"Who's there?" Donald asked as someone knocked in his door outside.
It was a sheer luck he decided to check if the door was locked otherwise he wouldn't have even heard the tap. His doorbell was dead, and, frankly speaking, he had no desire or time to fix it. He wasn't expecting anyone to come over, anyway.
Even if someone was interested in stopping by, it wasn't the best time to visit—Donald had been recovering from a nasty shot in the leg for almost two weeks and he wasn't in the mood of welcoming any late night guests.
The cane and painkillers were his best pals, because the slightest movement echoed with excruciating pain.
In spite of his condition, Donald insisted on coming back to work, agreeing to the desk duty. His job had been everything for him, whatever grunt and dangerous it sometimes might have been.
He heard a muffled voice outside.
"It's me, Jessie."
It was his colleague, Jessie Brooks.
Quietly cursing, Donald hung his black coat back on the rack. He also put his car keys and the badge which said Special Agent Donald Ressler in the drawer underneath the rack, and hurried to open the door. It took him a minute longer than usual.
"Hey, Don, sorry to drop by like this," Jessie blurted as if someone was after her.
Agent Brooks had been recently transferred from New York to Washington, and at first Donald saw her as a younger sister who needed to be looked after.
At the office she was a disaster: always late with the reports, almost as stressed as the suspect when it came down to the interrogation, and nearly dozed at briefings.
Donald tried hard to look for an explanation, but since Jessie was great in the field and had had his back so many times he'd lost count, he helped her with the paperwork. Unexpectedly for them both, but mostly for Ressler, they became best friends. They covered each other if needed, and hang out till dawn in bars.
At first it seemed odd for Donald his partner wasn't eager to go home (he thought Jessie was seeing someone). It turned out she'd rather spend time with him scolding at their boss, drinking and talking than coming back to an empty apartment.
It was out of question for them both to fool around to blow some steam off since they could get their asses in a big trouble. Not mentioning the overall morning after awkwardness.
Three weeks ago the blacksite they operated from was under siege, resulted in the worst nightmare of any operative: a clash in a closed area, outnumbered, communications jammed. Somehow the terrorists had learned about the blacksite's location, infiltrated it and took its personnel hostage.
Jessie was late at work on that day, but managed to sneak in unnoticed. She disabled the jammers, and slipped out to come back with the cavalry later. But Donald hadn't been that lucky: he caught a bullet in his leg, trying not to give up the warehouse with explosives.
However, when it was over, Jessie was back to her usual absent-minded self, and Don tried his best to help her.
That's what friends do, right?
Now Jessie, a short, strongly built woman, nervously tugged the zipper of her rain-soaked leather jacket. When Donald first met her he thought she looked, at best, eighteen. She was almost the same age as him, though. Few years younger, give or take.
A couple of curly dark-brown strands broke out of her red cap. She had a shy look on her almost childish, round face. There was a pair of bags from the supermarket.
"I thought, you know, you're here, all alone… Damn, it's not what I meant," she stammered, her cheeks blushing.
Donald didn't get where it was all coming from given the countless times they would talk about occasional one-night stands or cracked dirty jokes.
It was the first time they met like this, since Don had never been at Jessie's. They both preferred not to mix their private life and work.
And, to be honest, Donald didn't think of himself as a charmer. Of course, there were some lucky nights here and there, with no names or calls after, but that was it.
"Yeah, of course," he curved his lips in a sly smile. "Come on in already."
The bags looked heavy, but in his condition…
"I wish I could—"
"Nah, I'm cool," Jessie interrupted him, sounding less tense. She lift the bags and sauntered inside.
Donald locked the door, his eyes kept on Jessie's back. It was kinda unexpected that someone had actually bothered to check on him... Unlike those "friends" at Quantico who hadn't even called over these years.
Meanwhile, Jessie hung her leather jacket and a cap on the rack, and took off her sneakers. She was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a plaid shirt, almost matching his own home outfit, except the shirt. That seemed odd, since she must be just from work. You couldn't walk into the office like that unless you were going undercover.
"I thought you're free at ten," Donald wondered as they walked to the kitchen, passing a small living room where the faded wall paint asked to be refreshed, and it'd be nice to replace a sofa, too.
There was a neat pile of The Washington Post on the table. A just opened bottle of Heineken loomed lonely on the scratched surface.
"I left earlier. You should see Cooper's face when I told him that," Jessie giggled. "He couldn't forbid me to use my overtime, so here I am. Oh, and if he asks, I had some "family matters", alright? My nephew or what-not… What's so funny?" she broke off, seeing Ressler slyly crinkling his eyes and grinning widely.
