TITLE At the End of Chaos
RATING R…I guess…just in case you're sensitive LOL
SUMMARY It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…..
AUTHOR'S NOTE Again, I can't thank y'all enough for the great reviews. I apologize for making you wait for this chapter…And here's the thing: I've never written anything quite like this before. It's a little….naughty, shall we say? So I'm a little embarrassed, and I considered revising it to not include the smut, but then I said, what the Hell? We all need a little smut sometimes, right?
DISCLAIMER I don't own them, blah blah blah…
ABBY
"Carter, watch the—be careful! Don't hit your—do you want any help?" I ask, finally, as Carter makes his way up my stairs with my perfect Christmas tree. It's a little larger than I probably should have gotten, but it was so pretty and perfectly shaped and just…immaculate. I couldn't help myself. But I think Carter is silently cursing me as he struggles to make his way into my apartment with it.
"No, I'm fine," he responds, trying to sound chipper, but I sense the frustration underlying the statement. I can't help but giggle, though, cause I just love my tree.
A few minutes later, we're standing in my living room, my tree in it's designated corner by the window. Actually, I'm standing, but Carter is bending over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. I can't help but laugh at him; he was always so melodramatic about such things.
"Would you like some coffee?" I ask in sympathy; he did just carry my tree up a flight of stairs.
"Please," he replies, and throws himself into a chair at the kitchen table. After starting the coffee, I move to stand behind him and begin to rub his shoulders. He leans his head forward, loving the feeling of my hands easing the tension in his muscles, and I smile to myself. This is the good stuff, right here.
The smell of coffee winds its way into our nostrils, and I pat his shoulders once, moving away to pour us some caffeine, eliciting a groan from Carter. It's still early evening, but it's December and it's already almost completely dark outside. It's a Christmas miracle that we're both off tonight, but I suppose that's Kerry's way of setting us up for working on Christmas or Christmas Eve, which is only 8 days away. I had decided it was the perfect fifth date for us; the pretense of not having known each other before was wearing thin, and it was time for us to have an "apartment date", alone, away from the public. And besides, I needed help with my tree.
"What would you like to do about dinner?" Carter asks as I hand him his mug. I shrug in response, seating myself next to him, glancing over at my tree. He follows my gaze, then turns back to me. "Would you like to eat your tree?"
"Hm?" A second later, I catch what he's said, and adjust my eyes to look at him. I roll my eyes. "No, Carter, I do not want to eat my tree. Ha ha. I don't really know what I want for dinner. I'm not in the mood for anything in particular. Did you have a craving for something?"
"Yes!" he responds emphatically, making me jump slightly, which provokes a chortle from him. I swat at him. "I've really been wanting those dumplings from Ming's." I make a face, and he raises his eyebrows. "What? You no like?" I shrug again.
"It's just…is that really 'tree-decorating' fare?"
"Would you rather—I don't know—Nordic food?" This makes us both laugh out loud.
"I guess Ming's is fine." I sigh quickly, looking into my coffee cup.
"Abby, we can have whatever you want. I promise I don't care too much." He tilts my chin up to look at him. He is smiling reassuringly.
"I just—it's actually very silly," I say, not wanting him to know what a nerd I am.
"What is it?"
"I guess—I want everything to be perfect. The tree, the decorations, the music, even the food we eat while we trim the tree." I look at my coffee again, becoming embarrassed. I'm beginning to think "tough, cynical Abby" has disappeared altogether.
"Abby, that's not silly at all," Carter says, quietly. I look up to meet his eyes, smiling so sweetly at me. Then he leans in to kiss me, and suddenly I don't care what we eat for dinner, I just don't ever want this to stop.
After what seems like hours but is really only a few seconds he pulls away, leaving my lips wanting nothing but more. He very tenderly traces my jaw with his fingers, sweeping my hair behind my ear, my skin tingling wherever he has touched me. He brings his hand down to the table, taking my hand in his. And again we are sitting, staring stupidly at each other, silently sipping at the moments we are sharing. Shyly, I disturb the peace.
"Chinese?" We both laugh at this, and after a swift brush of lips, Carter rises to get the menu.
AN HOUR and a half later, sitting on the couch, take out boxes scattered on the coffee table, we delight in our engorgement of greasy food. I glance over at Carter, who is popping the last dumpling into his mouth, and giggle. He notices me, and raises his eyebrows.
"What?"
"Nothing. You just…nothing," I say, brushing a piece of rice from my shirt.
"Oh, I see how it is. That's fine, Dr. Lockhart, you can be coy if you want, but I know your game," he says, winking at me, licking his lips.
"Oh you do, do you?"
"Yes, and unfortunately, I don't play fair," he responds, and lunges across the couch at me, catching my ribs with his fingers and tickling me. I'm laughing so hard I'm starting to cry, tears are running down my face, and I can't fight back. Finally my foot finds his stomach and kicks, knocking the wind out of him, and he falls backwards. A look of shock plants itself on his face.
"Carter? Are you okay?" I'm still laughing a little, and I'm wiping the tears from my cheeks as I move slowly towards him. He's clutching his stomach and gasping for air.
"I'm…fine," he replies, straining to get the words out. I feel bad; I didn't mean to kick him that hard.
"Oh, John, I'm so sorry." I put my hand on his chest, kissing his forehead; I can't hide that I'm still chuckling. "But hey, you're lucky it wasn't about 8 inches lower, right?" He rolls his eyes at me, finally getting a full breath.
"That'll teach me to tickle you, huh?" His voice is still slightly tired, but he's smiling again. No harm done.
"Sure will. Now, let's get this tree trimmed, huh? 'Charlie Brown Christmas' should be on channel 4."
