*I own nothing you recognize*
He can't help it, really- where his mind seems to travel when Tara's not near enough to touch, to drag his thoughts back to safer ground. With her here, he's solid; sure about who he is, what he is- what they are to each other. When they're apart though… Christ, he'd only been out of school an hour or so before he'd found himself parking over at Ope's and cutting his familiar path across the lawns to her window.
Normally, Jax would have been leaving the school parking lot on the Dyna- with Tara's arms wrapped around him and a stupid grin on his face. They'd have taken a ride out to Lodi, maybe- invited Donna and Ope to ride along, picked up some greasy tacos at the roadside stand along the way. Or maybe they'd have headed out to their tree, smoked up in its shadow as the afternoon sun heated their skin in tiny fragments, glancing off their backs whenever the breeze took a fancy to rustling the leaves above.
Most likely, though, they'd have wound up right back here on a Friday afternoon- in Tara's white, childhood four-poster, with nothing more than a sly whisper and a sheen of sweat between them. Laughing, talking, and teasing until their mutual desires carried them away altogether; whiling away the end of the week in their favorite fashion until exhaustion set in. Those times, he's only too happy to rest with Tara, sleepy, soft, and warm, curled up in his arms until the sun sank beneath the horizon. Those days, they only stir again when party over at a classmate's house or -better yet – SAMCRO, calls them back to the land of the living.
Today, though…
He's sinking into her bed and trying to ignore the faint hints of her that seem to surround him, filling his senses the longer he lies here. He'd climbed in through her window- even though Rick Knowles was nowhere to be seen and likely wouldn't be making his appearance until the end of the weekend forced him into enough sobriety to show his face at work on Monday morning- partly out of sheer force of habit, and partly because he hadn't wanted to risk alerting anyone, including Rick, Piney, or any other member of his family, blood or chosen, to his presence.
He can't put his finger on why, really. He's felt just short of lost all week- all month, actually, ever since this theater shit she'd signed up for at the last minute, citing a need to add more extracurriculars to her future applications (despite Jax's continued assertions that dragging him to class every day was more community service than any college professor had the right to expect of anyone). Until today, he'd simply reverted to the after-school activities he'd gotten himself up to before she'd come back to town and completely turned his world upside down.
He'd sauntered out to the parking lot most days, lit up with Ope- only to be promptly ditched with an apologetic shrug and a grin when Donna emerged from the school building and sent a sly, suggestive look Opie's way. He'd gone home some, cracked a beer, played Mario Kart- except wiping the floor with the computer's digital ass had proven a lot less fun, somehow, than getting his own ass whipped by Tara (or maybe it was the fact that he didn't mind losing the game of strip Kart they'd invented last year to keep things interesting- not when the winner somehow ended up naked, too). He'd even hung around the garage and clubhouse several times, but each time had found himself slow to laugh at even Kozik's funniest anecdotes, quicker to roll his eyes at Tig's bullshit, and only half-heartedly accepting a beer and a slab of Bobby's signature banana bread.
It's just that shit's different- better- with Tara by his side. He laughs longer, smiles easier, and breathes freer than he had since he was a fucking kid- before all the shit with Tommy, his old man, and definitely before he'd started feeling the distant, beckoning call of SAMCRO. When she's wrapped in his arms, all the other shit that's surfaced in his life, recently just seems… manageable. And when she's not, well…
Not only do his old demons come calling- the weight of the path his life is supposed to take, the looming expectations of his mother, his future brothers… Hell, it's more than that. When she's not with him, the reality of just how fucking different their paths are begins to creep in. How much she deserves to have something for herself, to chase the dream that's turned out to mean more to her than he'd ever imagined; he's just not sure how the fuck to make it all happen without blowing one of their hearts to smithereens in the process.
Nestling his head deeper into her pillow and closing his eyes against the late afternoon sun filtering in through her sheers, he pushes those thoughts away- something he doesn't have to do when she's with him. When she's here, scattering kisses on his jawbone, sifting her fingers through his hair, hell- just simply lying with him in the calm quiet- it's easy to ignore that niggling fear that's become ever-present in the far reaches of his mind. The fear that one day, she'll realize just how much more someplace else- someone else- has to offer.
Like the theater nerds back at CHS, Jax reflects, more bitterly than he's prepared to think too much about at the moment, and he's instinctually reaching for his pack of smokes before he remembers where he is- he can't light up in here, no matter how much she loves him. He contents himself with extracting his lighter, letting the click of the top and the strike of the flint distract him momentarily from the uncomfortable truth- that his girl's likely in her element with a group of kids their age with the same drive, the same goals she has. Worse, guys from prominent families, able and more than willing to go off and spend the better part of a decade in a classroom right along with her. Christ, even now, some smug asshole could be-
Christ, Teller… is all his psyche can come up with to answer this most recent line of insecure bullshit. What the hell happened to you? His future brothers have been ribbing him about Tara for what seems like forever. Well, it's actually not Tara herself- most of them fucking love her, especially after she'd had the balls to tell them all what they'd most needed to hear months ago during what had turned out to be one of the worst times in the club's history. They don't give him shit for dating the most beautiful girl in the world (Christ, why would they?) but they have plenty to say about just how hopelessly, how completely he'd fallen for her, preferring to keep her with him no matter what the occasion.
