05/10/10 - MOVED! Originally posted as a oneshot.
Real
He can remember the first night vividly.
He can remember her smell, her taste, that first touch of his tongue to her skin. He remembers tearing fabric and a trail of clothes. He remembers taking her against the wall the first time and barely making it to the bed for the second. He remembers giving her a note in the morning along with a little pink envelope to replace the clothing he ruined.
And yet, he has no idea how they got here.
He's breathing harshly, his entire body strung taught. They've had this argument so many times, but never like this. It's always been playful with the undertone of seriousness but this… this is something different entirely.
He hadn't been able to help himself, that was what it all came down to. She'd told him, like she always did, to stay in the damned car, to not move from his seat. He was unpredictable, sometimes listening, sometimes ignoring the order. The case had just been too good to pass up. A father-daughter killing team, and all he wanted to see was their lair. He'd even left a few minutes after the police did so that he'd be walking into the place after they'd cleared it.
The bullet had missed him by inches, grazing his arm, and in that split second, he'd glimpsed a horror on her face that he never wants to see again.
She's scared.
He's scared.
Neither of them are willing to be vulnerable enough to admit it.
This shift, he realizes, has been a long time coming. When they started, it was just once in a while, every now and then. Now, it's almost a regular thing, so regular that he'd actually started spending the night. Or she did on the few and very rare nights they were in his loft. Her place was preferable, less interruptions. She'd started it too, asking him to stay almost two months ago.
For once, instead of fighting it out with the chemistry-induced passion, they fought it out with words, both of them saying things they didn't mean and both of them spouting everything but the truth.
They're scared. Of everything.
They're scared of each other, of what things between them can be. They're scared of becoming too much, of having to let go, of knowing there is nothing they can do. They're scared of losing everything, their friendship, their working relationship, on something that isn't a guarantee. They're scared of upending everything in their lives.
But then again, he realizes, haven't they already done that?
It's that, more than anything else, that has him rushing out of his loft and into a cab, making it to her apartment as efficiently as New York can be at an ungodly hour of the morning. He's only slightly surprised to find that she hadn't been asleep and he certainly doesn't dwell on it as he hauls her against him. She's surprisingly pliant in his arms and he realizes that this is what she wanted. Her arms come up around his neck as someone kicks the door closed, her body pushing against his as she kisses him feverishly. Eventually they both pull back and he rests his forehead on hers, his breath mingling with hers.
"It's worth it," he whispers.
He feels her brow furrow as much as he sees it and he knows the question she wants to ask.
"Us," he elaborates, choosing his words as carefully as he can considering the circumstances. They're both emotional messes and he's not really sure any of this is going to make sense. But he knows if there's anything he's learned from their scare today and regardless of how clichéd it was, nothing ever lasts. He could have been shot and killed and never told her how much she meant to him. He kisses her again, this one slow and deep and he cups her face when he pulls away.
"This stopped being just sex a couple of months ago, Kate," he breathes. "In fact, it was never just sex for me."
He can hear and feel her breath hitch and his eyes lock on hers, unrelenting and brutally honest. He knows his emotions are naked to her right now, knows that he's put himself in the most vulnerable position he's been in since she'd almost thrown him out on his ass years ago.
"Rick," she says, catching on and shaking her head. "You can't…" And he knows she's going to tell him that he's about to say things he doesn't mean, that whatever he's about to say is going to be in the heat of the moment, to make things okay between them again. But that's not what he's thinking.
"I can, and I will," he tells her. "I said things today… things I didn't mean." He called her names, called her aloof and cold-hearted, too guarded to see what was right in front of her nose. He'd reminded her that she was alone in the world, that she didn't take risks, that she always needed guarantees that just couldn't be given. "And I know I didn't mean them, Kate."
She stays silent, lets him continue, and he's stupidly thankful for it.
"But this… This I mean. Things between us… There's something there, Kate." His eyes plead with her to believe him, to listen to him, to see his side of the argument. "It's not a passing fancy, it's not getting you out of my system, it's not finding comfort, it's real."
She blinked stunned and unsure. His thumb came up to her cheek, the rest of his hand cupping her jaw, feeling the soft skin. "I can do real, Kate. You know I can."
The barely perceptible shift in her eyes told him she knew it too. Still, there was something guarded in her gaze, something protecting herself. So he kissed her again, wrapping her up tightly in his arms, pulling her as close to his body as he could. One of her hands threaded up into his hair as her tongue slid against his, and he couldn't stop the moan that came out of his chest. This time, she's the one to pull away, biting her lip slightly as she looks up at him.
"I said things I didn't mean too," she tells him. "A lot of things I didn't mean."
It's enough of an apology to him, enough of an acquiescence that this time, he lifts her bodily from the floor and carries her to the couch as his mouth fuses to hers. She responds with equal ardour, matching him, fighting him, giving and taking. She rubs against him as he lowers her to her couch cushions, following her until he's poised over her and her leg is wrapped around his hip. It doesn't take her much effort to flip them, but it does send them tumbling to the floor. They stop to laugh for a moment before his reverent hands come up to oh-so-slowly take care of her blouse. The material parts when he's finished with the buttons and his hands find her bare skin. He looks up at her as his hands brush between the bottom edge of her bra and the top of her pants.
