Author's Note: This fic entry is for the little one-shot moments that take place between fics 4 and 5 of the Damaged Goods series (which starts with Strikethrough and continues with Crossroads). I've not yet written fics 3, 4 or 5, but I have the whole Reller arc planed out, and even though Kurt and Remi start out in a very bad place, by this point, they've worked out some of their issues and they're even (kind of) starting to look like a real couple, though Remi is still based in Europe. So they will be a little softer with each other around this point in the timeline.
Stalling
Remi stays over at Kurt's place, and adjusts their boundaries a little, against her better judgment...
Written for StrayxMonarch's birthday - happy birthday! Sorry it's a few hours late, and I hope you like it!
"You know, I'm actually kind of impressed with us right now." Kurt grinned at Remi over the rim of his beer bottle.
She put down her empty takeout carton, unable to help but tense a little. He was about to say something that would ruin their fragile balance—she just knew it.
Kurt glanced at his watch. "You've been here about eight hours. We haven't physically attacked each other—"
Remi couldn't help but raise her eyebrow in amusement, despite her unease. "That's not how I remember it."
She hooked a finger into the collar of his Henley and pulled the stretchy fabric to one side, revealing the bruise her mouth had left on his shoulder. A barely perceptible shiver ran through him in response to her touch, and Remi's pulse quickened.
No. If she let her thoughts linger on the thorough welcome he'd given her when she'd arrived earlier that afternoon, she'd end up dragging him back to bed, and the action movie they were in the middle of over-critiquing was only half over. While they had something else to do, sex was better saved for a distraction tool, for when they inevitably had a clash of opinion. She let her hand drop back into her lap, making a fist as an extra safeguard against temptation.
"Okay, sex aside," Kurt amended, "we haven't physically attacked each other. Neither one of us has tried to storm off while the other was still naked. Conversational violence hasn't been above, I don't know—around four out of ten? And for us, that has to be near a record."
He looked so damn happy that part of her hated to bring his head down out of the clouds, even as the rest of her brain snapped at the bait he was dangling within easy reach. "If the bar for your relationship standards was any lower, it'd be on the floor."
"Huh, even your insults are aimed at yourself today—though I'm not a huge fan of people insulting my wife." Kurt took another swig from his bottle, his eyes on her more affectionate than guarded.
She scowled at him. "I have more than enough insults to go around. Don't start thinking I'm Jane again, or I'm out of here as soon as this movie finishes."
Mentioning his precious Jane was the easiest way to banish the worst of his delusional happiness—but as his wariness increased, so did Remi's guilt. The longer their unconventional relationship stretched on, the less comfortable she became with using that particular ammunition. It was almost too easy.
"I guess I brought that one on myself for daring to be happy you're around, huh?" His voice was mild, but the undercurrents of bitterness and resignation were clear.
"Not my fault you're so obsessed with a dead woman that you need a reality check every now and then," she snapped—and realised too late that her phrasing had left him with an open goal. Not to mention being unreasonably harsh. Fuck.
Waiting for the inevitable reminder that it had been her own decision to take the ZIP and become Jane, not to mention to delude him into thinking she was Taylor Shaw for the first few months of their acquaintance, she repositioned the throw pillow at the small of her back, just for something to do. But he didn't run with the opportunity to wound her in return.
When she glanced over, cautiously surprised, she found him gazing at her with one of those expressions that was so full of everything that she couldn't pick it apart. Exasperation, anger, pained love for Jane, emotional weariness, maybe? But it wasn't all negative emotions—she just couldn't define why it made a small part of her warm inside.
All she knew was that it made her ashamed and protective and annoyed all at once, and that made her cast around for a sharp enough verbal weapon to hurt him—again—in return. But no, she kept falling into this same goddamn cycle of wounding herself by slashing at him…
She growled under her breath, staring at the supposedly badass guys walking in slow motion away from a CGI explosion on the TV screen. Even by movie standards, it was unrealistic. Everyone knew that with explosions at that proximity, the heat and sound from the blast would knock someone to the ground, possibly shred them with shrapnel, and make them half deaf for at least a few hours. Not to mention the smoke they'd be choking on.
As she mentally tore apart the movie scene, the inner need to strike out at Kurt faded, and she could swallow enough of her discomfort to behave like a rational human being. "Sorry. I'm just…not good at this."
"It's been months since we started talking more regularly, and you still think I'm waiting for you to magically revert to being the way you were when we got married?" He reached for her hand. Apology accepted, apparently.