Pussy whipped just about covers it, Jax thinks wryly, though he smirks to himself at the thought of the very part of Tara that had inspired the term. But if the guys had any idea, any inkling of how it feels to have Tara Knowles' love- and not just the physical- he knows good and goddamn well they wouldn't be saying shit. Not when she owns him completely, heart and soul, to the point where he's passing up racing through the streets of Charming on the bike of his dreams to slink through her window and sink into her sheets when she isn't even fucking here.
Well, maybe they'd have something to say about that shit after all.
Jesus, it's just about time, Jax realizes as his vision focuses on the alarm clock on Tara's nightstand- the one that woke him up this morning and just about every other morning since he'd made it a habit to spend his nights wrapped up in her. He'd attempted to occupy his time every afternoon for the last six weeks or so, even more begrudgingly done the same every goddamn night this week during the actual performances of the play Tara had secured a dual understudy/backstage shit role in. But how the hell they hadn't taken one look at her- listened to her sweet, musical voice for one second- and immediately awarded her the lead fucking role, is beyond him.
But for tonight, he'd semi-reluctantly taken Donna's advice and shelled out the five bucks to actually attend the final performance itself- if only to spend an additional hour or two with Tara nearby and put in the prerequisite boyfriend effort, even though she won't be on the actual stage. Then, he can take his girl somewhere- preferably, dark and private- to celebrate the end of what's seemed like the longest month and a half of his life so far.
Opie and Donna are waiting for him in the parking lot, thank Christ- preppy shit like school plays are so not in his wheelhouse. He's toting a bouquet of something purple and sweet-smelling he knows for a fact Tara's mom used to cultivate in the flower bed in front of her house. Now, of course, that shit's long dead- and Ope's gonna be, based on the shit-eating grin he's sending Jax's way.
"You pick those outta the ditch on your way over here?" Ope says, dodging an elbow from Donna in the process.
Knock it off, baby, I think it's sweet." Donna narrows her eyes, dangerously. "When's the last time you-"
"Aaand, you can stop that line of questioning right there," Ope smirks, dropping a quick kiss on Donna's nose. "You only made the programs and hung the posters, so I still can't believe I got roped into coming to this shit at all." Donna rolls her eyes.
"I only made you come because it's the only way I could figure to-"
She stops, abruptly, biting her lip, and Jax has to laugh.
"The only way you knew I'd show up," he tosses out a guess, shaking his head ruefully at Donna's answering blush. "Well, I'm here, darlin'- you've officially done your 'best friend' good deed for the year."
"Yeah, thanks a fucking lot for that," Opie deadpans, before a grin curls his lips. "But it's probably a good thing you're here- I hear this play is realllllly romantic. And with Tara the understudy for the lead, who knows what could happen on-stage-"
"It's fucking Peter Pan, bro," Jax scoffs, though he punches Ope in the shoulder just becuase he can. "Kid stuff."
"Lost Boys- and lots of 'em," Opie corrects, rubbing his shoulder, his grin veering into something the other side of sinister. "Plus, the school's newest preppy pretty boy in tights- ow! Alright, dick-"
There's a brief, good-natured scuffle, which Jax somehow manages to escape with Tara's flowers relatively unscathed. When the dust settles, Donna's got her arms crossed- eerily reminiscent of none other than Gemma herself.
"You done?" she implores, raising a small wrist to indicate that their time, evidently, is getting short. And she's turning on a heel and headed for the entrance, leaving Jax and Opie to scramble behind her.
Ope reaches her first, dropping an arm over her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Sorry babe- if I gotta show up here for him, you know I'm gonna get some fun out of it." Jax doesn't know what, exactly, Donna murmurs in return as she angles her face up to Opie's, but he'd swear it was something like I told you, the fun will come after the play. He rolls his eyes, ready to get this shit over with so he can spend time with his girl.
"C'mon, lovebirds. Let's go watch some men in tights."
He's slouched in a uncomfortable chair in the back row of CHS's cramped auditorium, reading over the program for about the fifth time and trying to ignore Ope's grumbling, when Donna practically trips over both he and Ope to get back to her seat. She'd apparently had to hand out programs or some shit before the beginning of the show, but now she's back- wide-eyed and half out of breath. Opie, ever attuned to his girl's rare mood shifts- and how they might affect him- straightens in concern, but Donna leans right across her boyfriend the moment her ass hits the chair, grinning.
"Jax. Holy shit-"
"What?" He can't help but ask, though the word's barely out of his mouth before Donna's practically erupting.
"So I was in the green room- uh, the room where the cast gets ready before-"
"I know what a green room is, Don-"
"Anyway, I was getting the programs for the ushers to hand out, and the cast was sitting right there and everyone's freaking the fuck out. I guess Jenny Hale- she's the female lead, Wendy Darling? The girl who befriends Peter Pan? Well, Amanda Bradford said she was in-costume, putting on her stage makeup and then, bam!" Donna smacks her open palm with a fist, causing Jax- and a few people nearby- to start, slightly and drawing sharp glances from several drama students lining the edges of the auditorium directly behind them.
"She freaking throws up, all over everything. So she can't take the stage like that, obviously- even though her mom practically had to drag her out of the green room to take her home- and the costume is just ruined… and that means…" Donna pauses dramatically, gray-blue eyes fixed on Jax's, expectantly.
