. "They may be dead, but we're not."

She smiles seductively, her dark eyes alive with passion as her free hand continues to roam the contours of his back. It comes to rest just north of the waistband of his khakis; itching to slide farther south, but she holds off, choosing instead to bunch up the tail of his shirt and slide her hand beneath it into the small of his back. Being careful not to scratch him, she slowly and softly rakes her short manicured fingernails across skin that is hot beneath her touch, which only intensifies his response and leaves her struggling to move beneath him, seeking better contact with him while she concurs verbally, "You certainly aren't Flyboy."

Because he knows what she wants, his mouth stops its tender assault on the soft flesh over her pulse point as he lifts himself slightly higher on one elbow. He gives her his fevered eyes again as he reaches down; searching by feel alone for her hemline. Sliding beneath it, his hand finds and gently cups the back of a thigh; helping it into a more pleasing position. As the marine green skirt on the woman beneath him rises several indiscreet inches, Harm groans with equal parts satisfaction and frustration and she literally purrs when the part of him she wants most gets distinctly more firm and, at the same time, infinitely closer to where she wants it.

"Better?" he smiles wickedly as the inside of her thigh makes contact with his hip.

Her dark eyes go wide and she nods mutely.

"Good. Now be still… Or else this isn't going to take nearly as long as I'd like for it to."

She nods her understanding with silent enthusiasm as she untangles the fingers gently fisted in his hair. She caresses his face lovingly. Then, he mutters a curse as she nearly undoes his tenuous grasp on self-control when she kisses him; offering enough passion to make his hips buck of their own accord.

"Long time." She whispers into the kiss; her thoughts, as well as her words, scattered by the pleasing effects of his involuntary movement. "This… not rush."

He understands where the unspoken words fit with the spoken ones just fine. "We've waited a long time for this. Let's not rush."

Pleased they're in agreement; he breaks the kiss only because he has to, and Mac knows it the instant she's no longer the sole recipient of his attention. Coming up on one elbow, tilting her head back, and lifting her chin, she follows his gaze across the room and down the short hallway to Laura's closed bedroom door.

"She's asleep Harm." Mac assures quietly while playfully nipping at his left ear; trying to reclaim all of his attention.

He groans louder than he likes, given their current location, and flashes his smile as he deliberately tries to move away from her mouth. "Yeah, I know, but I'd like her to stay that way Mac. I'd also really like to do away with all these annoying clothes… mime feel like they're on fire, and sexy as they are, I'm starting to seriously resent yours. You think we can move this someplace a little more private; someplace a bit farther away from that door? If she wakes up and wanders out here, and we scar her for life, it's going to scar me for the rest of mine."

He fully expects her to poke fun at him, to tell him that he needs to relax, so he's more than a little surprised when she smiles sweetly, kisses his cheek and hugs him tightly, as if a rewarding him for good behavior, before she pokes the back of his shoulder playfully.

"You're right. I shudder to think what she's already walked in on, what's already scarred her, especially with my sister for a mother. There is a better place for this, but it means you'll have to get off of me."

He bows his head into the curve of her neck, the intoxicating scent of her seriously impeding his ability to summon the will to do as he knows he must. After a long moment's hesitation, he grunts in despair and shoves himself to his feet; pulling her up along with him. Turning too quickly, with his arms locked around her waist, he bangs his shin on the coffee table hard enough to nearly topple them, and more than hard enough to elicit another muffled curse between his clenched teeth.

Out of concern for his pain, she does her best to stifle the chuckle that rises in the back of her throat. "I think you'd better let me lead the way Sailor. Honestly Harm, I don't mind a little kink now and again, but bruises just aren't sexy."

Balanced momentarily on one foot he resists the urge to hop about and stares at her; unaware that his mouth has fallen slightly open until she reaches out and gently closes it with a finger crooked beneath his chin. Then, with her hands at his hips to guide him, she moves slowly, turning, trading places with him and walking backwards around the edge of coffee table without mishap. Because he's limping slightly, she waits until they're in the kitchen, passed the bar, with no other obstacles in their path, before she begins to unbutton his shirt. Lost in her deep dark eyes, it's an act he's not fully aware of until he feels her warm fingertips against his heated flesh. Mildly surprised, he glances down at his exposed, and suddenly very sensitive, chest as her caress ignites a new flame, and with it, new desires. He lifts one of the delicate hands splayed there to his lips for a gentle kiss and then returns it to the spot directly over his pounding heart.

