Disclaimer: All characters are property of ABC/Disney. I'm just using them for my own satisfaction and returning them after I'm done.
A/N: So I found this story the last week and have no memory of writing it. Seriously-none. But I love it-if it was supposed to be longer, or include more scenes I have no recollection so I'm just posting it. It's short-just three little chapters. I guess I wrote it after hearing a spoiler for the ONS and what I thought would lead to it/reaction afterwards. Enjoy! Until next time-PCGirl.
Natalie could feel the alcohol sloshing in her head and knew this was wrong—knew she should be trying to make her way towards the door and out of John's place. But she couldn't get her legs to move off the couch—she was frozen and as John's face came towards her a part of her wanted his touch—his kiss—just like before.
John's first thought when his lips met hers was she didn't taste like she normally did—instead there was a strong taste of alcohol and he wondered if they should be doing this. If it wasn't just something else they'd regret in the morning.
He couldn't stop though—as his mouth left hers and he got a glimpse into her blue eyes he fell right back into the motions—as if the past seven months of being apart and being with others hadn't affected them in one way or another.
The words she'd said earlier—beating herself up once again over a mistake she had no control of—he needed to erase that hurt for her, it was the least he could do. She'd always done that for him—always been able to put the demons to rest for him, even if it was only for a night and he brought them to life once again the next morning.
Natalie closed her eyes—she had to try and break the longing stare that John had on her—that he always had on her. That's why she'd kept her distance all these months—knowing if she stayed around him too long or let a look last a little too long then she'd fall back into the same old routine.
Damn Jared Banks. Damn him for making her decide to talk about everything to John—to make him help her realize none of it was her fault. She felt John's hand push her hair out of her face with the same gentleness as always. She felt his mouth begin to hover close to hers again and could smell the whiskey on his breath.
Damn John McBain. Damn him for having this constant, unbelievable hold on her. She opened her mouth to try and stop his next move, but instead John saw it as an invitation to continue what he'd been doing. And yet she didn't stop him—instead she welcomed it like the father welcomed home the prodigal son.
John let his mouth cover Natalie's only for a second before traveling to her neck, and he could instantly taste her once again—her sweetness that had always had more of an effect on him than the alcohol or whiskey did. His hands traveled to her waist and he pulled them both off the couch and walked backwards towards the bed. As they walked her head went back, granting him better access to her collar, his teeth nipping at her soft skin with more eagerness.
When the back of his legs hit the bed he stopped what he was doing and once again looked at her—making she there was no regret on both of their actions yet. When he didn't see any he continued his quest to reacquaint himself with Natalie's body—they would deal with the consequences later.
John just sat there in the chair watching her sleep. He'd been awake for hours, reliving the emotions of the night—not just the chemistry that still held between them, but the feeling of being where he needed to be. He'd fallen asleep holding her somewhere around two and woken up less than 30 minutes later—remembering a memory from the accident that he'd forgotten—how'd he'd seen them at Rodi's playing pool with their kids. A little girl that had her beautiful red hair, and a little boy that looked like him but played like his mom.
When he'd awoken he'd kissed the top of her head and whispered he'd loved her—that he always had. The love wasn't their problem though—the problem was him and his constant putting her second for something bigger—something more important when in all actuality there was nothing more important in his life than her.
He'd laid there in the dark for so long—unsure as to when he'd fallen back asleep, but slipped out of the bed when he thought she might wake up. He knew exactly how she'd act when she woke. Surprised—embarrassed—swearing that it meant nothing and apologizing the entire time as she collected her clothes that were scattered about, quickly putting them on and running out the door.
He'd already decided he'd let her run—but not far, and definitely not for long.