"Uh… we get out of here without having to sit through a play?" Jesus, this is more than he'd hoped for; suddenly, the rest of his evening begins filling in, starting with retrieving Tara from the side entrance to the school, pressing her up against the cool brick, and claiming the mouth that's been on his mind ever since he left her in last period Physics hours before. He shifts a bit in his seat at the thought, and then Donna's rolling her eyes and bolting forward to lightly smack him on the side of the face- twice, and in rapid succession.
"Jesus, Jax- focus. Haven't you ever heard the most well-known phrase in show business? The show must go on? Every one of the major cast members has an understudy to take over in case they can't go on-stage, and obviously, there's no way in hell Jenny's gonna play Wendy when she's too busy puking her guts out halfway across town. And guess who is the understudy for Jenny- uh, Wendy?" This time, Jax doesn't need a smack upside the head to catch on, and he, Donna and Opie- who's been looking on in interest- answer Donna's question in unison.
"Tara."
Donna lets out a little squeal Jax doesn't think he's ever heard from her before, and his mouth kicks up in amusement.
"Isn't it exciting? Tara in a lead role, actually getting to perform what she's been practicing for all these weeks- Jesus, aren't you glad I got you guys to come tonight? What if-"
"Thank you for makin' me come, darlin'," Jax soothes, grinning at the prospect of actually getting to see Tara on-stage. Christ, at least they'd be in the same room one evening this week, and with any luck, the next couple hours will pass even more quickly than he'd thought- things are definitely looking up.
Satisfied, Donna beams at him, then Ope, who slouches even further into his seat and drapes an arm across the back just as the lights dim once, twice.
Showtime.
Mere minutes into the play and Jax is already bored as some preppy fuck he's never bothered to cross paths with emotes awkwardly to some freshman playing his kid. There's a reason he doesn't come to this shit, he reminds himself, and next time Donna tries to talk him into some townie, rah-rah school function, he really needs to-
All thoughts cease- his brain emptying of every last bit of ire- as every cell in his body is drawn physically, elementally, forward. There, center stage, is the girl who's haunted his visions, filled his days, made his life instantly, invariably better... Tara.
He'd been unprepared for just how she'd look up there on the stage, how visceral his reaction would be to seeing her this way… which is, fucking amazing. She's wearing a filmy, blue nightgown Jax knows for damn sure wasn't in the cartoon version of Peter Pan- but then, they'd had to replace the actual Wendy costume with something, last-minute, he supposes. It skims over her shoulders, baring a flash of porcelain skin and delicate collarbone before swooping under her full breasts with a tiny little bow Jax doubts anyone else in the audience can manage to make out from the crowd– and if they're looking that hard, his knuckles are gonna find a new home in somebody's face.
Somehow, her hair's even better. He's always loved tangling his fingers in its warmth, feeling its substantial heft in his hands- always thick and silky. But under the lights tonight, it's almost...ethereal, tumbling over her shoulders in a mass of chestnut curls that has him itching to bury his nose in her fragrant warmth and just breathe her in.
But to do that, he'd have to miss out on the parts of her he loves best of all- the soft green eyes that have owned him probably since he was a fucking kid and those delectable pink lips. Tonight, there's an unfamiliar- but altogether welcome- rosy sheen that makes him think of stolen afternoons with those lips wrapped wet, soft, and hot around him. She's everything he's ever wanted, every plan for his future, and the only thing he knows he can't afford to lose, no matter the cost.
He's helpless to do anything but watch as the crowd falls away, until it seems like she's there just for him, those mossy eyes searching the crowd momentarily before alighting on his and sending that gorgeous, heart-stopping smile spreading from cheek to cheek as a faint pink blush tints each. And as the minutes tick away, he couldn't say, really, what the hell the play's even about. The other characters seem to revolve about her, flitting around the edges of his consciousness because nothing fucking matters except the pounding in his heart, and the buzzing in his veins as his girl moves gracefully across the stage and slips beneath the covers of a bed– which, ironically, is where he'd have preferred to keep her all day today.
Buzzing in his veins that's abruptly cut short minutes later, when some tall guy climbs through her window- and the irony is not lost on Jax. Warily, he watches as the guy- Peter Pan, apparently, though at pushing 6 ft tall and strapping, this guy's looking a lot closer to one of those lacrosse douchebags than some flying boy in tights- searches the bedroom on the stage for a moment before joining Tara on the bed. Stiffening, Jax's ears perk up, the actual words emanating from the stage finally filtering through the haze of arousal she always inspires in him and into his consciousness.
"What's your name?" boy wonder asks.
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," Tara states, primly, and Jax winces- he'd never liked the name Wendy, for some reason, doesn't like to think of his girl as anyone but Tara. "What is yours?"
"Peter Pan," the guy returns, ducking his head and reaching to take Tara's hand.
"You good with that rubbin' up on Tara?" He hears Ope chuckle, softly.
Ignoring him, Jax continues his scrutiny of the guy. Christ, he's got to be eighteen, at least- the only boyish part of him is the mop of dark hair that drapes over his eyes, and now he's looking up through it in bare adoration as the exchange continues. Then, they're shifting, rising off the bed- thank fucking God- working through the familiar bit he remembers from the cartoon version where she sews Peter's shadow onto his feet, and Jax relaxes a bit, momentarily.
