-Veritable Old Lady Crow
"This is my future, right? Anarchy…violence…getting drunk and fuckin around on my Old Lady when I'm not too busy running guns…"
"….That doesn't have to be your life.."
Jax's latest confrontation with his father was running through his mind on a never-ending loop ever since he'd drifted into the vacant dorm room JT slept in whenever he stayed at the Club house.
Jax had somehow found himself sitting on his bed, rummaging through old photographs that had been tucked away in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Pictures of him and his little brother Thomas. Pictures of Jax and his family when the four of them were alive and happy.
The thick-bearded biker in the photos was a ghost of the man he saw at the dining room table on the nights he bothered showing up for dinner. This man had a smile on his face. It was a cocky grin, his eyes crinkling with mischief and joy—this was a man who didn't look like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The man in the photos he held between his fingers wasn't conflicted or depressed, he wasn't withdrawn or disconnected. Anyone could look at the pictures scattered across the bed and see that John Teller loved his family.
And he never stopped loving them.
Especially not his son—definitely not the teenage boy that was as much his offspring as the apple that landed somewhere underneath the shade of the fruit tree's branches.
Jackson knew his father loved him.
It was just easier to stay angry at him when he pretended he didn't.
But something about his father's words to him stirred something in him. And it wasn't the anger and hurt feelings he'd feigned when his father suggested that SAMCRO didn't have to be his future. It was…wonder. He found himself wondering what exactly his father had meant by it. He wondered what kind of future he could have that wasn't SAMCRO.
And he wondered about his father on top of everything else.
Was JT tired of the life?
Was it the reason he always looked so miserable?
Did something happened that made him question the family he'd built from the ground up, the brother's he'd spent half his life shedding blood and tears with?
Jax needed answers—No, not need.
He wanted them.
And he would only get all the right ones by asking the man himself.
That was exactly what he intended to do.
Just as soon as he found him.
Again.
"...Jackson...it's time for you to grow the hell up."
It was.
It really was.
"Hey, Lowell," Jax said as he approached the man leaning underneath the front end of the car in the well-lit garage.
Lowell Sr. sat up underneath the car, patting greasy hands against worn, stained jeans as he squinted up at him. "What's up, Junior?"
Jax shook his head, chuckling. "Your son is Junior…not me, man."
The greying man shook his head, a wistful smile on his face. "You don't need his first name, kid. All I see is JT when I look at you. You ask anyone else around here they'll tell you the same thing. You two are—"
"—cut from the same cloth," Jax cut in. "Yeah, yeah….well since we're already talking about my twin….have you seen him around? JT's not answering his phone."
"I think he said he lost it when he was out with the guys doing….hey, wait. You were at the fundraiser right?" Jax nodded. "…I think he said something about it slipping from his pockets…can't say I'm surprised. Sounds like he had a very eventful day…playing referee left and right."
"That asshole Kyle is such a gossip," Jax said, rolling his eyes when the sheepish grin on Lowell's face confirmed his assumption. "If Clay's smart he won't patch him in…I don't see him working out."
"Check you out," Lowell said. "You not even in your prospect Kutte and you're already trying to make policy."
"Policy?" Jax chuckled. "They're outlaws not politicians…although I can see why it's easy to get the two mixed up."
"Especially the suits in this town."
"Yeah," Jax agreed. He looked over, across the lot, towards the front doors to club reaper. "I'll let you get back to your work…maybe if Kyle's here he can make himself useful and give me a ride home…this not having my own ride shit is killing me, man…six more weeks."
Lowell laughed. "When you do get your bike you better take good care of it. I taught you how so there's no excuse."
"Why would I have to do it?" Jax challenged playfully. "That's what you're here for…they don't keep you around for nothing."
"Right." Lowell looked down at the ground between his legs. All of a sudden, it was like he was having a moment and Jax wasn't sure what to say or ask—so he said nothing at all.
Instead he took two steps backwards. "I'll see you later, Lowell," he said, holding up a hand to him. "If my old man pops up tell him I'm looking for him."
Jax turned around, and was headed back across the lot when Lowell's voice rang out behind him.
"Jackson, wait."
When he turned around the look of discomfort in Lowell's expression had his eyebrows threading together in confusion. "What's up?"
"I just want to say...I'm proud of you...and I'm happy you're ready to patch things up with your old man," Lowell admitted. "You've been needing to get right with him for a long time, son...and I know first hand that it's always rough when you think your own son resents you…..I'm not saying he's perfect…no parent is…but he's always tried to be a good father…and JT was always a good man."
Jax smiled despite the awkwardness he felt. "Was?" he joked. "You're trying to say he's not anymore?"
Lowell's eyes widened and Jax never noticed how much Lowell Jr. resembled his old man until then. "Of course not! What I meant was—listen…Jackson—"
"—you about done here?"
Both Jax and Lowell snapped their heads in the direction of the gravelly voice. There they found Clay Morrow—all six feet, five inches of him.
As big as your Hellboy looking ass is how the FUCK you walk up on me and I ain't hear you?
