The door slams with a resounding thud, as she's pushed up against the swinging structure, the cool surface tinging her skin wth goosebumps. His hands are everywhere at once, dancing across her inked body, never lingering in one spot too long. She wraps her arms around his neck, before he hoists her legs securely around his waist, eliciting a moan from them both upon contact. The need for each other devouring them both, demanding more, more.
He steps forward, crushing her to him, every ridge of his body aligning with every curve of her own. Throwing her head back, it hits the door, and an awkward laugh pours from her mouth. He grins back at her, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks, before hushing her embarrassed laughter with his lips.
She can't recall where they had been before or what had led to this sequence of events, assuming her recall was simply too busy categorizing every breath whispered across her neck, every touch ghosted across her skin, the tantalizing urge of feeling so good and the knowledge that it's about to feel so much better.
His lips move to her neck, sucking on her pulse point, making the wings of the bird flutter with a swipe of his tongue, and her jean clad legs wrap just a little tighter with a buck into him. He groans into her, bucking back, causing an insatiable friction that she's unsure how she ever went without.
Leaning forward, mouth resting against the side of his head - stubble rubbing her face, she flicks her tongue out, tracing the shell of his ear. Her next words, a breathy whisper, cause a cool tingling as they float over the trail foraged by her tongue.
"Please," is all she can get out, before he places his hands on her behind and clumsily navigates them to a bedroom.
Gently placing her on the bed, she moves to take her shirt off, but he stops her, with a sly grin, wanting to do it himself.
Slowly undressing her, starting from the bottom with her boots, he makes it a habit to lay his mouth upon every inch of exposed skin, painstakingly traveling up her body, her fingers finding little purchase on his short hair, opting instead to grip his shoulders. Halfway through the process, she's begging for something, anything, she's not even sure.
"Off," she mutters, tugging on his blue shirt, the one that accentuates all the right muscles and brings out the color in his eyes from stunning to electrifying. He complies before resuming his journey of discovery.
Her nails now creating small crescent moons into his freckled shoulders, as her mind becomes fuzzier, floating away further from the situation, and yet firmly planted to the bed. The weight of the mattress acting as a counterpoint, an anchor, to the planes of his body tantalizingly yearning an arch from her into him.
Making his way to the finish line, he claims her lips, softly biting, before pulling away, using his palms to push her dark curls away from her heated face. Her eyes completely glazed over, she sees him with a glisten, a shine she can't describe in the dark room. He leans up, staring down at her, as if memorizing every speck of ink on her body, surely having been traced by his tongue.
Suddenly she feels self-conscious, despite knowing that he, and the whole team for that matter, has not only seen her entire body, but studied it, analyzed it to the fullest, but she can't help but feel as exposed as she's ever been, laying herself out in front of him, asking him to take her, accept her as she is. Jane.
"Jane," he murmurs, reaching down to move her arms from covering herself. "You are beautiful," he says with no mirth, no hint of a lie in his voice, in his eyes.
"I just…," she starts, almost as if to refute his compliment, reason with him that he's wrong, when all she wants is for him to be right.
"Nope," he cuts her off swiftly. "No argument. You're beautiful."
A tiny twitch of her mouth spreads into a small, albeit shy smile.
"You have too many clothes on, still," she teases.
"Is that so?" he says with a grin.
She nods, reaching for the button of his jeans.
The haze seems to get foggier after that, as if she's blinking furiously, flashes of their bodies coming into view.
The soft smile spread across her face.
His hand tracing the lines of her tattoos.
The undulation of his hips, punctuating each rock forward with her name, his face buried in her neck.
Their hands intertwined, grasping for something more.
The ink on his forearm, the phrase we're all equal, rubbing against her involuntarily tattoos, as if attempting to rub some of the good of him onto herself, seeping the message into her pores, we are one.
All there is is him - his taste, his scent, his weight, his groans, everything him.
Kurt.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
She jolts awake with her alarm blaring in the background, all those perfect sensations lingering on her body, her breathing heavy, leaving an unsatisfied feeling taking over.
The realization that it had all been dream comes upon her, but the confusion of it feeling so…real, is something she can't seem to comprehend.
Looking around the room at the familiar setting, she notices her clothes soaked in sweat, and her alarm still blaring as she leans over and hits it off.
She pushes her hair out of her face with a deep sigh, and looks over at the right side of the bed. Reaching out, slides her hand over the cool sheets, no evidence of another occupant having been there. It's empty.
It was just a dream.
xxxxxx
She hesitantly makes her way through the winding hallways to her therapy session, debating with herself whether she should bring up what happened last night. It was the first dream she'd had, but it was also not a topic she really wanted to breach, especially if he asked her what could've triggered such a thing.
It was nothing, I just…I told Kurt he was my starting point, laid his hand on my chest, and then all but begged him to do…something…kiss me, I don't even know. And he ran away. And I had a hot sex dream about him.
Groaning to herself, she rolls her eyes at the sheer absurdity of her life.
Yeah, I definitely don't want to have that conversation.
She wraps her hoodie a little tighter around herself, hoping to shield herself from the prying eyes, her fingers having made their way to her mouth, a nervous habit she often wondered if it had manifested from before she crawled out of the bag or after due to the stress.
Her fingertips rubbing against her lip, triggering an image of Kurt's fingers, gliding over her lips last night, before slowly making their way to her neck, all the way down her chest, until they came to rest on her bare hip - where she swore you could see the bruises from his grip…had it actually happened.
She shakes her head, trying to rid the image of his naked body above her's, the ripple of his abs as she grasped at him, the feeling of him moving inside her. It had felt so real to her. So sure. The colliding of ink on his forearm with the ink covering her own body, permanently branded into her mind, open for recall at any moment.
