*********
2153 ZULU (1653 EST)
MAC'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
The elevator doors ding open and I step out with Mac, our lips fastened tightly together as we make our way slowly and awkwardly to her door, weighted down with our bags, but careful not to lose contact.
It's been a long week. And a long flight. And an interminably long period since I've been able to kiss or touch Mac. (Well, a week, anyway.) And an even more interminably long period since I've kissed or touched any woman, but I'm trying to not let that be my motivating factor here.
However, the euphoria I'm feeling right now is making that rather difficult. In just a couple of hours we'll be on our way to the Smoky Mountains to spend a weekend blessedly alone—away from JAG, Sergei, and any admirals who may call at inopportune moments. I will finally be alone with the woman who has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember. The vision of Sarah McKenzie wrapped only in a blue towel, fresh from the shower, the sight of a white lingerie clad marine, the knowledge of a certain tattoo—all this could be mine by nightfall.
It's enough to make one dizzy with anticipation. Or desperate as hell.
We reach her door, and I press her against it, glad to have her trapped between it and myself. I drop my sea bag, and start fumbling with the buttons on her blouse before I realize she has my blouse untucked and halfway unbuttoned. Glad I'm not the only one feeling a bit impatient.
"Harm," she breathes, after a moment, her eyes opening and surveying the corridor, which is thankfully devoid of any voyeurs, because right now, we're putting on a pretty good show. She places her delicate hands against my chest and gives me a gentle push. "We can't do this out here."
I suppose she's right, but I'm tempted to anyway. This is not the conduct of a good officer. Then again, some of the stuff I'm considering doing to Mac is neither becoming of a good officer nor gentlemanly.
"Just let me get my keys," she removes my hands from her blouse. She's right. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down a little, giving myself a mental shake.
She works the lock while I admire her backside, telling myself just because it's been…a while…a long while…doesn't mean I should just ravish Mac like some sailor who's been on a six-month cruise and just arrived in port.
Actually, my cruise has been about eight or nine months.
Christ.
She's worth it, though, Rabb, isn't she? I take another look at her, this time not just salivating over her posterior. Yes, she's definitely worth the wait. It would have, admittedly, been a much shorter one had I gotten my six in gear a couple years ago—or even, maybe, a year before then—but perhaps because it's been such an agonizing long journey to reach this point—and I'm not just talking sex, here—makes the reality of it that much more sweeter. We are finally getting a few things—the important things—right. And I intend on getting the most important one soon. Which reminds me, I need to get my hands on that Marine Corps ring. How to do that…? Hmm…
"Are you just going to stand out there?" she asks, holding the door open, looking curiously at me.
Well, I'll have plenty of time to devise a plan later. Right now…
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Marine," I breathe, taking two long strides forward and finding her mouth once again.
I should really take the effort to do things right; show Mac how much she means to me. Sweep her up in my arms and carry her off to bed. We make it as far as about four feet into her living room, enough for me to waltz in, toss my bags aside, and pull her back in my arms, and back against the door. We both finish with each other blouses and toss them aside as well.
"Where's Jingo?" I ask, for some insane reason. He didn't come to the door to greet us, and generally he waits for Mac.
"Neighbor's got him. We've been gone all week, you know. Somebody had to feed him and walk him."
"Oh, right," I acknowledge absently, working on her pants. Suddenly she pulls away, a smile so flirty and seductive the blood whooshes out of my brain at mach speed.
"Hold that thought, Sailor." She disappears before I can summon a response from the vacuum in my head.
"Well, I'm ready when you are, Harm." I turn around and what I see almost sets me wheezing.
It's the nightgown. That white, lacy, clings-to-all-the-right-curves number that has enchanted me ever since that trip to Russia.
"Ready?" I echo dumbly.
"Yes, I'm all packed."
I glance around her, but I don't see a bag or suitcase at her feet or clutched in her hands, but I must say I didn't really pull my attention away from the main features for too long to really notice.
"Packed?" I admit I'm not at my most cognitive right now.
