A/N: As I catch up with the sixth season, this story will get darker. If you like your smut of the fluff-only variety, you might want to leave the story here. And, fair warning, the smut gets quite a bit smuttier from here on in.

This is a post-ep to Bitter Fruit.


Because It Is Bitter


"It's hard to believe those two were ever in love," Claire said as she followed Jack to the elevator.

"Passionately, I'd say," Jack said. "Where do you think all the hate comes from?"

She thought about that all the way down in the elevator. "Do you hate your ex-wife that much?" she asked when they were in her car.

"Enough to pay a felon to kidnap my daughter?" Jack asked, and laughed. "No. Nor do I flatter myself that her feelings were ever that strong."

"How about the others?" She checked the traffic and pulled out of the garage. "Sally and – whoever."

She felt rather than saw him turn toward her. "Why the sudden interest?"

Claire shrugged without taking her hands off the wheel. "Just wondering whether you were drawing on personal experience about passionate love turning to hate."

He put his hand on her knee, squeezed gently, and then trailed his fingers up her thigh to the edge of her skirt. "Based on observation over my years in the DA's Office. I've never been that passionate – until now."

"So do you think – don't, Jack, I'm driving." She waited until he removed his hand, and went on, "So do you think that we'll end up like that? Hating each other that much?"

"No," Jack said immediately.

He sounds so confident, Claire thought as she steered through the traffic to Jack's place. As if he doesn't even need to think about it.

Maybe that comment had been just one more of his cynical poses, like Justice is the byproduct of winning. She'd been so sure they were just a façade to hide the real Jack McCoy, the good heart of the decent man she knew was there underneath, she knew she could reach.

These days, that certainty was starting to waver.

Jack didn't notice that she was quiet and distracted when they reached his apartment. He'd brought work home, as always, and was soon lost in marshalling his arguments for his opening statement in their next big trial. Claire grabbed a law journal and curled up on the couch, but her thoughts weren't on the latest interpretation of People v Kirkwood. She watched Jack drive his pen across the yellow legal pad, thinking about how easy it was for him to toss off a sarcastic bon mot, something smart and unanswerable that left her silenced but not convinced.

He needs to be right, she thought

But that wasn't quite it, she knew. He needs to win. Not just to know he was right, but to beat her, for her to know she was beaten.

It wasn't that he'd been right about Karen Gaines, although if Claire was honest, she had to admit it burned her a little to have been so wrong. But did he have to be so damn happy about it?

The depth of Karen Gaines's selfishness and vindictiveness and how far she'd been willing to go to get back at her equally selfish and vindictive husband had shocked and saddened Claire. Jack had been delighted to have his conviction that Gaines deserved prison proven right. And you thought she should get Man Two, he'd said, grinning. I told you you were being too magnanimous. When she'd bitten her lip, silent, reluctant to start an argument that would end with Jack coming out with some perfectly crafted turn-of-phrase, he'd gone on: Come on Claire, don't be a sore loser. Admit you were wrong.

She looked over at him just as he laid down his pen and raised his head. "I'm done," he said. "You?"

Claire shook her head. "I want to get through this."

Jack closed his file and stood up. "What are you reading?"

"Catching up on the Harvard Law Review."

"Latest edition?" Jack asked, sitting down beside her and tilting his head to see. "I've read that one. Nothing exciting, you can take it from me."

"I should keep up, anyway," Claire said stubbornly.

"I can think of more enjoyable ways to spend the evening," he said slyly, running his finger along her arm.

Usually, at this point, Claire would have thrown caution to the winds and her law books to the floor. Tonight, she sat still. "I'd like to finish this," she said.

"You can finish it later," Jack suggested, shifting a little closer to her. As if sex solves everything.

"I'm not in the mood, Jack!"

He drew back a little, and in her peripheral vision Claire could see him studying her, frowning. "We won, Claire. There's no need to be in a funk."

"I'm not in a funk," Claire said. "I'm reading."

"Oh, okay," Jack said. "If you're reading."

Claire turned the page. After a moment Jack reached out and touched one finger to her knee. Claire ignored him, even after he began to trace gentle figure eights on her skin. It took an effort to sit still, seemingly oblivious – as always, even the slightest, most innocent touch of his hand sent sparks racing along her nerves. She focused on the judicial logic behind the Kirkwood decision, even as Jack's fingers moved a little higher, then higher still, creeping beneath her skirt, circling slowly, leaving trails of tingling warmth wherever he touched. It felt so good – it always felt so good when he touched her. Her body responded, as it always did, conspiring with him against her. She wanted to raise her hips a little, loosen her legs, the urge so strong it took an effort to resist. A sigh gathered in her chest, a murmur of pleasure she refused to voice.

As if sex solves anything.

Not this time.

He moved a little closer to her, sliding his hand between her legs. As his fingers kept up their slow movement on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, he bent his head and kissed her neck.

"Jack," she said reproachfully. "I'm reading."

"So read," he whispered against her skin. His lips traced the line of her neck, and then she felt his breath warm against her ear. Oh, god. He knew all her weak points. She closed her eyes for a second as he nipped her earlobe gently and then moved along the arch of her ear. She felt his lips, his tongue, and fought to keep her breathing steady. The law review blurred in front of her eyes as Jack's hand moved higher, brushing the edge of her panties, then sliding across the silky fabric. Oh god, oh god.