"'Family matters', huh? You prefer what, 'sweetie' or 'honey'?"
"Shut up or I'll feed you this carrot. And not in the mouth."
Jessie washed her hands, dried them with the towel and started going through the groceries, putting them either on table or in the fridge.
Suddenly a very strange thought, given their relationship with Jessie, appeared in Donald's mind.
What if every evening could be like that?
Hadn't he wanted at times to leave the job, sell the apartment, empty all the savings and buy some nice house far away from here? Somewhere near the lake or river. To have a life, a family of his own, and a kid or two.
He forced his thoughts back to the present.
"Don't get me wrong, but how do you expect me to eat all that?" Donald sighed, pretending to sound annoyed. He placed himself comfortably in the chair, putting his cane away.
"Who knows, Don, maybe 'honey' will stay here till morning."
Their looks met.
Donald couldn't read anything in her hazel eyes, resembling now spilled amber ink.
Couldn't one just screw all these rules and do what they want?
On one hand, he didn't want to ruin their friendship with a short moment of weakness. On the other hand…
Actually, if she brought this thing up, could that mean she also wanted it?
…Or maybe, it was just another joke.
"So, how you want it?" Jessie asked, looking him straight in the eye, her voice calm and crisp.
"Want what?"
He completely lost the direction this conversation was going to.
"The steak, Ressler. Rare, medium-rare, medium, well done?"
Jessie grinned and took a massive cut of beef from the fridge, and laid it on the chopping board. A moment later she opened the exact drawer where he kept the knives.
"I guess, medium is okay… Listen, you need a hand or something?"
Jessie put away the knife she was sharpening and opened the cupboard. She took a few plates, two glasses, two forks and two butter knives.
"Here," Jessie gave him a dish towel, and went back on to cutting the meat. Finished, she soaked it with oil, seasoned it with salt, pepper and also added a few other spices he had no slightest idea of.
Donald didn't remember having anything else than salt and pepper.
Jessie noticed his confused look.
"These are mine. I wasn't sure you had something."
"You don't live in here, right?" Donald joked, drying the dishes, as he watched Jessie seasoning already peeled potatoes in salt and flour.
"Sorry, what?" Jessie asked, turning the stove on, and leaving the potatoes to roast.
"I said, you look like you've lived here forever."
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
She licked a drop of the barbecue sauce from her finger.
"It's just I remembered something," Donald said, trying to ignore a totally inappropriate thought crossing his mind. He blamed the painkillers for it.
"Ah, I see. Who knows Don, who knows…"
Jessie resisted an urge to laugh, seeing how Donald's features changed: his green eyes widened, and it seemed that even his bright ginger hair had lost a shade or two.
She chuckled. "For the record, you did nothing inappropriate." The look on his face told her he didn't believe it, so she added, "Relax, Don, we were off the minute we got into your bed."
She put the steaks in the pan, and leaned to do a raincheck on the potatoes.
Donald was staring at her back, thinking. She seemed different. Not her straightforward, arrogant, sharp-tongued self.
She was… cozy. It's a weird comparison, but that's the closest one he could find to express what he felt right now.
"Stop staring at me like that, Ressler."
She kept grilling the steaks, flipping them.
"I'm not staring, I'm watching. Just in case."
"Just in case?" Jessie wondered, serving the hot steaks on the plate and covering them with foil. Next, she turned the potatoes off.
Turning her face to Donald, she caught a sliding dish towel from her shoulder, and tucked a loose curly strand behind her ear.
Something had changed in her as she approached him.
Her T-shirt clung to her body and her tight jeans embraced the curves of her hips. She came so close her knees were touching his.
At this moment Donald deeply regretted that first of all, Jessie was his friend, and only then—a very attractive woman.
"Maybe, that night I couldn't help but…" Jessie whispered into his ear. She almost breathed the words out, her voice low and deep.
He knew that voice—she occasionally used it over the phone when they needed to smoke the guy out.
Jessie took a long pause. Her uneven breath tickled his ear. Her body was in a very dangerous proximity to his.
"…grab a beer from your fridge."
Damn it!
He got played like some fucking teenager.
You won't get away with it.
"I found your bra in the morning."
Jessie froze, baffled, like a typical straight-A college girl, caught off guard with a question she had no answer to.
Donald struggled to hide a winning smile, watching her.
She hadn't noticed him grinning, her thoughts back to that particular night at Ressler's place.
Both of them were so hammered, that even if something did happen, it wouldn't really matter. She hoped it hadn't. She really liked her job.
And then it came down to her.