"Just about," Lowell answered quickly. "Jax was looking for JT and I…"
Lowell's sentence died off as Clay's piercing stare shifted from his face to that of the teenage boy standing next to him.
Unlike Lowell, Jax didn't flinch under his gaze. "Did you check your house? I heard you haven't been spending much time there lately."
"Everything you hear ain't gospel," Jax bit back. "You got the prospect doing anything? I need a ride..to my house."
"I'm almost done here," Lowell said, rising up from underneath the hood of the car. "I can give you a lift and finish up tomorrow. It's kind of late any—"
"—I promised Mrs. Timmons her car would be ready first thing in the morning," Clay interjected. "You need to stay put." Clay turned back to face Jax. "Kyle's in the clubhouse…y'all are the only ones still around. Go tell him he can finish cleaning tomorrow…head out, now. Your mom is looking for you."
Since when is this place a ghost town after hours?
"Whatever," Jax said, narrowing his eyes at the strange behavior of the grown men in front of him. "Good night, Lowell."
"Get home safe, Jackson."
Jax was only a few feet away from the Club house when he gave into his curiosity and turned back towards the garage. He looked back just in time to see Clay, pulling the gate down. He had only a second to glimpse the peculiar mixture of angst and outrage on Lowell Seniors face before both men disappeared from sight—everything obscured by the iron gate but their feet.
Fighting the urge to walk back over and satisfy the growing curiosity in him he walked into the clubhouse instead, yelling out for kyle.
"Clay said you're good on bitch-boy duty until tomorrow!"
"Sweet!" he heard Kyle say from the back room. He quickly emerged, swinging a dish towel in his hand. "You need a ride home don't you?"
If his hands weren't so sore he would have punched the smug look right off of the nineteen year old prospect's face. six more weeks. "Just hurry your ass up."
"You're just as bitchy as your little girlfriend," Kyle mumbled under his breath…just loud enough for Jax to hear.
"Oh really?"
"Seriously, Jax," Kyle said, looking up at him. "You're too young to be getting all stressed over a chick. I don't know what it is with you and Opie...trying to be all knight in shining armor all the fuckin time…it's just pussy man and there's plenty of it being thrown at you left and right. Enjoy it…stop stressing over girls who get on your nerves more often than they get on their knees. You're gonna go prematurely gray."
Raw, sore knuckles was the only reason Kyle was spared a bloody nose for the last comment he made.
It was that and the voice in the young blonde's head telling him that perhaps this asshole was onto something.
Jax cocked an eyebrow. "You're taking the whole Prince Charming thing too seriously...When have I ever signed up to be anybody's knight in shining armor?" Jax challenged, choosing to ignore the elephant in the room—the overgrown safari animal that said Kyle and all of SAMCRO saw him run after the same girl that called his mother a biker whore for everyone to hear.
"Exactly, bro," Kyle said. "Why start now? Listen…there's a party at the Hale's—"
"—I knew about it before you did, stupid. I was personally invited," Jax bragged. I was.
Kyle pulled keys from inside his kutte as he walked around the bar. "How about you skip family dinner for a night and come party with me? You need to start acting like a teenager instead of someone's grouchy ass grandfather."
Jackson slapped him in the back of his head just as soon as he was close enough.
"And you might want to try some fuckin anger management, too," Kyle added, rubbing his head as they left through the clubhouse doors.
"Hanging out with me isn't gonna make all the girls falling in my lap want you, too," Jax commented, as Kyle zoomed out of the lot. "That overflow bullshit only works in fiction."
"That's what you think," Kyle mumbled, once again loud enough for a smirking Jax to hear.
"You're such a"—Jax choked off his latest insult as a familiar car whizzing past them caught his eye, his neck craning as he turned around to see nothing but black top and the corner they'd just turned behind them.
"What?" Kyle looked over at the confused expression on the handsome blonde's face.
"I coulda sworn I just saw the Cutlass drive past," he answered.
"the Cutlass?" Kyle chuckled, shaking his head. "You do know Tara's father's not the only one that owns a cutlass right?"
"No shit," Jax bit back, shaking off his assumption.
For once in his life Kyle Hobart had a point that made sense.
And it was driven home by one very important fact.
There wasn't a chance in Hell Tara or her father would be heading towards Teller-Morrow—especially Tara.
I need a drink.
This girl is fuckin with my head.
I'm seeing shit that isn't there.
No more thinking, no more stressing, no more raging, no more analyzing.
Jax was looking forward to not having to use his head for anything else tonight—not the head on his shoulders anyway.
Walking across the lawn, Jax felt a little off balance—he couldn't remember the last time he partied with or without his best friend. Donna Lewis was seriously fuckin up his bro-time.
He knew things were shitty when he was arriving at a party with Kyle Hobart as his wingman—not that he actually needed one to begin with.
Something was telling him he shouldn't be there, that he should be home…or at Ope's….or at Ta—anywhere but at a loud party with all his fellow Charming teens, most of whom he didn't even like.
