Rated [M]
AN: Thank you to onechicago-upsteadrhekker on Tumblr for being the greatest cheerleader and encouraging me to write this.
"Another bottle?" the waiter interrupts.
"Yes, please!" Hailey and Jay pipe up simultaneously, as Jay empties the rest of the first bottle into her glass.
The waiter whips out a bottle opener, "pops" the cork, and places it on the table. "Can I get you anything else?" he asks.
"We are good. Thank you," Jay answers.
As the waiter leaves, their attention turns back to Will.
"So, where was I…?" Will says.
"You decided to bring the fleabag home," Hailey reminds him.
"Oh, right. So Jay and I decided to bring the stray dog home. We kept him in the garage for like a week. But then one day mom heard a noise in the garage and when she went searching for the source, she found him. Almost had a heart attack." Will laughs. "I can still hear her shouting."
"Did she tell you to get rid of him?" Hailey asks.
"She did, but—"
"I convinced her to keep him," Jay cuts in, sounding proud of his feat.
"Not even your mother could deny those puppy-dog eyes, huh?" Hailey teases.
"Mom found it difficult to deny Jay anything," Will says, rolling his eyes.
Jay scoffs, though just a little. "That's not true."
"Who do you think was mom's favorite?" Will asks. It was a rhetorical question.
Jay's wine glass stalls mid-air, eyebrow arched. "You know mom never played favorites…" But then with a mischievous grin on his face, he remarks, "But if I were honest about it, I guess I'd say I was her favorite."
Hailey laughs looking between the two brothers. Her expression is a mixture of amused and amazed.
"You see?" Will says, pointing his fork at Jay. "Jay got away with everything. Such a mama's boy."
Hailey laughs again and Jay can't take his eyes off of her. He is also unable to hide the stupid smile on his face. Her eyes eventually catch him staring and when she does one of those lovely sweeps of her hair, flashing him her beautiful smile, Jay is a goner.
Hailey clears her throat. "We have to do a toast for the birthday boy," Hailey proposes, lifting her wine glass.
"Right, right," Jay scrambles, also raising his glass.
Will smiles and also lifts his glass.
"Make it a good one," Hailey prompts.
"Ahem," Jay clears his throat. "Today is the day that I'm reminded that I'm younger than you and I will always be. Happy birthday, bro."
"Happy birthday, Will."
"Thank you."
They drink.
And drink.
The wine continues to flow and so does their conversation. A warm glow surrounds them, like a bubble, and inside all is happy and comfortable. Jay thinks Hailey is a perfect fit here.
At the end of the night, they are not falling-down, seeing-double drunk, but enough to make them pleasantly buzzed and definitely slap-happy.
They stumble into an Uber – laughing and kissing and holding hands like two teens with a curfew. Then once they find themselves inside her apartment building, they stumble up the stairs, stopping to kiss in the quiet corners of each landing. Hailey giggles - actually giggles - and drops her keys twice on their way up. Jay feels dizzy – from the breathless climb of the stairs or the effect of her lips on his. He isn't sure.
Once inside, Jay sobers up some and pins her against the wall, kissing her thoroughly, drifting to her jaw, coasting down her neck and collarbone. It's sloppy and inelegant, and it feels a little more intense than it probably should- given their inebriated state. When he pulls away a fraction of a second to simply look at her messy hair, red lips, flushed face, a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He loves her so much. She makes him thirsty, but not for more to drink, to drink her.
"Dance with me," she says, slightly slurring.
He grins. "What? Right now? You can't stand up."
"So hold me."
He wraps his arms around her and spins her around. She braces her hand on his chest and laughs. It isn't dancing by any stretch of the definition; it is stumbling, swaying, hands roving, grasping, and long, deep eye contact that makes his body hum with energy. Then the scent of her hair, the gentleness of her touch, the way she is biting her lips distracts him so much he nearly misses what she says next.
"Take me to bed, Jay."
"Got any more instructions?"
"Kiss me."
Jay doesn't hate the instructions.
"Now."
He captures her lips and they move clumsily to the bedroom, bumping into walls along the way, giggling like they are young and in love – and they are. Hailey squeals with delight when they land on the bed. Jay hovers over her and her fumbling fingers work on the buttons of his shirt, while he yanks her blouse above her head, revealing a red satin bra.
Jay raises an eyebrow and grins. "This new?"
Hailey blushes, but a smug sense of satisfaction crests in her chest. "Oh, this old thing?" She waves her hand dismissively over it. "You like it?" she asks cheekily.
"Like it?" His smile deepens the grooves on either side of his mouth, making him look even more devastatingly attractive. "Let's just say that thank god I didn't know you were wearing that earlier. We wouldn't have made it to Will's birthday dinner."
She giggles, and it's one of the most beautiful sounds. Jay decides right then and there that he will never get tired of hearing her laugh. He especially likes the crack in her voice when she gets when she is this buzzed.
"Red is my new favorite color, but in my opinion…" his fingers trace along the edge of her bra. "You look better without it."
Jay slides his hand underneath her and unclasps the hook of her bra. Then he slowly slips his fingers under the strap and tosses the flimsy red fabric to the floor.
"You're so goddam beautiful, Hailey," he says, moving his hand along her side, relishing the feeling of goosebumps sprouting beneath his fingertips. His greatest pleasure has been learning all the ways her body reacts to him – it's kind of an obsession now. So, he leans down and nuzzles his nose into her hairline until his lips are next to her ear. A shiver takes over her. He grins.
"And all mine."
Hailey sucks in a sharp breath as he dips his head, pressing soft kisses, the tip of his tongue outlining the valley between her breasts. Then he leaves trails of light pecks, leading from one breast to the other and her back involuntarily arches. Her arms then circle his waist and he feels her nails gently scratch down his spine.