It doesn't last long. As the scene proceeds, Jax can't help but notice that the fucker can't seem to keep his hands to himself. Here, he moves a strand of her hair away from her face- there, a hand at the small of her back. It isn't enough to be overtly obvious to anyone else, he thinks- but when it comes to Tara Knowles, the list of shit Jax doesn't notice is brutally short… especially when it comes to assholes with wandering hands.
Who the hell is this guy? More importantly, who the fuck does this guy think he is? Quickly, Jax flips through the program, squinting as his eyes adjust, once again, to the darkness of the auditorium. Rosen… Jason Rosen. He makes a mental note to ask Ope about him later, but there's only one goddamn Rosen he can think of, and that's the club's longtime lawyer. Whether the guy has a douchebag kid or not is another fucking story.
And so goes the scene, with Jax gritting his teeth one moment, when Tara offers to give Peter Pan a kiss- then thinking maybe he's fucking crazy the next when she's presenting the guy with a thimble retrieved from a nearby dresser instead. Then, things take a steep fucking nosedive into dangerous territory.
"Now shall I give you a kiss?" Peter/Rosen asks, seemingly unable to stop himself from resting a hand on her knee.
"If you please," Tara returns primly, extending her hand and turning it up to receive her trinket. Instead, Peter Pan- Rosen… that dead fuck, whatever his name is- simply captures her hand and lays a gentle kiss on the inside, folding it closed around it. To Jax's horror, the kiss/thimble wordplay shit continues, with Tara offering to give him a thimble, then actually pressing a kiss to Pan's cheek.
"Now, shall I give you a thimble?" And with that, Peter/Rosen steps closer, gripping Tara about the waist to briefly press her to him and zero in for a kiss- inadvertently hitting her cheek when she's spurred into action, clearly by whatever had been in the script. To his credit, the seemingly ever-present rage Jax always seems to have to tend to keep to a negligible simmer doesn't completely boil over until he's able to make sense of the furious whispers rising from the drama students along the wall behind him.
"The hell's he doing?"
"He isn't supposed to actually kiss her, is he?"
And the worst:
"He didn't try that with Jenny Hale."
And on and on it goes through acts one and two... the little touches, the brief grazes of Tara's skin… until suddenly, the slip of a nightgown that had been downright tame at the beginning of the show- though still nothing short of tantalizing to Jax just because it's on her- seems fucking scandalous. Just how old is this Wendy supposed to be, anyway? And was it really necessary to send Tara- his girl- out on stage with this fucking douchebag while basically wearing fucking lingerie?
He's lost between the whispers ricocheting behind him and this asshole taking liberties with his girl- and on a fucking stage, of all places; feeling the tension coiling in his gut refuse to lessen even as he grips the seat of the metal folding chair so hard he has a brief, irrational thought that it might bend. So lost, in fact, that he barely notices the lights coming back up, doesn't move until Donna's leaning across Ope once again, placing a tentative hand on his arm.
"Jax-" Instinctually, he pulls away from her touch. "It's just a play-"
"You heard what they said," he counters, flatly, jerking his head at the retreating drama kids behind them. It's not a question, but Donna nods, silently, and Jax looks away, catching Opie's expression in the process- now void of all traces of humor. Quickly, he stands, needing to go somewhere, do something before he makes a beeline backstage to put Jason fucking Rosen in a headlock. "I gotta get some air."
Outside, the spring night air is fresh, clean- but Jax wastes no time heading around the building away from the watchful eyes of parents and teachers and lighting a cigarette. In seconds, he's putting it to his lips and drawing the smoke deep within his lungs, mostly in an attempt to banish his rising anger. The thought of watching Tara get touched by anyone that wasn't him would have his teeth setting on edge even if it had been part of the requirements of the script- but he's not such an asshole that he'd have lost his shit about some acting… at least he doesn't think he is.
No, finding out that this Rosen prick had gone off-script to quell some apparent fascination with his girl is another story altogether. Jax takes another deep drag, aware on some level that he's only got a few minutes before he has to go back inside, seriously considers not going back in at all and saving himself from having to watch Peter fucking Pan illicitly touch his girl… then banishes the thought immediately. Mostly, because the only thing worse than watching the guy rub up on his girlfriend for another goddamn hour is not knowing what's going down. Fucking great.
He's halfway through his hasty cigarette when motion catches his eye- an odd figure, moving through the night towards a cage parked near the side entrance. Whoever it is, is carrying something spends some time rooting around in the backseat before shoving it into the backseat itself as Jax looks on, half-interested, though he can't explain why. Actually, at this point, it's probably all about the distraction- anything to give his blood pressure a chance to settle a bit so he can put his focus back where it needs to be. Idly, he runs a hand over his face, resting his head against the brick as the figure closes the door and circles to the trunk, stepping into the yellow flood of the parking lot light in the process.
Peter Fucking Pan.
Jax crosses half the distance separating them before he even realizes what's happening, where he's going, what he's planning- Christ, there is no plan, all he knows is that this prick is going to pay.
"Hey man," Rosen tosses out casually as Jax nears- evidently oblivious to his menacing stride, the cigarette hanging from his mouth, and the homicidal glint that's got to be in his eyes. "We still got time before int- hey!" That last bit is expelled as a surprised huff of breath as Jax grabs him by the green, leafy front of his costume and whirls them both around to shove him up against the rear door of the sleek, black Volvo.