That feeling was gone just as soon as he stepped inside.
The front door wasn't closed all the way before Ima was hooking her arm in his, Maize O'Keefe assuming the same position on the opposite side of him.
Before his ass could settle into the couch they brought him over to, Stacy Wilson joined them—holding a red cup filled to the brim in front of him—bringing their party to four.
Jax nodded up at her as he sipped from the cup, a slight wince had his eyes squinting the first few seconds the lethal mixture of booze in the cup slid down his throat. A few healthy gulps and he was happy to lean back, relax and watch the burlesque club-worthy show they were putting on for him.
It was a battle of the sexiest and none of his girls were about to surrender. Slender, exposed hips swerved, barely concealed breast bounced in his face, flawlessly blown out hair flying—tight asses wiggling every time they made an about face.
Stacy wasn't cheer captain for nothing. She had more perk than the other two put together. Despite their efforts she was the heavy-weight titlist, her slim waist swirling with ease like she was hula-hooping. She flipped her long, auburn hair to one shoulder as she spun around, dropping down into a sexy squat—the waistband of her jeans sliding down to expose the thin, red strings of her thong.
That was when he saw her.
Tara walked through the crowd, her hair a cascade of dark curls, stopping at the bare shoulders, left exposed by the cut of the red halter top she was wearing. Her legs looked never-ending in the strappy black sandals on her feet—and they very well could have been.
There was no way for Jax to know for sure without tearing his eyes away from the point where the snug-fitted skirt hugging her hips ended, and the mind that was supposed to be turned off for the night began filling in all the hidden parts of her. Memories flooded his brain in perfect sync with the blood rushing to his groin as he recalled how soft her thighs were, how good they felt against his hands, how good they felt wrapped tight around his waist.
She made her way to the nearby bar, arm in arm with the last person he expected to see her with. But Jax wasn't jealous of Lowell Jr. He was jealous of the bottle in Tara's hand as he reminisced on good it felt to be in her grip. He was jealous of the shot glass she tipped back, as his mind flashed back to those baby-soft lips on his, trailing hot, wet kisses along his throat. He was jealous of the liquid sliding down her throat as he envisioned all the ways he could heat her up like no amount of Tequila ever could. He wasn't jealous of lanky, awkward, squirrely Lowell Harland Jr. at all.
Not until she pulled him onto the dance floor. Not until the liquor in his system had a normally very timid L.J spinning Tara every which way but left.
It was always right.
No matter what direction they moved he always managed to brush up against her in all the right places. People on the crowded dance floor were even starting to move out of their way as they took over the floor—as she took it over.
Tara Knowles was a snake charmer and she had every snake in the room at attention, including the cobra throbbing between his legs. But when Lowell leaned into her, pressing a kiss against the glistening skin of her neck, Jax was venomous himself, blue eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring—the clearest threat of bodily harm in his expression when Lowell had the misfortune of locking his eyes with him as soon as he looked up.
Whether Jax had suddenly become telepathic or not, his feelings were loud and clear if Lowell's reaction was anything to go by. The clock struck twelve and Prince Lowell was a pauper again. His movements were as stiff as the pumpkin his ride home turned back into and his beloved was left confused, without even a glass slipper to ponder.
Lowell wasn't doing anything wrong. And Jax knew it was childish as hell.
But he didn't give a shit. If Tara felt anything like he was feeling now back at the fundraiser Wendy was definitely spot on with her joke about people being sliced and diced like cantaloupe.
He had to give Lowell credit though.
Jax had no clue how he was able to resist Tara pushing against him, trying to coax him into letting loose like he'd been before. He didn't have long to entertain the notion before his view of Tara and her pumpkin was obscured. Only this time, he had some unfamiliar jock to thank instead of Stacey's perfect size seven ass.
He watched him approach her, reaching out he palmed Tara's ass before his hands traveled to her waist pulling her back against him. It was a battle of emotions. Anger and lust.
Anger easily won the battle when Tara had to push the guys hands a way a second time.
The third time, Jax was on his feet, his fist clenching—all soreness forgotten as he moved, anxious to be the jaw-shattering bridge between the two of them. Before their was even a full-blown spring in his first step forward, jock-boy was already holding that jaw he had his eyes set on, his other hand curved over the the crotch of his jeans as he glared at the brown-haired girl that was several feet shorter than him even in her heels.
Jesus Christ.
He'd thought he was turned on before. Anger and Lust were competing again as he watched the way she handled herself, the defiance in her eyes even as she sized him up reaching the same conclusion anyone with half a brain would draw looking between the two of them—this guy could seriously hurt her.
And the stubborn, brunette butterfly held her ground, refusing to float away—staying put as if the sting she'd bring into the mix rivaled a whole swarm of bees.
Jock-hole did the smart thing. He stalked off, keeping his hands at his sides. And Jax, with a shit-load of difficulty managed the same. To be fair, his mind was a little preoccupied. He couldn't decided which bones he wanted to break first.
She was staring at him.