He digs his hands at her waist, trying to keep her still, but she's getting impatient, her body humming with anticipation. So much so that her hands find their way to his belt buckle and it takes this girl a second before Jay hears the clack of the buckle hit the floor. He pulls back and raises an eyebrow. She smiles cunningly and unbuttons his pants and slowly pulls the zipper down. Her fingers slide inside his boxers and her fingers do things to him that jumbles all his drunken thoughts as he seeps into a blissful haze.
When he feels himself near the edge, he grabs her wrist. God knows he wants her to finish, but he wants to be inside her, the place of his own personal heaven.
"Slow down," he whispers and she narrows her eyes at him.
He pulls away enough so that he can remove her heeled boots and pants. He teasingly removes her underwear and she raises her eyebrows with interest and smiles. He lowers his lips to the inswept curve of her waist and to the convexity of her belly, where he feels her muscles tighten. He moves lower and lower, kissing her further until she murmurs happily, the noise traveling straight to his groin.
He works his way up the flesh of her left thigh, then down the flesh of her right. He makes her wait and her hips hitch impatiently. Jay tries to hold her still, but it's almost impossible.
He blames the alcohol.
He finally kisses where she wants and she completely melts on the bed – like the happy drunk that she is right now. He kisses her, tongues her, and caresses her with his hands and fingertips. He even tickles and teases her with the tip of one finger, slyly poking and probing her hot and yielding center until she's moaning and his name escapes her lips.
"Jay…" His name falls from her lips, part supplication, part request.
He loves this side of her.
"Don't worry. I got you."
He pushes her legs apart to gives himself better access and continues to knead and stroke, letting his fingers and tongue stray where they wish, where he wishes – where she wishes. It doesn't take long before she's withering and squirming in pure delight, her breath turning ragged. When he finally pushes her over the edge, the scent of her pleasure fills his breath instantly. He guides her through it, taking his time to lick and kiss her until her limbs are soft and pliable.
He moves up to look at her and she's panting and breathing heavily. She hooks her hand behind his neck, pulls him down, and their lips crashed together sloppily. Her hands then go for his pants and she inelegantly tries to push them down. They don't budge, so he helps her shimmy them down his legs. Then it's like he sobers up again for half a second and he can't help but just gaze at her. His girl. He still can't believe how long he was able to go without this – without her.
"You're mine," he repeats because it still amazes him.
"Yes," she breathes out, in a harsh sound of need that sends his body into a hard, knotted ache. The rush of hot blood fills him, and he closes his eyes to better absorb the feel and texture of her. Soft and pliable, flush against him. Filling every empty place in his heart and soul.
His hand smooths her tangled waves from her face before he kisses her again. It's long and slow, his hand exploring her, pleasuring her until he is certain he'll die unless he is inside her. He positions himself at her entrance and she pulls him into her, coiling her legs around his hips.
"You feel so good."
"So do you."
Then in one swift motion, he flips them, so that she's on top. He needs to let her set the rhythm, otherwise, in his inebriated state, he'll certainly disappoint. Her hips begin to move in a lazy rocking motion – churning him, twisting him, drawing him closer and closer to his climax. Her fingernails rake and claw his skin, while their hungry mouths devour each other. He gently nibbles at her tender nipples, sucking and twirling them until she moans and whimpers.
Jay feels like he can't hold on for much longer so he flips them back and begin to piston back and forth, thrusting his urgency against her rolling need. He moves back and forth, then, to vary their pleasure, from side to side, around and around. He is confident in his game and keeps searching for new thrills for her –for him – for both of them.
Hailey keeps him on his toes. Making love to her is like dancing with the best partner. Every move he makes, she anticipates and responds. She rolls her hips and twists her hips and thrusts her hips – up and back – in perfect counterpoint to his actions. Ardent – but not offensively aggressive. Yielding – but not passive. Suggestive but not demanding; eager but not pushy – this is Hailey in bed and dare he says it; he loves her for it.
It isn't long before scorching waves of super-heated delight pulses through him as the sliding, exciting, arousing, enticing friction of their bodies intensifies. He feels her release and he manages to delay his for half a second of excruciatingly wonderful pleasure before he lets go. Their bodies become one as their legs intermingle and their arms lock around each other.
Slowly, very slowly sanity and reason return. As well as their breath. They feel giddy and still slap-happy drunk. But in the calm that comes after passion, Jay just gazes at her – lying there, lips swollen from their kisses, her blonde hair stuck around her flushed face. In her eyes, he sees love there – not lust. He knows what lust looks like. This isn't it.
"I love you," he says.
She chuckles. "You're just drunk."
He kisses her and it's a little sloppy, a lot of tongue – proving her point. "That might be true," he tells her. "But that doesn't change how I feel."
She cups his face. "Good thing I love you, too."
His gaze softens and he kisses her nose. "I think we need some shut-eye. You know we'll regret this in the morning."
"I'll regret nothing," she says and turns so he can wrap his arms around her, which he does.
He kisses her hair and pulls her sated body against his. Sweaty and sticky and sweet. He runs his hand up and down her side, to the adorable indent of her waist, until her breathing falls into a synced rhythm, and he can't help when his eyes grow heavy. Tomorrow the hangover will hit him like an earthquake trapped and contained in his skull.
But it is worth it.
Everything is worth it with her.
Thank you for reading. I know there's a lot of anxiety surrounding Upstead's future in the last two episodes of season 8, so I wanted to write something that hopefully puts a smile on your face. Let me know what you think. Cheers, D.