Jax doesn't say anything for a long, drawn-out moment, simply assesses the prettyboy before him; they're fairly evenly matched, actually- the guy's just as tall as him, pretty well-built, too. But as Rosen's mouth opens in shock and anger, Jax realizes he's got one thing working for him that his opponent doesn't- pure, hot, invigorating rage. Swiftly, he presses a forearm against the guy's neck, freeing a hand to retrieve his cigarette from his lips and drop it at Rosen's feet, grinding it out against the guy's brown costume boots.
"Nice tights, asshole." He can't help himself- he really can't.
"The fuck's your problem man-"
"Oh I don't have a problem," Jax smirks, needing the guy to hear what he's got to say before he finally gives in to the monster rising within, the force telling him to send anyone that touches Tara- messes with his girl- into oblivion with his own two fists. "Matter of fact, I think you've got the problem here, bro." He takes a step closer, watches as Rosen's eyes flit around the deserted side lot, his smirk growing sinister as the guy realizes they're alone. "See, you've got a problem keeping your hands to yourself. And now, you've got a problem with me."
"My hands? Wh-"
"Tara," Jax spits out, hating for some reason that he's even got to say her name in this situation. "Puttin' your hand on her thigh, your stubby fuckin' fingers on her back? Ring a bell?" At this, Rosen actually has the audacity to chuckle.
"Tara? I barely touched her, it's just acting- it ain't my fault we've got chemistry-" Sneering, Jax grinds his Nike into the guy's instep, crowding him further against the cage.
"Yeah, see, now normally, I'd buy your line of bullshit- what you prissy actors do isn't really my concern. 'Cept… you and everyone in that damn theater know that this shit's off-script. Which is why, turns out, you've got a fuckin' problem." Maddengly, Rosen's leery smile widens.
"So you got a thing for Knowles too, huh? Can't say I blame you- shes a fuckin' knockout. It's just too bad she wasn't in the role the rest of the-"
"Shut. Up." Jax manages to bite out. "You're gonna wanna keep your hands off her, or-"
"Who the fuck do you think you are? And don't even bother with your Jax fucking Teller SAMCRO bullshit." Rosen shakes his head, despite the tight grip Jax has on his shirt and their close proximity, ignoring the frown that briefly crosses Jax's face at the revelation that the guy knows who he is- and just doesn't care.
"Is that right…" Jax responds, menacingly (he hopes).
"Yeah, see, I know you aren't gonna beat the fuck outta me, because if you do… For one, my old man might feel a little differently about keeping your father's fucking gang out of prison. For another- you really think the way into little miss Tara's heart is by beating up her co-star?" Rosen smirks, triumphantly, having played his trump card. "When a girl like her is in the market for a boyfriend, what she wants is a guy that can talk Shakespeare, not Chevrolets."
Jax's sneer doesn't falter, despite the fact that his mind's spinning in all sorts of directions. Shit, Rosen might be right- on all accounts. Still, Jax can't stop himself from driving his fist deep into the guy's gut, relishing the way the pained grunt has him doubling over and manages to wipe all the cocksure bluster right off his face.
"See, that's where you're wrong," Jax growls, pulling Rosen upright by his shirt- satisfied, finally by the hint of fear in his eye. "Tara's mine- been mine since long before your stupid fuckin' play. And you touchin' her? That ends, here." He shoves Rosen back against the Volvo, wheezing, and the guy lifts his hands in momentary surrender as the sconce lights lining the side of the school building dim, briefly, then brighten.
"We done?" Rosen snarks, glaring. "I'm about to miss my call time."
"Guess so," Jax returns, lightly, unable to keep himself from raising his chin in a final fuck you as he backs away, smirking. "Break a fuckin' leg."
The second act, thank fucking God, isn't nearly as rage-inducing as the first. For one, he's saved somewhat by the addition of the Lost Boys and numerous other characters onto the stage, drastically cutting down on Tara and Rosen's stage interactions. For another, he's noticed the way Rosen seems to be scanning the crowd, has to admit it has him feeling a little- okay a lot- smug at the thought of their little conversation sticking in the guy's mind.
The lights had been fully dimmed by the time he'd come back inside, sparing him from answering any questions from Ope or Donna. Ope had just raised his brows, inscrutable as always, and Donna had just seemed relieved he'd returned at all. And for the most part, so is Jax; he's been able to sit back and enjoy nearly a full hour of his girl on-stage, flushed with excitement and looking somehow even more spectacular than usual. Jesus, just the sight of her twirling up there, her hair floating like a cloud around that impossibly gorgeous face has him adjusting himself (and ignoring Opie's less than amused snorts).
In that respect, he knows he's no better than Rosen, or fucking Hale or any other clown that's tried to catch her attention in the several months she'd been back in Charming- knows he's pretty much a walking fucking hormone when it comes to her. Christ, he's worse, since he knows how fucked up it is to be sitting in a performance of Peter fucking Pan with a goddamn hard-on- let alone the fact that he'd just finished threatening Pan himself with bloody violence.
All this, he's more than aware of, and it's all a part of the patchwork of fears that begin to assemble when he's not with her. Worse, he knows that it's probably pretty fucked up to need someone as much as he needs her- especially at sixteen. It's just that if he's faced with a decision between this inexplicable, soul-deep connection he knows in his clearest moments she returns with just as much vigor- and, well… whatever his other option is? He's picking her every time, and fuck the consequences.