Incapable of missing the steady two-part hammering going on beneath the skin at her fingertips, she moves her hand, curling her fingers around his rib cage and places a sweet kiss there over the wildly beating organ. As they pass the refrigerator, she breathes against his skin, "Want ice?"

When he doesn't answer right away she pauses to look up at him until the hushed question registers, even though the reason behind it doesn't. "Huh…what for?"

This time, she does giggle. "For that very badly bruised shin you're going to have tomorrow."

"Oh… Naa." He grins. "I'll suffer. Cold is not sexy." He marvels at her. Walking backwards, her steady gaze fixed on his mouth, meaning that her steps are guided purely by instinct, hair and clothes badly rumpled like… Well, like a teenager who's been making out on the living room sofa, skin glowing, lips swollen and kissable, with her dark eyes flashing messages of secret unspoken desires that she's about to reveal; she still has the presence of mind to walk upright without incident and she thinks clearly enough to offer him first-aid. As he nears her bedroom door; guided only by her, and no real sense of direction, he decides he wants…no he needs, to change this. He needs to kiss her, touch her, do whatever it takes, until she is every bit as lost in and dim-witted by pleasure as he is right now.

He starts by offering her a searing kiss; one that eventually leaves her breathless and clinging limply to him by the arms that wind their way around his neck. Before her knees give out, he pins her firmly between the door frame and his body. When something between a moan and a whimper escapes her, when she arches against him seeking more than what his hungry kiss alone will provide, he starts to work on the buttons of her shirt.

He gets to the third button, the knuckles of each hand resting lightly against the swell of her warm breasts before he detects the faint sound of the rolling ocean outside. For a moment, he thinks that what he hears is the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins. It takes him a second or two longer to realize that, while he may hear that, what he hears is not entirely internal. Looking around for the source of the more external sound, he peers into the room beyond the threshold where they stand. His hands go instantly still. Her third button momentarily forgotten; courtesy of the breathtaking and tumultuous view beyond the room's enormous picture window. He stands motionless; transfixed by the beautiful and oddly familiar sight - though it takes him a moment to realize why it's as familiar as an old friend. It's every bit as familiar as the old friend who's here with him now, and every bit as uncharted as this strange and wonderful new territory they find themselves currently in.

It's the room from his dream; the recurring dream, the one that has haunted, tortured and delighted him for two years. Should he tell her about it? He wants to. He turns his gaze back to her only to find that he's been stunned speechless. He's also mildly surprised by the sensation of moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. Her soft patient smile is nothing short of glorious.

Understanding completely; she lets him go. She encourages and invites him into the room with nothing more than the slight sideways nod of her head, but he doesn't realize until she does it that it's an invitation he still needs.

Only once he has it, does he take three steps into the room to take a leisurely look around. He takes in all the familiar sights; not just the awesome one beyond the window. He recognizes the hardwood flooring, the inlaid floor to ceiling bookshelves, the antique hurricane lamp on the bedside table, the slow turning ceiling fan overhead, and the small day bed that was chosen, no doubt, more for convenience than for comfort or size. Mesmerized, and without turning, he reaches for her. In the same moment, he feels her arms slide easily around his waist as if she sensed his silent request for her nearness, and was already in motion, a ½ second before he made it.

"This is our room." He whispers; more pleased than he knows how to say when she simply nods. He doesn't know why she should, but he knows she understands. "I've been here before." He confesses. "So many times I've lost count." She doesn't argue or question what he says, but she hangs on every word. "Sarah, I dream about this room. I've been coming here in my sleep for two years."

She nods again, this time as if some new understanding is falling softly into place.

His momentarily stalled desire begins to build anew when he feels soft hands find their way beneath his unbuttoned shirt once more. He can't quite contain the groan of pleasure that escapes him when her feather-light kiss finds the sensitive hollow below his ear.

"Was I with you in these dreams?"

"Oh yeah; you were definitely with me!" He manages to grind out the words in a ragged, breathless whisper.

She raises a seductive eyebrow; and she's close enough for him to see it even in the darkness. "Ah, I see… Do you want to tell me about it?" She asks, as if the question alone gives her a delicious thrill.

He opens his mouth to speak, then seems to change his mind. Snapping it closed again, he shakes his head. Stepping back, he closes the bedroom door, then returns to her and lifts her feet off the floor. As her legs wind around him, she leans in for a heated kiss, which he willingly delivers; pausing only long enough to whisper. "I'd rather show you."