But what was truly terrifying was that it hadn't even been the physical act that seemed to resonate with her even long after leaving the dream world, but the emotional. The idea that Kurt had wanted her, thought she was beautiful - the feeling of having been accepted and cherished almost to the point of worship, as he'd uttered her name over and over like a litany at the alter of Jane.
She'd never felt that way before. Kurt cared for her, in what capacity she could never quite discern. Was she an asset he wanted to keep safe? A woman from his past he was relieved to have finally found? Neither option all that appealing to her. And given that the first time she'd broached the subject, claiming him, not her past, to be the starting point of figuring out who she was, he'd bolted.
If the way he looked at her was any indication of how her gaze appeared to him, she couldn't blame him. It resembles that of a silent plea, soaked in emotion, and tethered to the implication that they were it for each other. And while neither of them would admit it, they danced around the issue, speaking in absolutes they had no guarantees for, shrouded in promises that they didn't know they could keep. It was a lot of pressure, especially when considering how long they'd known each other, as Jane and Kurt.
But still, she couldn't help the taste of nostalgia smoothly running down her throat at the thought of that dream. It had all felt so…familiar. Like a lost memory of what could have been presented to her in dream, this longing for something she'd never had before, perhaps something she never would have.
Turning the corner, completely lost in her thoughts, she doesn't even realize the hard surface she's run into until she's stumbling backwards. Shooting out, the same arms she found herself lost in last night, come to grab her, keeping her from landing on the floor, and bringing a warmth to her she'd not felt since being scared awake by her alarm.
Looking up, meeting his swirling blues, she immediately looks down, a blush springing to her cheeks, her thoughts anything but pure.
He looks just as shocked to have run into her, and she's not sure why he's here so early. Usually, she comes in before everyone, meets with Borden before joining the team later. Not this morning. Nope, the one morning she'd tried to avoid everyone, particularly him, and she runs smack into him.
"You should be more careful, look where you're going," he sternly chastises her.
Not recognizing the tone in his voice, she assume he's joking. "Right…yeah, sorry," she breathily gets out.
He doesn't back down, though. "If your focus isn't there, maybe you shouldn't be in the field," he warns.
She shakes her head in confusion, not understanding why he's coming after her with such harsh words.
She meets his eyes, "You're the one who agreed it was better for me to be in the field."
Gritting his teeth, his jaw clenching, Jane finds herself clouded with images of her dream, but his response soon clears her mind again.
"Yeah, well, you have to adjust to the situation, and maybe the situation calls for you to stay behind now."
"Look, if this is about last night…that was…," she starts, her eyes closing, she can still feel him everywhere.
"It won't happen again," he finishes.
Her face falls, not understanding what exactly won't happen again. Because as far as she's concerned, nothing happened, not nearly enough, anyway.
"We have to remain strictly professional," he says, sounding like he was reading from a manual he'd recently been slapped with on the rules regarding in house fraternization.
"Right…" she says, almost sarcastically, not really sure what exactly that entails, because for as long as they've worked together, they've never been strictly professional. From the moment she entered his life, she'd seen the way he looked at her, the extra care he took with her in comparison to others, despite having proved herself capable time and time again, even before he'd known she was Taylor. He'd never been objective when it came to her, Reade had pointed out as much.
"I'm serious, Jane. We're doing things by the book."
She takes a step towards him, refusing to back down or given in to his attitude. "Well maybe your book is wrong. Maybe…," she hesitates, not sure how much she really wants to say. "I just…," her gumption fading quickly, as she realizes that she's losing him.
"I just really need you to…no, I just really need something outside of this," she gestures around her, at the only other place she's allowed to go outside of her house, unless she's wants a detail following her around.
She can feel that sense of nostalgia creeping up on her again, a longing for something that was never really her's. The dream is slipping away more quickly than she anticipated and she'd like nothing more than to go back and live in a realm where that feeling of belonging was rushing through her again.
His eyes soften upon hearing her confession. His walls crumbling at the hint of sadness resting on her words. "Jane…"
"It's fine," she tries to assuage the tears settling in her eyes, the guilt radiating off of him in waves.
"I'm sorry. Jane, I'm here. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," he pulls her close, taking her into his strong arms. "I just had a really shitty night after I left, and I didn't meant to take it out on you, I'm sorry."
She settles further into his chest, his scent permeating through his clothes, lulling her into forgiveness.
He pulls away first, both of them realizing where they are, and who could walk by at any moment.
"We good?" he asks, a grin peeking out through his stubble.
She looks at him, head titled to the side, crooked, half-grin on her face. "Yeah, we're good."
"Good. You heading to Borden's?"
She nods, cheeks tinted red.
"Okay, come find me when you're done," he beams as he walks away, seemingly in a way better mood than before.
Smiling, her nail finding its way to her mouth again, as she makes her way to the office. She can't help but think about what exactly just transpired between them, what this will mean going forward, but one thing's for sure, she has a feeling that Kurt's likely to star in her dreams for quite a while, at least until they eventually become a reality.
xxxxxx
Thank you for reading and if you made it through all of that, then you are my new favorite person. I ventured into something a little different for me, and hopefully it wasn't too terrible - it's hard to be objective about your own writing, I suppose.
For all those possibly wondering where the title came from Sehnsucht is a German word translated to mean "longing, pining, yearning, or craving." It "represents thoughts and feelings that are unfinished or imperfect, paired with a yearning for ideal alternative experiences. It's been referred to as 'life's longings' or an individuals search for happiness while coping with the reality of unattainable wishes. A longing for the familiar or 'home.' In this sense it is a type of nostalgia, at other times it may be a longing for someone or something."
Anyway, thanks you again for reading and please leave a review!