The show ends with Peter Pan returning to Neverland without Tara- since she has children and a husband, of her own... a scenario that sounds pretty fucking good to Jax. It starts him on a whole tangent of thoughts that begins and ends with all the fun things they could get up to on some deserted beach somewhere… or maybe in some hidden cave near Niagara Falls, or-
And then the crowd is applauding, crescendoing more and more as the major actors walk out on-stage and take their bows, reaching a peak as Tara and Rosen appear, together. At the edge of the stage, Rosen takes a quick bow, then steps back as Tara receives her due. Jax finds himself on his feet, along with Opie, Donna, and several other members of the audience, and Tara blushes as a chorus of hoots and whistles erupts, joined by Ope and a few of the drama nerds behind them. She finds Jax again almost immediately, blows him a kiss that has that big stupid grin he only seems to wear in her presence spreading across his face.
It disappears just as quickly when Rosen, too, finds him in the crowd and- donning a grin of his own- catches Tara's hand in his to join him in a final bow. As they rise, he pulls her closer and- under the guise of congratulating her himself- draws his lips close to her ear. What he whispers, Jax doesn't know; what he does know is that it's no accident when those lips drag across Tara's cheekbone on their way to her mouth, where he presses two, lingering kisses right at its corner. And he knows it's no accident because Rosen holds his gaze- steady, defiant- for every. Last. Second.
The Jax of a year ago probably would have leapt over the rows of folding chairs, pushed his way through the crowd, hopped up on the stage so he could pummel the Rosen prick with his own two hands- teachers and parents be damned. And to some extent, he wishes he would have- he can't think of much that would be more satisfying than to drive his fists into that smug asshole's face… repeatedly. Instead, though, he's standing here- in the hallway outside the girls' changing room- because of the one thing he'd come up with that beat meting out bloody violence to dickheads that would touch his girl and grin at him while doing it… the one thing in his life that made everything better… the one person present whose opinion of him truly mattered at the end of the day.
And as Tara emerges from the throng of girls streaming in and out of the changing room- looking somehow even more delectable than she had on stage, even in a pair of denim shorts and a baby tee with Peter Pan emblazoned across the front- he can no more stop himself from going to her than he can stop breathing.
"Hey baby," comes her clear, sweet voice, somehow back to the reserved, collected girl he knows so well even after her turn on the stage. He's kissing her before he can reply, needing, somehow, to do that first- convey what he feels for her without words because that's always how they've reached each other best. It's a series of plucking, short kisses, actually- punctuated by the sweet meeting of their tongues that always fires his blood and has him seeking more of her- but she's pulling away before he's really had enough, blushing and reaching up to rub a thumb against his lips.
"You shouldn't- we shouldn't-" she giggles and clears her throat. "I mean, I'm still wearing some of my stage makeup- even though they kept it minimal because I was playing a young girl, I wouldn't want to mark you." He barely hears what she's saying- he's too focused on the alluring hint of eyeliner, her impossibly long, dark lashes, and the way the lipstick makes her lips look even softer, somehow plumper than usual.
"You were great, babe- I bet the idiot that didn't cast you to begin with was kicking himself when he saw what he could've had all along." Along with every guy in the auditorium. And on the fucking stage. If possible, Tara blushes further and waves a hand, dismissing his praise. Then, her eyes alight on the bouquet in his hands- somehow, he'd managed to avoid crushing them the whole time he was imagining crushing Jason Rosen's throat, and had wisely left them at his seat at intermission.
"Are those for me?"
"You know it, babe." Gingerly, Jax places the flowers in her arms, keeping her close and noticing for the first time that she's already carrying a few single roses, too. Probably best he doesn't know who the hell those came from. "You ready to get outta here?" Drawing back a bit, Tara bites her lip.
"I want to, baby- I so want to, but…" Christ, she's killing him- all he wants to do is get her alone, somewhere, and put this whole six weeks, especially tonight, behind him.
"But?" Jax prods, gently, threading his fingers through hers- unable to stop touching her now that she's near him again. Tara sighs.
"Well, it's just that tonight's the last night of the play, so we're striking the set and having a cast party. I was going to just skip the whole thing, but since I closed the show as Wendy, I should kinda be there, you know?" Sighing, Jax manages to bite back the groan he thinks he can feel on a soul-deep level.
"I guess I can see what Ope and Donna are up to for an hour or so-"
"That's the other thing… Donna's on the play committee, so she's going, too. And she got Opie to agree to help carry the set pieces back into the annex, so…" When the hell had Donna found the time to con Opie into attending a party full of theater nerds? He'd just left them ten minutes ago. Correctly reading his question, Tara laughs. "Donna works fast- she was the one who reminded me about the cast party."
"Remind me to thank Donna later," Jax grumbles, already plotting his revenge.
"You can thank her at the party- because you're coming too." The last thing he'd wanted to do tonight was sit and watch a performance of Peter Pan- though it had quickly turned into an event he has to admit he's glad he hadn't missed. Now, though- the last fuckin' thing he wants to do is go sit with a bunch of-
"You coming Tara? We're all meeting back in the auditorium now- can't have the cast party without the belle of the ball." Jax turns toward the voice echoing up the quickly emptying hallway behind him, only to find Rosen- sans tights and boots, and shooting Tara his best smile. Evidently freshly showered, Rosen's sporting a CHS Lacrosse hoodie- Jesus Christ, called that one- and looking at his girl like she's his next meal.