"You're beautiful," he whispers to her and she blushes. He's never told her that before, not like this. He's called her sexy, hot, and various other synonyms for both, but never beautiful. He knows that, he's done it deliberately, but with their fight and his admission – hers too, though he learned long ago that Kate's admissions come in actions and not words – things have shifted. He's realized that there's never enough time because it's impossible to know when it's going to be stolen from you.
She leans down and kisses him. "Thank you," she whispers against his mouth before kissing him again, this one deeper, fuller, hotter. He responds in kind, and they work together to get the blouse of her shoulders. The bra follows soon afterwards and her hands slip under his sweater as the serviceable black cotton falls away. Her fingers are cool against his stomach as they inch his shirt up until he gets impatient. He pushes himself into a sitting position, recognizing that what he's done is put her center into more direct contact with his rather sizable erection. She pauses and he feels a shiver drill down her spine seconds before his shirt is yanked up his body.
His arms come around her as she throws the shirt away and he revels in the feeling of her breasts against his chest. She's one of the few women he could spend a lifetime just kissing. There's always something new, always something different to experience and he can't help himself. But eventually, the rest of her body beckons him and his hands trail down her back as his mouth makes a quick path down the side of her neck. He pushes on the bottom of her spine and she lifts onto her knees so he's level with her chest. He doesn't hesitate in pulling a nipple into his mouth.
"Rick…" Her voice is breathy, a testament to what he does to her and her hands are tugging on his hair. He lets her one breast go and heads for the other, capturing it in his mouth the same way he did the first.
She's the first one to aim for pants, dealing with the button and fly of his jeans with surprising dexterity at the same time she pulls her breast away from his mouth. Her hand dives inside, finding him, stroking him, feeling him in her palm. His eyes fall closed as she takes her time and he pulls her down into a kiss that curls her toes. Eventually, she pushes herself away and off of him and he's confused for a moment before he understands. She deals with her pants and underwear quickly, and he's not far behind, but she doesn't let him roll on top of her. Instead, she straddles him again, taking a moment to dig in his wallet for the condom she knows is there.
She doesn't tease or play around as she sheaths him, merely slides the latex over his length and then, using her hand to position him, sinks down on him. She moves slowly, her hands resting on his chest as she rises and sinks on him, setting a patterned rhythm. His hands come up to her hips, moving with her, urging her on, watching her carefully. His fingers slip between them, stroking against her, making her back arch and her breath come short in her lungs. He can feel her body tensing, feel the orgasm coming and he watches in awe as her back arches and she falls over that peak.
She collapses over his chest and he strokes her back until her breathing calms. Then she pushes herself up, placing her hands on his chest again. He grasps her wrist lightly and shakes his head, tugging her down for a slow, drugging kiss.
"Bed," he tells her when he lets her go and she reluctantly lets him slide out of her as she stands. She waits for him and he's surprised when she laces her fingers through hers for the quick trip to her bedroom. She faces him when they get there and he wraps his arms around her waist. His kiss is long, seductive and oh-so indicative of everything crushing in on his chest. Their fight is catching up with them both, the fear and anguish sliding through them. Her orgasm has taken the edge off of their flurry though and this slow pace is more for memory's sake. Just in case.
But it gives way quickly and he backs her towards her bed, lowering her onto the mattress and following her as she scoots up the blankets. Her hair fans out against the pillow in the way he just loves and he kisses her again, simultaneously sliding into her. His rhythm is slower, more controlled but he's firmer in his movements, like he's already been put back together again after everything that's happened and he doesn't need the reassurance of living and feeling. He's savouring this moment, savouring this time with her as he slides in and out of her wetness.
She's mewling beneath him, shivering and shaking and he knows he's working her up to peak number two. She's moving with him, her arms wrapping around him, and his pace picks up without the conscious permission of his brain. He angles slightly and his pelvic bone hits her just right to send her spiraling higher and higher until the wave crashes over her with a short sharp cry. It triggers his own orgasm and he stills within her, panting harshly into her neck. He rolls them then until she's back on his chest and he's glad to find her arms wrapped just as tightly around him as his are around her.
I'm here, he thinks, wishing there was some sort of telekinetic connection between them. I'm here.
Eventually though, he has to get up to deal with the condom and he finds the blankets turned down when he returns. He slides into bed with her without asking, pulling her body and arranging her limbs against his. He still doesn't know if she'll need him in the morning, but he knows that this time, she doesn't need to ask him to stay. He's staying because he's finally admitted to himself that he needs her and even though there's that niggling doubt in the back of his mind, he's pretty sure she needs him too.
So, this originally came to me a couple of weeks ago, but I never got around to finishing it. As you can see, it is now done!
I don't know if there's going to be more. It's listed as complete partially because this can be read as a standalone as much as it can be read in conjunction with Needs. There may be more in the future, but it totally depends on Madam Inspiration. Right now, she's in Miami with Kate and a GSW to the shoulder. Good times.
Review?