AFTER MUCH hard work, our piece of art—my Christmas tree—is finished, and we're curled up on the couch gazing at it. The lights cast a magical glow over the room, and I can see the snow starting to fall outside the window. I'm resting my head on John's shoulder, his arm around me, and all I can think is: this is perfect. This is exactly how things should be. Except, maybe I'd add a couple of kids to the mix, and make the apartment bigger. But, really, this is faultless. I sigh contentedly.
"You okay?" Carter asks, and I feel his head move to glance down at me. I smile against his shoulder.
"I'm more than okay." I run my hand over his chest, and he takes it in his own and holds it over his heart, entwining our fingers. I feel something stir inside me, and I lift my head from his shoulder and turn his face toward mine. I stare deep into the chocolate brown depths of his eyes, and then lean in to kiss him. The kiss this time is a question, a wanting, and I'm hoping he feels it as much as I do. At first it is sweet, kind, but then it deepens and grows and I move my tongue into his mouth. He moves his hand up to my hair, my neck, and I shift so that I am straddling his lap, never breaking the union of our lips. I feel his hands move down my body, over my back, caressing each vertebra, then moving back up to embed themselves in my hair. My hands remain on his chest, steadying myself. This feels so good, I don't ever, ever want it to—
"Abby?" I'm confused at first; I was so lost in the world of desire that I didn't notice that he had pulled his mouth away from mine. I open my eyes and find his locked in my sight. I almost whimper at the disruption, but withhold the impulse.
"Mm-hmm?" I respond, as yet unable to produce words.
"I really hate to interrupt this, but I just—want to make sure we're not moving too fast." Well, this is new; John Carter, leashing his impulsivity. I don't know whether to praise or damn his therapist as I feel the pulsing in my body that only wants to throw Carter down on the bed and rock his world. But he's looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes, and I can't be angry.
"John, it's up to you. If you feel okay with this, then I am, too." I swallow hard, hoping his response is in the positive. "I—want this. I don't think it's too fast. For me. But it's up to you." His hands have fallen to my hips, something I hadn't noticed before now, but I do notice as they move their way up my arms, and as I watch his face, a small smile works his way onto his lips. He doesn't speak, just slowly nods, leaning forward, and placing his lips on my collarbone. His hands are on my back again, pulling me toward him, and my face is in his hair, smelling his shampoo, his cologne. I tilt my head slightly, giving him better access to my neck, which he is inching his way up with light kisses.
"Mmmm," I murmur, encouraging him. He extends his tongue, licking at my earlobe, gently taking it into his mouth and suckling it. I inadvertently curl my fingers, scratching at his chest, his nipples, which are hardening beneath his shirt. I move my head back towards him, catching his lips with my own, snaking my tongue into his mouth. I take his face in my hands, feeling the strong curve of his jaw, the little bit of stubble that has grown since this morning.
The urge to make this go faster is at war with the need to go slowly, to make every touch linger. I can tell he feels it too, as his hands alternate between moving fast and slow, fighting the compulsion to tear my shirt over my head. Finally I can't wait anymore, and the feeling of his erection between my legs becomes too much; I remove my lips from his and slowly disengage myself from his embrace. He whines softly when I do this, until I smile at him and take his hands, lifting him from the couch. I silently lead him toward the bedroom, anticipation pounding in my ears like drums at the circus.
Standing in front of my bed, facing each other, his hands reach behind me, lifting my shirt up over my arms and away from my body, dropping it softly on the floor. He moves in again to kiss me, and the feel of his hands on my bare skin causes a shudder to ripple through me. In turn, I remove his shirt and drop it next to mine. I run my fingers lightly over his chest and stomach, up to his shoulders, looking into his eyes, smiling at him. Before I can react, I feel him lifting me up and putting me down on the bed, somewhere between gentle and rough. He kisses me in the same way, while his hand unbuttons my jeans, moving underneath to where I am wet and ready to feel him inside me.
A gasp escapes my lips when I feel his fingers slip beneath my panties, and I grip his shoulders tightly. His lips and tongue burn a path to my breasts while his fingers move through my folds, making slow circles over my button, then moving away.
"Oh, God," I moan, as I feel his tongue trace the outline of my nipple. I can feel an orgasm building, but I don't want it yet, I want to make this last, and I decide to take control. I gently—but roughly—take his hand out from between my legs and push him down on to his back. He looks slightly bewildered, but he remembers this, this is not altogether unfamiliar to him. I unbutton and remove his jeans and boxers, he lifting his hips to help me. As I do this, his hand reaches behind me and unclasps my bra, and once his clothes are off I let him take it off. We kneel facing each other, touching each other, kissing. I am suddenly aware that I am still partly dressed, and I lay down and let him eliminate the last of my clothing. He moves on top of me, and feeling the length of our naked bodies touching is almost too much, I almost climax then and there. He senses this, and gently parts my legs with his knees, placing himself between them.
Our eyes are locked as he enters me, and I can't help emitting a low groan as I feel him move inside. His head dips to kiss me as he begins to shift back and forth, in and out, and I move my legs up to hook around his back, my heels on his butt, urging him deeper.
Our movements quicken, our pulses racing, as I feel the climax building once again. I can tell that he's getting there too, and in the pattern of old lovers, we try to time our peaks. John slows his movements, making circles with his hips, making me cry out. He soon resumes his rocking in and out, and before long we are both screaming, our nerves all alive with our orgasm. When we are finished, sweaty and emptied, we curl together on the bed, smiling. I feel him behind me, his arm wrapped around me, our legs entwined.
And I can't help thinking: this is perfect. I don't ever want it to end.