Remi closed her eyes in defeat. Why did she always feel so affected by such a simple touch? Being alone wasn't that bad. She'd been used to it during her decade in the military—being one of only a handful of female SEALs had meant she'd felt a responsibility to prove that she could be just as tough as the men around her. Even platonic displays of affection might be misconstrued as 'feminine weakness', so she'd cultivated and weaponised the standoffishness her terrible childhood had instilled in her, ensuring no one thought female SEALs were 'too emotional' or 'too much of a temptation' to be valuable assets.
But every time Weller took her hand, a spark leapt in her chest. Why the hell was that?
It would only rile her back up again if she thought about it too hard. She laced her fingers through his, reminding herself that he was too much of a sap to use the moment of weakness against her.
He'd asked her if she still expected him to be waiting for Jane to magically reappear, but there was no way she was opening that can of hornets, especially not when she was planning to crash at his place tonight.
The more she thought through the memories of her time as Jane, and the more she remembered the support and love she'd received from the team, the less comfortable she felt about her previous convictions. She was still sore about the way Shepherd had manipulated her—framed Douglas Winter for the leaked Daylight intel that had led to the destruction of her Orion team, so that she'd be angry enough to fall back into her family's arms—and how Kurt had logically assumed Remi been on board with Shepherd's addition of nuclear material to her Phase Two plans.
She didn't know what to believe anymore, and talking to Kurt about Jane would only lead to defensiveness on both sides.
"Change of subject?" she suggested, falling back on the one tried and true positive of their relationship. Sex was a way for them both to work out their frustration with each other without ruining their evening—even if it meant missing the rest of the movie. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"
The intensity in his eyes shifted focus, though she could have sworn she saw a flash of disappointment. Did he want to talk to her about Jane? But he'd just looked so hurt when Remi had brought her up…
But then he gave her a look that was both suggestive and uncertain. "There's something I've kind of been wanting you to let me do. But I haven't wanted to ask. I'm…not sure you'd be okay with it."
Remi stared at him, her brain running over possible scenarios. Throughout their sex life, they'd gotten pretty creative—the knife incident had led her to imagine all kinds of things, some of which she'd even persuaded him to do—so for him to be this hesitant seemed strange.
"Okay, well… Is it something you've done before?" With Jane? But she wasn't going there.
"That's the thing," Kurt said, sighing. "I used to do it with Jane, which is why I'm not sure you'd want to."
So much for not talking about Jane. "We've done a lot of things you did with her. So what makes this so scandalous?"
Despite herself, she was getting more curious by the second.
Kurt leaned over and kissed her, light and teasing. "Do I have your permission to try?"
"Try what?" Why wouldn't he be specific? Probably because he could tell she was intrigued, and he was enjoying himself way too much.
"Easier if I show you. Just…stop me if you don't like it." He leaned forward and put down his beer bottle, a small smile at the corners of his lips. "Move a little further towards the end of the couch?"
Remi obeyed, frowning. What the hell was this?
Breaking into a mischievous smile that made her heart leap traitorously, Kurt leaned down to rest his head in her lap, his face turned towards the TV screen. He relaxed there with a satisfied sigh. "Now you just take your hands and stroke them over my hair…"
The weight of his head against her thighs called dozens of memories back to the forefront of Remi's mind, of Jane watching TV with Kurt just like this—and with their positions reversed, her head in his lap. Despite how uncomfortable she was with the idea of letting Kurt pretend she was Jane, she couldn't help but break into soft laughter.
"You asshole," she said, trying to sound irritated as she gently slapped the side of his head.
"No, you're doing it wrong." He turned over so that he could look up at her from his new position, amusement on his face. Even so, his eyes were watchful—he had to know this was one of her trigger points, far more affectionate than she was used to letting him be outside of the bedroom.
"You let me think this was about sex. You deserve a little pain." She tugged on his short hair lightly, emphasising her point.
Whatever he saw in her eyes was reassuring enough for him to turn back to his original position, able to see the TV with his head in her lap. "Hey, I never mentioned sex. That was all you."
"You implied it."
Remi realised she was grinning, and immediately tried to force her facial muscles back into compliance—with limited success. After giving his hair one more tug, she rested one hand on the back of his neck and began to stroke her fingers across his scalp.
Kurt gave a wordless murmur she was more accustomed to hearing when she gave him head. "Mmm, that's so good. Don't stop."
There was no way he could see her face from this angle, so she let herself smile again, snickering a little at the way he'd played her. "For the record, I'm only doing this because I'm making it up to you for…bringing up the past." She couldn't bring herself to say Jane's name right now. Not when she was engaging in such Jane-like behaviour.