The smile Donald had right now on his face would make Cheshire cat green with envy.
"Ressler! You sly ginger ass!"
Donald acted on instinct: he ducked from the blow and clenched her wrist, pulling Jessie closer.
Her wrist was still damp from water. She had firm, strong hands, but one wouldn't tell that at once. Donald had seen quite often the marks her punches left. No, he wouldn't want to piss her off.
Well, this steak is definitely a turn-on.
This thought had almost made him laugh.
Or was it something else?
At this job you couldn't even remember when it was the last time someone took care of you. The FBI had been everything for him—his wife and his mistress.
And there was that night. Donald's rational self preferred to think nothing happened, but the irrational—wished it woud.
It was super easy with Jessie. She was a great listener and would always find a joke to lighten the mood. However, when you gave her a headstart, she'd talk you to death.
For a moment Donald felt sorry for all those times she had to listen to him bragging about this or that girl he'd got laid.
Suddenly, his left hand acted on its own, sliding a few inches down Jessie's waist.
Totally shocked by his own audacity, Donald yanked it away and loosened his grip.
But Jessie wasn't rushing to step back.
Donald couldn't even say a word, when the dish towel slightly swatted him.
"Sit down and eat."
Her calm and a bit tired voice gave him hope she wasn't angry.
Jessie turned her back from him, grabbing beer from the fridge.
Sure, she must be thinking what a jerk he was.
Or worse.
Things were complicated, because Donald was in charge of the taskforce. And that meant he was her boss. They would always laugh at Jessie, who ignored any kind of subordination. It constantly got her into a lot of trouble. On top of that, her rank was lower than Donald's, and she had been also granted only level two clearance, while Don had level four. Jessie had to wait for half a year to take an exam to upgrade her rank.
Donald, on the other hand, did his best to keep both of them out of trouble.
He and Jessie were very different: she could spark with anger faster than one could lit a match, but she cooled off fast; Don was cold-blooded and reasonable, not letting his emotions to stand in his way.
"Jess, listen..."
Jessie silently cut the roasted potatoes in half, adding a small piece of butter inside, and put them on his plate.
A card player couldn't do a better poker face she was having right now.
Of course, she was ignoring him.
Who wouldn't?
"Jessie..." Donald was almost pleading.
Not uttering a word, Jessie opened the beer, pouring first a glass for him, then for herself.
"Let's blame it on painkillers," she said, her voice flat.
Donald wanted to apologize, yet all the excuses seemed so dumb and lousy...
"Just eat already. Or I'll change my mind."
How come he had never noticed what a radiating smile she had?
"…and he choked on his joint when you told him that."
Donald laughed almost to tears. It was one of their night shifts—they were surveilling some junkie whose drug dealer was a subject of their murder investigation.
Jessie, chuckling, opened another beer. Pouring Donald a glass, she suddenly frowned her face.
"You had your meds today?"
"I think I did. Or not. Not sure, really. Actually, it's on you."
"We can always refresh your memory," Jessie pointed at the dish towel behind her back on the chair. "When?"
"In the afternoon, I guess."
"Ressler!"
Donald noticed that the strange mix of anger and worry made her face even more attractive.
"No, it's okay, really. For the first time in days."
He wasn't lying, because for the past few hours the leg indeed didn't hurt at all. And he completely forgot about taking his meds throughout the day.
Jessie's gaze faded a bit. She looked anxious. And sad.
"You okay?" Donald wished he could stand up quickly and hug her. "Thank you," he gently squeezed her hand.
If this gesture confused her somehow, she hadn't shown it.
"No big deal. I don't have anyone to cook for anyway."
Jessie sounded cheerful, but one could hear a trace of longing in her voice.
Don knew that feeling too well. He hadn't gotten to say a word to comfort her, as the phone rang somewhere in the hall.
"It's mine," Jessie blurted, rising herself from the seat. A moment later, she disappeared in the hall.
Don, pouring himself another glass, was thinking what a great evening it had been. It was actually the first time he ate something home-cooked, because usually he picked some Chinese to save time.
His apartment wasn't spacious, so one could hear everything, even if one talked quietly. However, quiet was not Jessie's style. She swore loud and dirty, like a sailor on the ship.
Don didn't care about swearing as he would do the same once or twice. In the end, everyone blew their steam off any way they could, right?
"…No, I fucking can't!"
Jessie came back looking like she could choke anyone who's going to ask her if she's okay. Donald had no intention to see it come true, so he refilled her glass and prepared to listen.
"You wouldn't believe it!"
"Try me."