"What do you think?" She spins around gracefully, and I realize in bright American lighting her gown is kind of sheer.
"I think you might get cold," I rasp out, finding her apartment awfully warm.
"Hmm," she murmurs, stepping very close, and slipping her arms around my neck. "I don't know. I have you to keep me warm," she whispers breathily against my ear.
I make a small noise that sounds like a combination whine and groan, and yank her on her toes, unable to keep my hands and lips off her any longer. I want her so bad my hands are trembling through her hair, and it just doesn't seem, no matter how tight I pull her against me, how well she molds her body against mine, that it will ever be close enough.
"You know," she says, slipping her hands under my T-shirt, and her touch inflames my already incendiary response. I crush her even tighter and wonder how this can't be hurting her. "We might be more comfortable in the bedroom."
This time I do sweep her up in my arms, and she rewards my gallantry with another sassy smile and a deep kiss. I deposit her as gently as possible onto her bed, ignoring the stab of protest from my over-ejected back, and furiously kick off my shoes.
She whips my belt through the loops and drops it beside the bed. My T-shirt is gone with the same alacrity. I'm bare-chested and thinking (the process has returned, but on emergency power only) that it's only fair if we even up the score.
I flash her my best evil grin, and a blush immediately stains her cheeks, but she has that feisty, defiant, passionate look that she gets when we go head-to-head over something and it's all I can do to keep from ravishing her right now.
*********
Harm has his fingers on the straps of my nightgown, and I know he's just dying to slip it off. That night at his apartment, he developed a particular fondness for my chest, but given the circumstances, he wasn't able to spend as much time on that area as I'm sure he would've liked.
He glances up from my shoulders and stares into my eyes, passion and tenderness flooding his eyes, and holds my gaze, that intensity so inherent in everything about him radiating from his eyes. Gently, in contrast to the impatient fingers at my shoulders, he lowers his head and sears my mouth with a kiss. Slowly he drifts away from my lips and down, nibbling at my chin, my neck, my shoulder, and slowly he slides the straps and gown down…
And then I hear it.
"Harm? Harm."
His attention is no-doubt occupied by the sight soon to be revealed to him, so he probably doesn't register the pounding on my front door right off.
Dammit! Why does this always happen? We're ready! We are on the same wavelength. We both want the same thing, and every time we try to spend some time alone together, something interrupts the moment. I've waited six goddman years for this moment, for this relationship, for things to finally be the way I've always dreamed of between us, for Harm to love me and need me, and to want to act on that love and need, and I'm not about to let go of what's taken me so long to gain.
It's like a whole goddamn conspiracy to keep us from being alone together.
"Harm? The door."
"Hmm?" I place a hand over the now loose material partially covering my chest. He finally looks at me, confusion and worry etched on his handsome face.
"The door."
"Huh?" Then he hears it. "Ignore it."
"I can't just ignore it." His hand slides along my hip, and I think, on second thought, maybe I can.
"Sarah?" a voice calls timidly.
"Oh! It's Mrs. Eckland."
"Who?" He asks wonderingly, his hands now skimming along my stomach.
"Mrs. Eckland. Jingo's sitter. She probably has Jingo. I usually pick him up right away when I get back from assignments," I explain. And I didn't this time, and she's probably wondering if I'm back. Maybe she saw Harm and I in the hallway. I feel a flush of warmth wash up and over my ears.
I gesture for him to let me up, and he moves aside with a disappointed sigh.
"I'll just be a few minutes, Harm." I place a kiss on his pouting lips, and slip into my bathrobe. "Why don't you…" I pause, trying to think of something he can do in here while I'm busy with Mrs. Eckland, "create a little atmosphere," I finish suggestively.
That wipes the frown off his face.
*********
Atmosphere…atmosphere…
Personally, I think what we had going before we were interrupted (again, goddammit. What is up with that? Suddenly, the Smoky Mountains just doesn't seem far enough away.) contributed nicely to the atmosphere. Oh, well.