Tara had finally acknowledged his presence. The swooping sensation he felt underneath the tautness of skin over his stomach was all too familiar.
It was the same feeling he'd felt in his chest in the detention when she'd given him the first genuine smile in ages.
He liked the way she was looking at him. No, he fuckin loved it. He loved it enough to override all the anger he'd felt earlier when he told her he was walking away.
And for Jax, that was just too much. Way too much power over him.
Fuck what Opie said.
David could be her puppet if he wanted to.
Jackson Teller was cutting the strings.
Maize pushed against his shoulders, and he eased back into his former position. It was effortless the way he assumed his role as CHS's playboy...complete with a bounty of beautiful girls falling all over his lap.
He was so busy proving to himself how easy it was to forget all about Tara that he almost missed her heading up towards the floor above his head. Her legs were one of a kind. He spotted them without doubt as they disappeared into the darkness above the staircase.
It was almost painful the way his body froze up. He went as rigid as Lowell, as he compelled himself to stay where he was. He wasn't following her. Hadn't he already promised her that?
I'm done chasing after your stubborn ass, too.
He'd meant it.
He meant it the same way he did when he'd vowed not to give any more satisfaction, anymore control over him.
The chain link was officially severed. No more being strung along. Instead of thinking about her he would put all his focus in seeing how many winks and Darlin's it took to get the girls still grinding against him to fuck him—all three of them.
One of the girls in question, Maize O'Keefe was already gripping his chin in her freshly manicured hand, angling his face up for a kiss.
And if he hadn't seen that Jock-hole climbing the stairs over her shoulder he would have been happy to oblige. If the sick feeling hadn't churned his stomach, if his throat hadn't suddenly taken on a cotton-like constriction he wouldn't have jumped up, completely oblivious to girls he'd knocked from his lap to the floor.
He wouldn't have shown Charming High School's football team how it was supposed to be done as he shoved his way into the crowd, storming through the herd of drunken teens until he reached his destination. He knew it without knowing. He felt it deep down in the very core of his being.
That's why he took the stairs three at a time, silently praying the whole way up that he made it there before that very real line of scrimmage was crossed.
Standing in the dark hallway, heart racing, Jax looked from one door to the next until the sound of another door slamming inside one of the rooms sounded. It was a quick sprint down the hall, his grip white-knuckling as he nearly tore the knob out of the door, wrenching it open.
He could barely see her. Jax completely missed it when she craned her neck to look over at him. All he needed to see was her backed into a corner to make his focus singular.
"Get the fuck away from her," he yelled.
He was already rushing forward, fist drawn back as the drunk jock turned around to face him. His right hook was swiftly joined by his left. Jax's fists came undone, his palms outstretched just long enough to grip either side of the young man's face, his forehead crashing forward, connecting with the quickly shattering cartilage of his nose. Blood sprayed his shirt as he dipped low, landing a wind-knocking punch the gut. As he keeled over, Jax's leg flew out, his foot connecting hard against his chest, helping him the rest of the way down.
He fell at Jax's feet, keeled over, hands gripping his stomach. But there would be no tapping out.
Jax wasn't stopping. Every blow he landed with his foot was followed by a resounding crunch. He couldn't even see the shell-shocked girl creeping out of the corner, her green eyes wide as she looked on.
He couldn't hear her shouting, "JACKSON, STOP! YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM!" when he launched himself, knees first on top of the battered guys chest, ignoring the pain shooting through his wrists, the searing burn against his knuckles when he kept swinging—blow after blow.
"JAX!" Tara screamed, her voice choked up like she was on the verge of tears. He wanted to look up at her, where ever she was and tell her he was there, and everything was going to be okay but he couldn't stop his fists from flying long enough to seek her out.
Strong arms circled his waist, lifting him up off the floor—off the bruised and battered barrier between him and floor with ease. His foot lashed out one final time before he was spun around, firmly planted on his feet on the other side of the new barrier between him and the guy he'd just beat the shit out of. There weren't many barriers that could hold Jax and his temper at bay.
Opie Winston was one of the few that qualified.
"Jesus Christ!" Opie hissed, staring at the roadkill on the bedroom floor next to him. "When I said kiss and make up I didn't mean beat the shit out of any guy that flirts with her! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"It's okay, Ope, he was just—"
"—He's lucky you got here when you did," Jax seethed, cutting an all but forgotten about Tara off. He was too busy glaring a hole into the lump of barely conscious male on the floor to see the incredulous look on his best friends face.
Opie shook his head at him. "You're drunk," he said. "Let's just go before—"
"—half the assholes in this houses are drunk," Jax snapped. "How many of them do you see backing girls into corners?"
Opie whipped around, looking directly at Tara for the first time. "He did what?"
Tara shook her head. She did it way too quickly. "He's just some drunk asshole, Ope. I'm fine. Jax got—OPIE!"
Jax actually cracked a smile when the teenage boy that just finished restraining him, raised his foot high as it could go before crunching the bottom of his boot with poor jock-hole's groin.