"Apparently some jerk decided it's a good idea to cook meth in the building I'm fucking living. Of course, a moron he is, this idiot screwed up." She gulped her beer. "The police asked everyone to crash someplace else for the night."
Not thinking twice, Donald suggested, "You can stay here."
Jessie studied him for a moment with her eyes. They grew few shades darker, now resembling a strongly brewed coffee.
"You won't hit on me, right?"
"You want me to?" Donald raised his brow. "I can take the couch," he added.
Well, he couldn't blame her for the remark—she had her reasons. It made him upset somehow. He couldn't get why, though.
"And kill me the next morning? First, your leg, then your back." Jessie took the last bite of the steak. "The couch is okay, thanks."
Don went to look for the quilt and a spare pillow. When he came back, Jessie was doing dishes.
"Go and rest, now," she scolded him like a mother.
He put away his cane, took a dish towel and leaned against the table.
She gave him another angry look.
"I'm not a kid, Jess..."
He didn't finish because in an instant sharp, unbearable pain pierced his leg. It was as if someone tied a knot with his muscles and nerves, tying it tighter and tighter, twisting and pulling, the pain resonating all over his body.
"Fuck!"
He would have fallen but for Jessie's instant reaction. She caught him in a field nurse manner, placing his hand across her shoulder, embracing his waist with her other.
As Donald was taller than her, he occasionally buried his face in her hair, smelling the scent of spices she used cooking.
"Can you walk?"
Don shook his head. He wished he could have cut his leg, if only it would stop aching.
"No offense, but my shoulders getting numb. Where are the pills?"
"My pocket." But as Jessie's hand reached the side pocket, he added, "No, at the back. You have to—"
"I got it," Jessie hissed, trying not to think that he actually had quite an ass. She sometimes checked it out when he, acting bossy, ran here and there in the office. More than she cared to admit it became the reason of misspelled words and missing chunks in her reports.
Muttering, Jessie slid her hand into Donald's back pocket. "And here I thought this couldn't get any more awkward."
"You say like you've never seen my… Ouch!"
Boy, that hurts. Why would she pinch him?.. Yeah. Right. The bra joke.
"Keep quiet, Ressler... It's empty."
Don wanted to joke but another round of pain got the best of him. Burying his face again in Jessie's hair, he groaned through his clenched teeth.
Jessie gently stroked his back, embracing him tighter. A lot of thoughts were drumming in her mind now.
What could possibly ease his pain? An abrupt change of sensation?
Okay. Let's assume it could work. But what exactly?
Suddenly she got an idea. The most crazy and worst idea ever, but if it could help…
"Try to lean against the table with your back."
He didn't really believe it would make any difference.
"Don, just trust me, okay?"
And he did as she asked.
"Close your eyes," Jessie's surreal voice coated him in warmth.
His mind, exhausted from the pain, didn't even bother to pose a question 'what for'.
In less than a second Donald felt her small, slightly wet, warm lips pressed against his own.
It indeed felt much better.
Unexpectedly for himself Donald answered her gentle and unsure kiss with aggressive persistence. His hands slid under her T-shirt. She shuddered, but hadn't broke the kiss.
But he did.
"You sure?" Donald asked, his voice resembling an aroused cat in heat purring.
"Yes," Jessie breathed out, kissing him again, this time much harder, running her fingers through his hair, tugging on it.
She wanted to learn each inch of his lips by heart, as those were changing their mood—gentle at first, yet demanding, and then—as hungry as her own.
Donald's hands possessively slid under her T-shirt again. Jessie, taking the hint, freed herself from both shirt and the tee. A moment later her bra joined the rest on the floor.
Kissing Donald again, she pressed her body against his.
Don, gently breaking the kiss, ran his fingers over her breasts. When he lightly grazed her nipples, unsure of how she wanted it, rough or gentle, Jessie, catching her breath, wondered, what for to have such experienced hands if not using them with proper pressure?
Grinning at this remark, Donald complied. His touches got harder. Jessie groaned. She kissed him again, this time impatiently, digging her nails into his cheekbones.
Donald got his finger wet with saliva and caressed her hardened nipples, watching her body grow more and more supple. She melted into his lightest touch, breathing out something incoherent.
He slid his right hand down to her jeans.
Out of sudden, her thighs slammed his hand shut like a trap.
Well, this was unexpected.
"I need this hand, Jessie," he purred almost in a cat-like manner, kissing her in the neck.
Jessie, still not sure how she felt about what was happening, tried to ignore how quickly his soothing voice turned her on.
It turned out Donald wasn't to give up that easily: the things he was doing with his lips on her neck made her feel like a horny college girl. Her thighs had treacherously opened.