Instinctively, Jax pulls her closer as Rosen passes by them, as if the guy's going to reach out and touch what isn't his right here in the hallway. Tara, on the other hand, has a friendly smile like she always does; it appears that, just as with all the other guys in the school that have taken an interest in her since she's been back, she's either unaware or dismissive of his affections.
"Be there in a minute!" is all she responds, earning a nod and a wide smile from Rosen.
It isn't until he's safely on the other side of them, ambling towards the exit beyond and out of Tara's line of vision, that he acknowledges Jax with a smirk and a middle finger.
"Teller."
Didn't I tell you to break a fuckin' leg, earlier?
"C'mon, baby," Tara's voice once again drags him from the cusp of homicide, and she captures his attention- and his hand- with her free one. "I'm going to stash this stuff in my locker and then we can head into the party…" She shoots him a seductive look- his favorite look- bites her full bottom lip and peers up at him through those thick, thick lashes, "So we can hurry up and get the hell out of here and be alone." The note of strain in her voice matches the way he's been feeling all afternoon, and all evening as well, has him trailing along after her instead of bitching about their change of plans.
Really, he thinks as he follows her down the darkened hallways and leans up against someone's locker, his willingness to be with her wherever the night might lead stems from the way she loves him, makes him feel whole, like he's worth a shit. Hell, it probably carries back to where his wandering mind tries to go when she's not around… but he's analyzed their connection enough tonight. Especially with the way her ass looks right now as she bends down to work the combination to her locker, the bottom half of a bank of two.
Silently pushing himself away from his vantage point across the hallway, Jax can't seem to resist moving to stand behind her, can't seem to stop himself from running his palms over her curves. Tara straightens almost immediately, and just when he thinks she'll laugh, maybe slap his hands away, she drops her head to rest on his chest instead. Encouraged, he kneads her plump ass with both hands, nudges her head to the side so he can burrow into her neck, find the place where her pulse jumps and see just how much he can ratchet it up before she pulls away.
Finding it- a little surprised at the rapid fluttering he finds there already, he sucks gentle kisses in the place her heart beats for him, lets his hands slide around the curve of her hip and up the graceful planes of her body. Her chest is heaving as well, and as he ghosts his fingertips through the valley between her breasts before covering one with a large hand, he finds the hard peak of her nipple, budding in its arousal through her soft shirt.
Stifling a groan into the hidden hollow of her neck, Jax presses against her, molding her body to his own. It isn't enough, though- not even close to being enough to ease the aching throb of his cock- but he wonders, idly, just how far she'll let him go, here in the hallway where anyone might find them. Partially to test her and partially to dull the intense need to hold her- to have her- he's been swamped with all fucking day, he slides his other hand around, pressing on the center of her warmth through the thin denim, holding her fast so he can show her every inch of how much he needs her.
And it's still not enough, pressing his denim-covered cock right there between the soft globes of her ass- Christ, he'll never get enough of her, doesn't shy away from telling her so nearly every time they're together, especially like this. And in the moment, his mind can't help but stray, briefly, to Rosen, Hale, and all the other assholes that have never- will never- know what it's like to call Tara Knowles theirs.
As he strokes her through her jeans, a low, sultry moan breaks the silence, breaks into his thoughts of irrelevant dickheads, has him pulsing against his fly and wishing it was her soft skin. He presses his fingers to her again, and again a ragged sound escapes her lips-
"Jackson…" is all she manages to say before he's covering her mouth with his, stroking her tongue with his own with a fervor he can't seem to reel in. Desperate to claim her, make her his, he slips one hand into her panties, unable to stop his groan at what he finds there. Seizing her plump lower lip between his teeth in a conscious effort not to say it- not to sound like an inexperienced idiot- he ends up whispering the words into her mouth anyway.
"Jesus Tara…" he punctuates his words with soft nips and teasing kisses, scattered about her lips, setting a rhythm in time with the way his fingers are grazing her swollen bud. "So wet, babe… is that all for me?"
Her head comes up at that, alert where it had been lolling against his chest, and she turns abruptly in his arms. Really, it had been a passing comment- some subconscious admittance of where his mind's been practically all day now- with this need to claim her, keep the rest of the assholes at bay… but she blows him away for the umpteenth time in their lives when she fists his hair in her hands and pulls him down for a harsh kiss, tangling her tongue with his and sucking his own lower lip into her mouth before she responds.
"Everything I have is yours, baby. Always." And before he can respond, she's seizing his hand and tugging him along after her- leaving her locker hanging open to practically drag him down the dark hallway once again. This time, though, they stumble even further into the depths of the school, and after a few twists and turns, he realizes where they're headed.
The library's lit only by the two exit signs and the yellow glow from the parking lot lights outside, but none of that matters since Jax's eyes had long since adjusted to the dark. Even if they hadn't, he's pretty sure he'll have this vision burned into his mind's eye for years to come- Tara, perched atop the old, wooden research table, face flushed, curls wild, and looking at him as though she'd rather die than stop touching him. So, he obliges, unbuttoning and unzipping her jean shorts, pulling the denim and her panties down in one fell swoop and letting them fall where they may. Just as quickly, her delicate hands are stroking him through his jeans- sending his grunt echoing through the large room- then working his fly.