Jax moved in to join him in the onslaught as Tara looked on in horror when another familiar voice joined the mix.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!" All three teenagers looked towards the door.
Standing with his arms curved around the waist of two girls—girls Jax had no idea how he got—was Jacob Hale Jr.
"Kyle?!" Jacob rushed over to where his friend was laid out in the middle of his younger brother's bedroom floor. "Get up, man! Aw shit. Come on, bro. Get up, man."
Great. Another asshole named Kyle. Makes perfect sense.
Kyle's answer was a labored groan. If Jacob wanted to make sure he was still among the living that was as good a confirmation as any. He steeled his eyes on the two young men standing above him. "What the fuck is your damage? You two could have killed him!"
"He doesn't look half as bad as my brother did when his wife caught him cheating," Jacob's redheaded companion chimed in.
Her equally pretty, raven-haired counterpart, crossed her arms, her eyes darting appreciatively between an oblivious Opie and Jax. "Damn...you guys really fucked him up, eh?"
Ignoring them both Jax chose to bark back a response at an extremely pissed Jacob Hale. "Your friend doesn't understand what the word no means."
"What the hell are you—"
"—you need me to educate you, too?" Jax asked, switching gears. "We can go that way if you want but if i were you I'd get this asshole out of here before I really do kill him."
Jacob's eyes flew over to Opie as if searching for some sign that both SAMCRO heirs weren't out of their minds.
Opie offered Hale no comfort when he grunted a icy, "What he said," nodding towards his exponentially furious best friend.
"OK this outlaw shit is only sexy when you're not caught in the crossfire," redhead said, slowly backing out of the room.
"Amen," goth-hair agreed, following suit.
"Great," Jacob griped, looking down at his friend's swollen face. "You cost me two bitches...and on one of the last nights I have as a free man."
Shoulda wore a condom, idiot.
Looking up, his eyes darting between Opie and Jax, his next words were in the form of a half-hearted question. "Can one of you at least help me get him downstairs?"
"You don't want my hands in motion again," Jax bit back. He looked over at his friend only to see him staring at Tara instead of nodding his head at him in agreement.
A silent message passed between the two of them. Yet another secret fuckin nod of understanding and Opie walked over to the other side of Kyle, assisting Jacob in hoisting him off the floor.
"If i accidentally drop him on our way down the stairs that's exactly what you better tell the cops...it was an accident," Opie warned as they walked past a shocked Jax. When they reached the hallway, Opie pulled the bedroom door shut behind him.
Jax's eyes were immediately fixed on the brunette leaning against the wall by the door on the other side of the room.
"If I were you I'd get this asshole out of here before I kill him."
How many times had he threatened to kill someone?
Many times—that pain in the ass Kyle Hobart alone.
This felt like the first time he meant it.
He'd glared at the boy being helped out of the room with murder in his heart.
He felt ruthless, empowered—and terrified out of his mind.
Could he do it?
Was he really capable of killing a person in a blind rage?
Could he actually go through with something so awful in front of the girl that stood in the corner, holding a hand over her mouth?
There was brief hitch in his step as he walked towards her —a moment where he'd paused, giving himself a second to settle the pang he'd felt in his chest when she instinctively moved back two paces.
"You okay?" he asked, slowing his pace as he approached as if not to spook her.
Tara nodded. "That's not the first time someone had a little too much to drink and didn't want to take no for an answer."
Jax's eyebrows bunched together. "What are you talking about?"
Tara shook her head. "Nothing." Before he could protest her latest deflection, she reached for his hand, holding it in her smaller one. Her thumb ghosted across his raw knuckles. The sting from the air was at war with the other sensations coursing through his body from the feather light touch of his hand in hers. "Your hand is bleeding."
Reluctantly, his eyes left hers to look down at his hand. Lazily, he shrugged his shoulders."They were already fucked up…I'll live."
"What happened...before?" she asked.
If she had an inkling of what happened she likely would have never asked. But as it were, her question brought him right back to what he'd found out.
The girl he….
His….
She was with David.
She'd been hooking up with the guy he hated behind his back. She'd probably done things with the source behind his already fucked up hand that had his stomach in knots and his nostrils flaring at just the mere thought of it.
Tara didn't notice his shift from deep concern to anger again.
She was pulling him along along with her. Pushing the bathroom door open, she gingerly pulled him inside. She bent over, giving him front row viewership of her perfect ass as she opened the bottom cabinet door. Reaching, she pulled a first aid kit from underneath the sink.
"Of course," jax fumed. "You would know where everything is…since you spend so much time here."
Tara narrowed her eyes at him, but the emerald green lacked any of the heat that came with her temper. It was because she wasn't angry. The jab did nothing to alter her mood. She opened the kit, wordlessly tending to the raw, reddened skin of the back of his hand, dabbing at it with the alcohol towelette between her fingers. The sting from the disinfectant paled in comparison to the burning sensation he felt in his chest as he thought about where she was, what she was probably thinking about when she found herself in David's bedroom, like she'd been so many times before.
He found himself pulling his hand from her grasp before she could finish her task. "Chibs can wrap it up for me, later."