Hmm…there's not a whole lot to work with in here. The lights either go on or off; there's no dimmer. No stereo for some romantic music in the background. No candles. No marine in some lacy getup to get the blood pressure of a naval aviator sky high. There is the lingering image…
Wow. That woman is incredible. I hear the muffled voices of her and Mrs. Eckland's conversation, and I hope Sarah gets finished with her soon. I scan the room for atmospheric inspiration before noticing the open bathroom door. Hmm…maybe she has something in there.
Yes, like a couple of lacy bras draped over the shower rod I wouldn't mind seeing her in, both black. I wonder if she wears those underneath her uniform. Something else to keep my mind off of work when I'm there. Good. I was just running out of visions of Mac to keep me occupied.
I'm surprised the admiral hasn't said something. I must be hiding it better than I thought.
A-ha! Two candles.
Damn.
No matches.
They're in the bathroom, looked like they've burned in the bathroom, so wouldn't she have lit them in the bathroom, and therefore kept a box of matches or a lighter around? I rustle through a couple of drawers and cabinets in her vanity, feeling vaguely guilty for invading her stuff, but unlit candles just don't add anything to the romantic mood.
A-ha! Found it. On the back of the toilet no less, but, hey, a striker is a striker. I hustle back to the bedroom to arrange things.
I place a candle on each side of the bed. Hmm. Not bad. Turn off the lights and a little flickering flame will contribute nicely. I fold down the comforter and blankets. All right, getting a little cozier here. Add a gorgeous marine and we'll be all set.
I tiptoe to the door, wondering how much longer she'll be. Pressing my ear close to the doorjamb I listen carefully for any clues.
What I hear makes me rest my head against the wall and sigh.
*********
"Thanks again for doing this, Harm. You didn't have to." He hasn't said too much, but he doesn't seem angry. Just disappointed. Frankly, I am, too, but there's nothing I can do about it. The situation can't be helped. Harm probably realizes that as well.
"Don't worry about it, Mac. It's easier for Jingo to get in and out of my car than it is yours. I just hope he's okay."
I sigh worriedly. "Me too." Mrs. Eckland came over to tell me she had taken him to the vet this morning after a couple seizures he had last night that had left him staggering, dizzy, and probably hungry, as Mrs. Eckland said he hasn't eaten, to her knowledge, since Wednesday.
"I'm sorry about this weekend, Harm. And tonight," I add softly. I really wanted tonight. And this weekend. I know he did, too.
"It's okay, Mac. I understand. You need to keep an eye on Jingo. I could probably use a shower and a few Z's, anyway."
I frown in disappointment. "You're not going to stay? You're more than welcome to, Harm."
"No, I'll go home and get a few things done there. You're probably exhausted, too, Mac. It's been a long week."
I turn my head away and stare out the window, feeling like I'm being fed excuses. What's even more irritating is a little voice in the back of my head saying he's probably right.
*********
Well, I'm back to my usual role in our relationship. That of "sayer-of-wrong-things" and "Ineffectual idiot".
She's annoyed and disappointed with me, and I'm annoyed and disappointed with me. The only who isn't, perhaps, is Jingo; he's lying on my backseat in a posture of happy discomfort. (Happy, because he's been released from the vet. Discomfort, because he's still not feeling well.)
I haven't said anything to her regarding my disappointment over tonight--or this weekend—and I know that's the problem. She keeps apologizing, and I keep reassuring her it's no big deal, but it is, and she knows it and I know it and for crying out loud, am I really so low as to put a missed chance for sex between us?!
I walk Mac and Jingo to their door, and make sure they both get settled in. I've got to do something here to set things right.
"Call me if you need anything, Mac." Lame, Rabb, lame.
She nods. "Thanks again, Harm." We both look at Jingo, who wags his tail feebly in gratitude as well.
"Well, I'd better get going."
Mac nods again, and I turn and head for the door. Two steps away I spin around again to find her right behind me and we both reach for each other.
Like every other time before, our kiss becomes quite involved, and we slowly start drifting back towards the couch, until Jingo's whimpering permeates our senses.
Argghh.
"Jingo!" Mac cries in dismay.
He's just wet the carpet.
TBC…