Normally, he'd take her slowly- maybe dip his head between her thighs, savor the taste of her or make her come with his fingers first- but he's out of control, desperate, not to mention in a school building with both teachers and students somewhere below… So in the end, when she finally works his fly open and frees his cock, yanks his jeans down below his ass, he simply grips its base, aligns himself with her wet heat, fuses his mouth to hers and finally finally buries himself inside her like he's wanted since they left the bed this morning.
A thousand and one thoughts explode in his mind- how wet she is, how good she feels, how much he loves her, how much he's needed this- her- all fucking day… but a ragged "Christ, Tara…" is all he can manage to say as he pulses his hips against hers, over and over again.
Tara can't seem to formulate words, either, choosing instead to scatter sucking kisses onto his neck, scrape her teeth across his pulse point and then soothe it with a brush of her lips. Almost in response, he pushes her shirt up, drags the cups of her bra down one at a time so he can roll a tight bud between his fingers, eliciting another heated groan at long last.
And it's perfect- fucking, fucking perfect; the tight, wet friction, the sharp sting of her lips at his neck, the rasp of her nipples against his greedy hands, the way she rubs her clit against him with each stroke. He sets his pace, rocks his hips against hers until he's gasping for breath and close to the edge- but before he can move to bring her along with him, she's surprising him all over again, guiding his head to her stiff, pink nipples. She arches against him in ecstasy as he sucks one into his eager mouth, biting it lightly before moving to its twin- and she's gasping and shuddering in his arms by the time his lips wrap around her, breathing his name into his tangled hair before pulling his lips up to meet hers.
"God, Jackson… come for me, baby," she murmurs against his mouth.
As if that's all that was missing, her words and the sweet undulations of her body push him over the edge. Hips stuttering, shoulders shaking, he anchors his shaking hands in the cloud of curls at the base of her scalp and presses into her one last time, coming so hard he swears he sees stars.
Suddenly, the words come to him, filtering their way from his lust-sated brain to his kiss-swollen mouth- not too late… it's never too late since he's just spent the past several minutes showing her, plans on spending the next seventy years of his life making sure she always knows… but he's got to give them to her just the same.
"I love you, Tara."
And that gorgeous smile and those shining eyes answer him before her voice does.
"I love you too, Jackson."
The stage is half-disassembled already when they finally make their way down to the auditorium- like Jax gives a shit. It's all worth it, though, to see the brief scowl Ope shoots him as he shuffles by with one end of what looks like the nursery door. Jax just smirks in return, pulling Tara close and dropping a brief kiss on the top of her head, scanning the party for any signs of Rosen the dickhead.
Seeing none, he focuses instead on Donna, who seems to be making a beeline their way. She draws up to a stop before them, flustered.
"Jesus Christ, you two. Where have you been?" Beside him, Tara opens her mouth, but Donna cuts her off, holding up a hand. "Never mind- I don't think I wanna know. But, uh… Jax?" He raises an eyebrow in question, and she gestures towards her own neck. "You might want to uh…" Mortified, Tara turns in his arms, her gaze rising in horror, almost as if in slow motion. Gasping, she claps a hand over her mouth, a ruddy blush already spreading from her collar to her cheeks.
"Jackson… my lipstick! It's… oh God…" and suddenly, she and Donna are collapsing in peals of laughter as Jax swipes a hand over his neck.
"Where?"
Donna can barely answer, but manages a strangled- "Ev- everywhere-" before snorting with laughter again.
"What's so funny, Tara?"
In the midst of uncomfortably rubbing at his neck, Jax hadn't noticed Peter Pan himself approaching- but he does notice the way the guy stops short, frowning at him uneasily, his gaze flitting from Jax, to Tara, and back again.
"The hell…"
"Oh, don't worry- these two have probably christened every goddamn room in the school by now," mutters Opie, appearing out of nowhere and clapping Rosen on the back with a little too much vigor.
"Huh?" Rosen croaks, lurching forward, evidently unable- or unwilling- to put two and two together now that he's confronted with the physical evidence that Tara owns Jax just as much as Jax owns Tara.
Laughter subsiding, Tara curls into the crook of Jax's arm once again and gazes up at him, her eyes dancing, teasing. Then, she's reaching up to rub at the rosy pink marks herself- but she can fuckin' leave 'em there as far as he's concerned.
"It looks like Wendy Darlin' has gone and left her mark on the Prince of Charming after all."
Scoffing, Jax bends down to drop a kiss on her lips before a smile curls his own, and he's looking into her eyes when he teases her right back-
"You know how I feel about silly-ass nicknames, babe… You'll never be a Wendy and I'll always be your Jackson- and I fuckin' love you for that."
*A/N- just a little (OK, nearly 9,000 word) one-shot to help get myself (and you) through the sort of Jax/Tara loving dry spell at the end of Out of the Blue and currently in Once You're Gone. I was at a bit of a sticking point, though I have a good chunk of the new chapter finished, and this just wouldn't leave my mind. There are just over two years left uncovered in the time jump between Into the Black and Out of the Blue, and it seemed like a good time to revisit happier times. Devoted, jealous Jax… sweet, unjaded Tara- what more could you want? Please drop me a note and let me know how you liked it. I'm still working on Once You're Gone and will have that out to you as soon as I can. As always, many thanks to Ang R for her support and late-night brainstorming- in this case, especially where Peter Pan is involved ;) *