WARNING: F-BOMB AHEAD AND SOME ... UM. ADULT THEMES. Please be aware!

Also, not a drabble. :)

This is something I've had bubbling in my mind for over a year now. So, here you are. I'm working on your holiday thing, Sanjana! Just trying to get some of the kinks out. Hopefully, I will get it done soon.

I don't own Jimmy! Lots of love.

Suit

She always had a weakness for Neutron in a suit.

The first time she saw him in one at Jet's wedding, her stomach had done a weird, swooping thing. She'd gone a bit gaga for him. Many years later, on the night of the senior prom, she'd come down with a cold, but he'd come up to her room to visit her anyway. He had looked stunning in his father's old suit, which was a little too small for him. When she'd asked how he convinced her mother to let him see her, he smirked and said, "That is top secret." He animatedly told her stories about Libby and Sheen dancing, and Carl, who had drunk a little too much punch, and Nick, who had spiked it. He'd discarded his jacket on her computer chair and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. The corresponding flush of warmth racing through her had very little to do with her fever.

She wonders for a moment if Libby had known this and chosen a suit for the wedding that would look ridiculously good on him on purpose. Because the moment Cindy had spotted him earlier today, her heart started pounding, and her mouth went dry as a flicker of desire came to life inside of her. She'd been ignoring it all day, like an itch she couldn't scratch.

But now, there's nothing to stop her from admiring him. The way the fabric hugs his frame like a second skin. His hair is slightly disheveled, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck. She can see that the same first button is unbuttoned. He laughs at something one of Libby's cousins says, and something awakens inside her chest. Before she's fully aware of what she's doing, she sets her drink on a nearby table and pushes through the crowd towards them.

"Cindy?" She hears the curiosity in his voice, but she ignores him and the other girl. She merely grabs his arm and pulls him onto the dancefloor. "Cindy," he repeats, "what are you doing?"

She takes his hand and sets it on her waist, and then takes his other hand in hers. She steps toward him so that their bodies are flush against each other. "We're dancing. Don't argue."

He looks at her with a hint of bewilderment and then nods. "Okay."

As they move to the music, her senses are overwhelmed with him—the smell of his soap and the soft warmth of his cheek. Every inch of his delicious firm body pressed against hers. Perhaps it's the romantic mood of the evening, the recklessness brought on by a week of stress and planning. But whatever it is, it gives her the courage to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth.

"This is a bad idea," he half-heartedly warns.

She knows he's right. But she's been fighting this all day, hell, she's been fighting it for years. There's way too much momentum to stop her now. "Who says I'm looking for a good idea?"

Fifteen minutes later, they are tumbling into her hotel room, sharing fevered kisses and stolen breaths. Once the door has closed behind them, her fingers hurriedly undo the rest of his shirt buttons. She pushes it aside and touches the skin she'd fantasized about countless times. It's as warm and soft as she'd always thought it would be. She starts to push his suit coat off too, but he unexpectedly moves away from her.

"What are you doing?" Her question comes out with all of the irritation she feels. He couldn't be getting cold feet now, could he?

He huffs out a breath, drawing her attention to his mouth swollen from their kisses. His shirt hangs open, exposing every inch of that chest she was touching. Another moment passes, and yet he still does not move.

So, she steps toward him, hands on her hips. "Well, what the hell are you waiting for?"

He reaches up to gently cup her face and turning it up to his. She sees his eyes are dark with desire, and every muscle and every bone inside of her body comes alive. It's a wonder he can't hear the way her blood is singing or feel the way her heartbeat is thundering.

"Are you sure?" He asks quietly.

"I swear to God if you don't fuck me right now, I will kick you out on your ass."

He blinks once, twice, and then smiles like a cat that has got the cream. "Demanding much, are we?"

"Neutron," she hisses.

Then he reaches behind her and unzips her dress. His hands slowly caress the small of her back, her hip, her ribs. Then they brush against the swell of her breasts for just a moment, and she rises into his touch, letting her head fall back. When his mouth flutters across her jaw, and he nibbles on her ear, she mutters something else profane. He laughs, but she doesn't care. Because she is unhinged, uncontained- burning bright, hot, and wild. Her hands grasp at him, searching for something to keep her from imploding.

"James," his name floats off her lips like a prayer.

He moans deep and low. The sound is thrilling and new, and it echoes inside of her, sweet as honey. "God, I like you calling me that."

She finally succeeds in pushing that blasted suit coat off him as she whispers it again. "James."

And that's it.

Over a decade and a half of longing bursts into flurried movement, haphazardly discarded clothing, hungry lips, and ravenous hands. As they move together, beat for beat, passion for passion, she swears that even the stars could not outshine their light.

A while later, she lays tucked against him, the euphoria still pouring through her veins.

"Not that I'm objecting or anything, but what brought that on?" He asks.

"I really like you in a suit," she answers, a blush decorating her cheeks.

He laughs, and she does too.

-x-