Tara rolled her eyes, snatching his hand back. "Stop being such a brat, Jax. I'm almost finished."
He let her. She worked in total silence, spreading neosporin across his knuckles, right before finally pressing the adhesive tape over the tiny strip of gauze she'd cut from the roll inside the kit.
"You done?" he asked, when she dropped his hand. Tara nodded. "Thanks," he added, before turning to leave.
"Jax, wait." Jax shrugged her hand away from his shoulder before turning his head towards her.
"That's it? You can come to my rescue but you can't talk to me?"
"If you're not gonna teach Lowell about the buddy system I suggest you find another girlfriend to come to parties with," Jax scolded.
Tara's answering smile was sardonic as ever, fanning the flames that fueled his temper. "You mean someone you can't scare off?"
"You should go home," Jax bit back.
"Just give it to me already," Tara begged. Her next words made her meaning clear but it was too late. He was already straining against the zipper of his jeans when she added, "Just get all the venom off your chest right now so we can move on from this. Go ahead. I'll take my licks. Just get it all of your system. You can't keep torturing me, Jax. I'm not letting you."
Are you fuckin with me?
She had to be. No way her choice of words weren't intentional. Nor was the huskiness in her voice when she asked him to give it to her.
Tara smirked, shaking her head. Pushing the bathroom door closed, she posed a question to the angry teenager glowering at her. "But that's the problem isn't it, Jax?" Tara caught him off guard. Grabbing both his hands in hers, she pulled him close enough to feel her breath blowing against his lips when she spoke. "You don't wanna talk..." The way she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth made him jealous. He wanted the pleasure of doing that himself again. Resolve broken, he leaned into her to satiate that need but she pulled his hands up between their faces. Jax couldn't help but look down as she slowly guided his hands down her body—from her shoulders down to the swell of her breasts. She gave him a moment too little to knead the tender flesh in his palms, to savor the soft, silky feel of her skin at the tops where her cleavage peeked out of the low cut of her shirt. Then she moved his hands further down to her waist, wasting no time sliding them down over her hips. His hands were inches away from the curve of her ass when she stopped, pushing his hands away letting his hands go. Jax jerked his head up. The knowing look in her eyes was all it took to ignite his temper all over again.
"You need to be thinking with the head on your shoulders instead of the one in your pants," Tara taunted, "because this is the last chance I'm giving you. I was wrong for keeping David a secret...and I'm sorry. Say whatever you have to say now and let's just be done with it. And I swear to God, Jax, when it's all said and done...if you ever throw David in my face ag—"
"—you don't get to decide when I'm over it," Jax snapped. "And I'll tell you like I told your buddy Sarah...you can't control me so stop fuckin trying! You think you can manipulate me? Tease me until you get your way? You act like you're the only option—"
"—here we go. Now we're getting somewhere," Tara encouraged. "What else you got?"
"—you think everything is a fuckin game! you and Sarah. You're two peas in a fuckin pod and I'm done with both of you!"
"That must be why you couldn't keep your eyes off me all night," Tara accused.
Like I was the only fuckin one.
"You're just as full of yourself as she is, too!"
"I'd argue that you're the most arrogant person around here, Prince Charming."
"And you're the biggest fuckin liar! Talking all that bullshit about how you want distance..."
"We're past—"
Jax crushed his lips against hers and that was the end her sentence. It was the end of all contributions she had to their argument as he thwarted every future attempt she made to respond to the flurry of angry words flying out of his mouth.
"You want distance?" he growled. "You wanna talk?" His lips grazed hers again as he gripped her waist. Picking her up, her sat her up on the sink, sending the first aid kit and all of its contents cascading to the tiled floor beneath his feet. "I don't see you leaving, Tara," he challenged. He rendered her mute, her mind too scrambled to respond when he pushed his hands up underneath her shirt, snatching the clasps of her bra apart, his teeth a gentle scrape against her neck as she reluctantly pulled his eager mouth from her neck to completely free her of her shirt and bra.
His lips were closed around her nipple, eliciting a guttural moan from her before either article of clothing even touched the floor. "I don't hear you talking either," he taunted, his breath tickling her breast before he moved to suck the matching peak in his other hand into his mouth. Tara was limp, her back sliding just a little bit further down the mirror behind her head each time he switched.
Jax pulled back, chuckling at her whimper, the whine of protest that escape past her lips before she could suppress it. "You don't wanna talk...not when you wrap your legs around my waist like this," he hissed, pushing back against the crossing of her calves behind his back. There was no mistaking the tortured, desperate look in her eyes as he pulled back. Amusement stirred within him, a feeling of triumph that rumbled deep in his chest. He wasn't finished with her.
But she didn't know that.
And the wanton look in her eyes, answered the lingering question in his mind as to whether it was possible he could get any fuckin harder.
Turns out he could.