At some point he had hungrily sucked on her neck, almost biting it.
"Jeez, Don, it's not a steak."
Ressler softly nibbled her neck with small, light kisses. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging her body against his. He wasn't overly fit or too lean, just somewhere in between.
"Feeling… better?" Jessie wondered, catching her breath again.
It should have been one fucking kiss!
"I'm not sure," Donald grinned. Now he reminded her of a well-fed ginger cat, content and sly. "It's much better than the pills."
"Don't get too comfortable. It's a one-time offer."
"Don't you like it?" Donald reached to the fly of Jessie's jeans, pretending to be hurt by her words. Unzipping it, he stripped them down a little.
"No, not even—"
The words got lost a halfway through her throat, when Jessie felt his left hand roaming her breasts, this time grazing them harder than before. His right hand slid down beneath her jeans and he pushed aside her underwear with his finger.
Her jeans didn't actually prevented her from getting high on his touches. Yet without them it would be a thousand times better. With this thought in mind, Jessie hastily pushed them down along with the underwear.
"You still don't like it?" Donald wondered, his voice suave and lower then before.
Not giving a damn he could lose his balance, he licked Jessie's hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue, simultaneously caressing her damp, warm flesh with his fingers. He wasn't in a hurry to slip them inside, taking pleasure in driving her crazy.
"R-ressler… we... will… fall..." Jessie was almost growling, aggressively tugging on his hair, breathing unsteadily.
When his fingers caressed her clit, her bizarre, dirty whisper turned into a pleading moan.
His touches were knowing and precise.
He rubbed. Circled. Stoked. Pressed.
Rough. Light. Rough. Light. Up-and-down. Less rough. Lighter. Almost weightless. A bit harder. Harder. Rougher. Slow. Slower. Almost idle. Quick. Quicker.
And then he would start over again.
Jessie's body shuddered, and he knew her release was close.
Unfortunately, given his condition, multitasking was difficult: it became harder to keep his balance and caress Jessie, so her orgasm had to be delayed till better times.
The tip of his tongue toyed with her nipples one last time, and he leaned back against the table.
"I know it, I'm not an idiot," Donald whispered huskily, struggling to keep his balance.
"I highly d—" Jessie didn't finish, because he pressed his lips against hers.
The kiss turned out to be a lot more intense than he expected to. Jessie answered him, digging her fingers fiercely into his jaw. Her tongue delved into his mouth.
"We… can't… keep it… like this," Jessie said, panting, like she had just run a marathon.
But for his leg he was guaranteed to have fucked her right here fifteen minutes ago. And thinking about it had turned her on even more.
Where the fuck those damn painkillers are?
"Something's on your mind?" Donald asked, keeping himself cool as if they were discussing another ongoing case.
Jessie was looking unthinkably hot at this moment: her dark curls, coiled in a snake-like manner, fell loosely on her shoulders; red cheeks resembled two ripe apples, skin reddened from his touches.
Acting like she hadn't heard his question, Jessie turned, kicking her piled clothes aside with her foot. She left the room, not even bothering the neighbors might see her naked shape in the window.
Five minutes passed. Though it felt like forever.
Donald carefully stretched his numb back.
"I'm still here, Jess."
Nothing.
"Listen, I get it if you're on your own. But at least let me watch."
What was she thinking, leaving him all hard up like this? To put it mildly, it's at least not fair. Well, she must be feeling not that great too, given the fact he...
And then it occured to him: she must be looking for his painkillers.
"Shut up, Ressler, if you don't want to be up like that all night," Jessie hissed angrily from the bathroom, going through his meds in the drawer.
What a fucking mess!
Jeez, one could jack up half a block with these. Well, it was the same way at her place. Stress relievers, antidepressants… You name it.
"I'm up anyway."
"Yeah, I can see that," Jessie smirked, coming back in the kitchen.
She gave him one snow-white pill and a glass of water.
"Thanks."
The minutes had never dragged for so long.
Don was devouring Jessie with his eyes, contemplating.
What for to look for something far and unreachable, if everything you ever needed was right by your side?
"Better?" she asked, her crisp voice filled with sincere worry and something else he couldn't make yet.
Donald nodded.
Jessie hadn't gotten a chance to say something else. In an instant she found herself sitting on the dinner table.
"I hate to be a buzzkill..." Donald approached her. His hands stroke her thighs, and those spread at his touch.
Jessie grabbed him by his belt and pulled him closer to her. Rapidly undoing it, she hastily unzipped his fly.
"Woah, easy there. I'm gonna need it."
"Shut up already and fuck, Ressler."