"Duly noted. And I'm very grateful." His voice held a lazy note now, as though he was very satisfied—or a little sleepy.
You should just make him get up now. He's had his fun, and this is way too intimate for what we have. You know he's just pretending you're her.
Yet the weight of his head in her lap was so familiar and calming, and his appreciation so evident, that she couldn't bring herself to shatter the moment. It would only make things awkward again, and besides, she just…wanted to stay this way for a while.
The realisation would have once sent her into ugly denial or even made her spiral into the beginnings of panic, resulting in a bitter argument as she tried to assert herself as Remi-not-Jane. Now, she only felt unease and sadness, which was tempered by the comfort his closeness was instilling in her.
She focused on the movie again, seeking a distraction from her conflicted emotions. "Pretty sure that guy was out of bullets about six shots ago," she said, returning to the movie critique they'd been engaging in while they ate.
It wasn't until Kurt relaxed a little more that she realised he'd been waiting for her to order him off her lap, tensed in readiness. "I thought that was just a perk of being in the military? Extra ammo that magically loads itself whenever you're empty?"
"I wish. I can think of a few situations where that would have come in very handy."
Kurt grunted agreement. "No kidding."
As they kept up a sporadic commentary, Remi continued to card her fingers through her husband's hair, fighting a growing melancholy that she hoped like hell Kurt wouldn't notice.
He might be more comfortable with her these days, but he'd never forget or stop yearning for Jane. Remi wasn't stupid. She knew half of his attachment to her was because while she was around, it was like Jane hadn't really gone. She looked like Jane, felt like Jane, sounded and tasted and smelled like Jane… Even if she would never be Jane, he'd just take what he could get, enduring her angry outbursts and their ideological differences, lowering his standards far below what he deserved because he was so caught up in pining for his beloved wife.
At least she was confident that he had no complaints with regards to sex. That was one area of their relationship where she knew she'd never fallen below Jane.
Even if it must always have meant more to him—emotionally speaking—with Jane. How could it not have done? He was still in love with her—and Jane had been very much in love with him.
But she didn't care what he felt for Jane. What mattered was that he kept their two identities separate in his head. And that Remi remembered that his need to have her around was always going to be about Jane first.
Remi was so far into her thoughts that when the credits rolled on-screen, she was honestly surprised at how fast the time had gone. She arched her back a little, working out the stiffness in her shoulders after a couple of hours of inactivity. "Well, that movie was completely predictable."
"Yeah. But worth it." He sat up slowly, remaining close as their eyes met. "You okay?"
Yes. No. Fuck you. I don't want to talk about it.
Focusing on the easiest way to make him stop trying to figure her out, she leaned in and gave him one of the slow, hard, provocative kisses guaranteed to send his train of thought crashing off his mental track. For good measure, she reached for his belt buckle, tugging playfully, then rubbing her palm over the growing ridge further down.
When she broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard, but though his desire was plain, he held himself back. Brushing his fingertips across her cheekbone, he said, "You know I don't expect anything, right?"
She frowned at him, genuinely confused. They'd already had sex once today, and it wasn't as though they didn't end up fucking every time they saw each other—whether they admitted that they wanted to or not. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean…" He swallowed hard, obviously distracted by her hand in his lap. "I know we started out just fucking and fighting. But if you don't want to talk, sex isn't your only option to get me to back off. You know that, right?"
"Kurt, you dragged my mind into the gutter and then rested your head in my lap for almost an hour. Do you want to have a conversation that will end up with us throwing punches, or do you want to fuck me?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Let's face it—that's not an either/or decision. We're gonna end up in bed either way."
Good point.
Remi bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to stifle a smile, and his expression brightened at her failure to keep a straight face.
"I love it when I can make you laugh."
Oh, don't even go there—
He kissed her again, and this time it was him in control, his technique a soft seduction that melted her last coherent thought—almost. Shaking herself free of his spell, she gave him a half-hearted scowl.
"I'll skip the punches if you skip the damn romance."
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his lap, as though she weighed nothing. "Deal."
As she pressed closer, tugging at his shirt as he kissed her hard, Remi knew she'd only bought herself a temporary reprieve. It would hopefully be a matter of months, not hours, but a couple of times tonight, he'd been nudging her towards something.
She'd stall for as long as he'd let her, and not only because she didn't want a heart-to-heart. As long as mind-blowing sex was an efficient way to distract him, why the hell would she pass that up?
END.