"You see what you're doing to me?" he asked, looking down at the painfully rigid bulge in his jeans. Tara's chin tilted forward, her eyes following the trail his blue ones led just as he reached for her hand, placing it on the spot that held her heated emerald gaze. "You feel what you're doing to me?" Tara didn't need prompting as she massaged the throbbing erection between his legs in her hand. He shoved her hand away just as she'd done to him before. Only instead of a sarcastic smile, his eyes were darkening pools of indigo, and the emotion swirling within them was that of a predator circling it's prey. In his eyes was hunger as he slipped his hand underneath the fold of her skirt. "My turn," Jax whispered. He cocked his head to the side, leaning in as close as he could get, pressing a kiss against the spot next her ear as his hand hovered over her center, barely pressing against the heat he felt there. "I can see what I'm doing to you," he teased. There was laughter in his voice as he drank in the sight of her naked chest rising and falling fast, as he absorbed every shallow breath she took in, every labored breath she pushed back out. He slipped his hand inside her panties, his own breath hitching as he spread her warm folds with his fingers. "I can feel it now, too...you're so fuckin wet, Tara...Why is that? I thought you wanted to talk?" He strummed his fingers against her and all it did was kill him softly when she moaned in his ear. "I'm all ears, babe...talk to me...I'm listening...tell me what you want..." He thought his fingers were already soaked until he lowered two of them to tease her entrance. Gasping for air, she couldn't begin to tell him what she wanted.
But Tara was more than happy to show him as she lifted up off the sink, easing her way back down, sucking his fingers inside her the further she slid. She was so fuckin tight, clenched around him that he had to suck her earlobe into his mouth to muffle his own groan.
Up and down. Up and straight back down again. An erotic thrill on the seesaw that was his hand as she moved with the rhythm of his fingers, matching every stroke her gave her. Biting her bottom lip did nothing to stop the moans escaping her mouth, creeping up from low in her throat. Jax picked up speed, committing the sheer pleasure on her face to memory as her eyes rolled back, as he slipped his two fingers in and out of her, his thumb stroking just the right spot. He worked her into a frenzy, rocking back and forth against the mind blowing ministrations of very skilled fingers. His free hand flew up, roughly grabbing her face as she pulled him for a kiss, sucking that tempting bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it just enough not to draw blood.
She was right at the edge. Softly as he could manage, Jax pushed another finger inside, never once stopping the strumming of his thumb against her most sensitive spot.
"...shit...oh sh-oh God, Jax..."
It was the final push, sending her over the cliff where the waves of her orgasm thrashed violently, the surface of the counter surrounding the sink, bumping against the wall as she white-knuckled it, accidentally nudging the water on with her wrist. His fingers were drenched in her own steady stream as she rested her bare back against the cool glass of the mirror behind her.
"I should hook up with David behind your back more often," Tara breathed, her lids closed. Her green eyes flew open as her usual habit of putting her foot in her mouth put a spring in Jax's step as he moved to open the bathroom to leave.
"I don't think so, Teller," Tara scolded, knocking his hand away from the door. "That's the second time you tried to walk away before I could say thank you." She leapt down off the sink, gently pushing his back against the door as she pulled his shirt over his head. Running a hand across his chest, her other hand reached up to caress his cheek as her eyes locked with his, the green imploring the blue, begging him to not miss even a ounce of the sincerity in her voice when she whispered, "Thank you for saving me," before pressing the softest of kisses on his already kiss-swollen lips.
Tara dipped her head, flicking her tongue across each of his nipples as her lips were a trail of kisses from his chest back up to her favorite spot on his neck. As her hands moved freely, without him holding her back, her fingers slide his buckle open, the zipper of his jeans sliding down immediately after she'd worked the two top buttons open. She tugged the denim down just enough. Her lips found his again, and she swallowed his moan as she slid her hand inside his boxers, holding him firmly in the softness of her grasp. She rocked back and forth on her heels, delighting in the mutual pleasure she drew from him as her erect nipples brushed up and down against his with every rhythmic stroke of their tongues. Every flick of her wrist was measured, almost lazy as she tugged on the velvety, throbbing heat trapped between her steadily moistening palm.
Jax couldn't think of anything more pleasurable than the stroke of her hands until she began sucking on his tongue with such finesse, more blood rushed to his groin as the sensations brought on by her warm, wet mouth collided with the moan-inducing grip she had on his cock. He couldn't stop the imagery his brain, the fantasy of her lips taking the place of her thumb, rubbing against his tip. She reached another hand inside the confines of his boxers, massaging his balls as she gently bit down on his tongue.
His mind was too far gone to be embarrassed as he quickly erupted in her hand, splashing on her stomach.
"Fuckk...Tara."
"You're gonna have to behave a lot better if you ever want that to happen," she teased, mumbling her response to his outburst against his lips.
Jax smiled, brushing his thumb against the corner of her smirking mouth. "I'll do whatever you want, baby," he replied, shaking his head at his own words. So much for not being manipulated. "You never did tell me what you want."
"I want you," Tara answered. "Stop being an asshole before I change my mind."
"We both know how much you love to do that," he snapped back, pinching her ass.
"I'm serious, Jax...are we past it? Can you just let this thing with David go? It's not like you like you're Lowell...you're the exact opposite and it's not fair for you to hold a grudge against me for one guy when you have a girl for every letter in the alphabet."
Jax's smile morphed into a frown. "that's not the issue, Tara. I never tried to hide them from you—"
"—big fuckin deal, Jax," Tara snapped. Turning towards the faucet that was still running, she held her hands underneath the flow of the water, washing them of him before doing the same for her stomach. "Should I buy you a T-shirt that says say it loud, I'm a slut and I'm proud?" She couldn't fight the giggle clawing it's way up her throat when Jax cocked an eyebrow at her through the mirror.
Jax chuckled with her. "Really, Tara?"
"Really, Jax...you wear it like a badge of honor..." Their laughter died as her face fell. "Every time I see you with one of them...it hurts me regardless...why are you so fuckin proud of that?!" she shrieked suddenly.
Opie's right. You females are out of your rabbit ass minds.
Attempting to 'defuse the crazy' in five, four, three...
"I don't mean it like that, Tara...I just mean...they're not—you're different 'cuz...when I'm with—hey, it's not like you didn't pick the one guy I hate more than Kyle on purpose! Go ahead and say you didn't...lie like you always do."
I tried, bro.
"I said I was sorry, damn it!"
"And I can't un-screw all the girls I've slept with so how 'bout you give me a fuckin break!"
"Apples and oranges, Jackson. I haven't screwed anybody!"
Jax's mouth open and snapped shut.
He didn't fix his face in time.
Her eyes were already narrowing before he even realized how bad his reaction was. He found himself tempted to shield his knee caps the way Richard Rosen should have when he made the mistake of telling twelve year old Tara the reason she was so 'frikkin gorgeous' was because God wanted to give him something to focus on when she couldn't shut her mouth. Girls talk to much, Ricky thought. He learned real quick that they also like to kick the shit out of people.
"Oh...I get it," Tara purred, the sudden sharpness of her claws clear in her voice. "You can't just be a slut...you have to be a misogynistic jerk on top of it!"
"Massage-your-what?"
Jax's joke fell flat as she stalked towards, jabbing her finger against his chest.
"You're pissed because you think I slept with him!" Tara accused. "God forbid I get horny and decide to spread my legs for the guy I like...the one least likely to give me a fuckin STD!"
Crazy as HELL.
Every single one of them.
"That's not true," Jax lied, knowing she was one hundred percent right. How the hell did she expect him to feel? Was he suppose to smile at the idea of some other assholes hands all over her? If he could restrain himself from using all that pent up frustration she had to his advantage for years so could every fuckin body else.
"And you say I'm a liar?" Tara shook her head. "You want to be the only one."
"I do," he admitted quickly.
Her eyes widened briefly before they disappeared from view, facing towards his sneakers as she pulled her shirt back over her hand, sans bra. "I use to want that, too...now I'm not so sure you deserve that...I'll never be a first anything to you...I'll just be another...another trophy for you to put on your shelf."
Jax could think of a few firsts she could have if she wanted. None of them seemed appropriate to say at the moment.
So he changed angles completely. Pulling her into him, he raked his hand through the fallen curls of her hair. "Even if that was true being first anything doesn't matter if you're not the Only...the only one that means anything."
Tara's eyes searched his, their foreheads pressed together. "Is that what I am to you, Jax? The only one that means anything?"
There was a crash outside the door.
Then all at once the sounds seeping into the bathroom through the thin walls between the two rooms assaulted their ears.
The sounds of lips smacking, strappy, high-heeled shoes clunking against the floor as they were yanked off and tossed aside. Zippers unzipped, buttons popped off and open, the audible swish of clothes being shed. Muffled moans as they struggled to keep their mouths apart long enough to finish undressing.
It was all there—the trappings of a homemade sex tape, but their was one thing that stood out to both pairs of perked ears listening in through the bathroom door.
Jax recognized her obnoxious giggle instantly. It took a little longer to hone in on the familiarity of the male voice reverberating through the walls.
But judging by the enraged expression on Tara's face when yanked the bathroom door open, nearly smacking him in the face with it?
She knew exactly who they were.
"I thought there was nothing going on between you two?" Tara sneered, her glare darting between an amused Maize and a startled David. Her eyes finally stopped on her ex-boyfriend's face, the narrowing of her eyes reversing as they widened in surprise instead at the state of the now surly face in front of her.
The reigning Queen of mood swings and mixed signals switched gears with the flip of a switch going from a state of outrage to a doting concern as she rushed over to him. "Jesus Christ," she gasped, reaching for his face. "What the hell happened?"
David didn't answer her. Instead he shot daggers at the shirtless teenage boy standing at the threshold of his bathroom. Jax was too busy glaring at the back of Tara's head, glowering at her hands caressing the bruises on David's face—the bruises he'd put there.
As David softly moved her hands away from his stony face, Jax bit down hard on his own tongue to keep from throwing her question right back at her.
Am I the only one that means anything to YOU?
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