She turned a page, having no idea what she'd just read or what the words in front of her meant, and couldn't help glancing downward, wanting to see his hand moving against her. Everything about them together turned her on but watching him caress her was definitely up there toward the top of the list. She was disappointed that he hadn't pushed her skirt up high enough to give her a clear view. Look at your book, Claire!

Jack hooked his finger around the elastic of her panties and pulled them aside. Oh god. Claire stared unseeing at her book, sure he could feel the pounding of her heart as his lips returned to her neck, trying not to breathe in noisy gasps.

"So are you enjoying the law review?" Jack asked slyly. "Claire?"

"Yes," she murmured as he reached his target. "Yes, oh yes. Yes."

"Are the articles good?"

"So good," she whispered. "Yes, so good."

"You're a liar, Claire Kincaid," Jack said, his mouth curving in a smile against the racing pulse beneath her jaw.

Then, unexpectedly, he pinched her, not quite hard enough to hurt, but almost. Claire gasped in surprise, then gasped again as the sharp touch sent intense shockwaves along her nerves. His fingers eased to a gentle, tormenting tease, and then suddenly were demanding again, pressing and tweaking her insistently. Each tweak sent a jolt of electricity through her, driving her sharply towards the peak of pleasure she could feel coming closer and closer.

Jack pinched her again and the involuntary moan that escaped her put an end to any efforts at pretense. Claire let her head fall back against the couch as the book slid from her lap.

"Finished your reading?" Jack asked.

"Oh, god," she murmured. "Please. Oh."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." Jack shifted position slightly, leaning over her to kiss her collarbone and the soft skin beneath. Frantically, Claire unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra, giving him unimpeded access. She felt his tongue swirl a slow circle as his fingers described the same movement below and then he nipped at her with his teeth, almost painfully, pinching her again at the same instant. Claire cried out, body jerking with the exquisite shock of it, and Jack repeated the sequence. Claire clutched at his shoulders, body trembling and writhing uncontrollably beneath him.

Just as she thought anticipation would tip over into inevitability his mouth and fingers became softer, gentle, giving her a respite she really, really didn't want.

"Please," she whispered, arching her back. "Again. Please."

"This?" he asked, sending another shock of pleasure through her.

"God, yes!" she gasped, feeling her whole body focus down on his touch. "I – Jack – "

He chuckled and his fingers became feather-light again, stroking her delicately, tantalizingly. Claire whimpered in frustration, drew breath to beg him and then lost it as he gave her exactly what she would have asked for, but only for a second. She moaned and raised her hips to press harder against his hand, but he drew away as she did, teasing. Just as she thought she would lose her mind with the maddening subtlety of his touch he flicked her sharply with his thumb and she cried out, shuddering.

"So close, Jack, please – I – let me – "

His hands and mouth left her and she groaned in disappointment. He took hold of her hips and turned her until she was lying on the couch, positioning himself between her legs. Claire reached for him eagerly but he held himself away from her.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to let you finish that article?" he asked.

"Bastard," Claire gasped, trying to pull him down to her. Jack shook his head.

"I wouldn't want to be the reason you weren't current with your reading," he said.

"Oh, god, you bastard, I can't – " She ran her hands over herself and reached down between her legs, unable to wait another second. She looked up at Jack as she did to herself exactly what she wanted, needed, from him, seeing his eyes darken and hearing his breath catch. He loves to see this. He loved it so much that he was usually on her moments after she began, replacing her hands with his own, groaning her name as he devoured her mouth. The memory, the feel, the sight of him watching her, all came together in a deep ache that tightened and tightened inside her. "Yes," she whimpered, "Yes, now, yes, god – "

Suddenly he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands above her head.

"No!" Claire protested desperately. "No, Jack, I – please!" She writhed on the couch as he restrained her, arching her back in an effort to press herself against him.

"I thought you wanted to read," he said.

"I want – I want to – I have to – now, Jack, please, please … "

"You said you weren't in the mood," he reminded her.

"I was wrong," Claire gasped. "Wrong. So wrong. Please, god, please, I'm dying here, Jack!"

He smiled down at her triumphantly, and then lowered himself to her, answering her burning longing with his body. Claire moaned wordlessly, the empty ache within her transmuting to a new and equally urgent throb. Jack lifted her hips and changed their position slightly and she felt molten golden warmth begin to grow inside her, expanding through her whole body with every movement of flesh against flesh. She opened her eyes to see Jack looking down at her, moving steadily and slowly, as she felt golden light filling her completely, until every nerve and inch of skin was glowing.

"You're so beautiful like that," Jack said hoarsely. "So beautiful."

Her whole body was nothing but light and heat, filling her until there was no room for thought or memory, filling her until finally it overflowed and swept over her in wave after wave of pleasure that robbed her of thought and sight. All she knew was the feel of Jack's body against hers and his voice, low and husky, telling her over and over how beautiful she was.

Still trembling, she opened her eyes again, looking up at him as he began to move faster against her.

"God, Claire," he gasped, "So beautiful."

Claire raked his back with her nails, rocking against him the way she knew he liked, and heard him groan her name. Knowing that in a moment she would feel him reach his own satisfaction made Claire's breath come faster in anticipation, and she felt her own body begin to burn and ache again. She arched her back, head rolling against the armrest of the couch, the tension twisting tighter inside her, unbearable, irresistible. "Claire," Jack said urgently, "Claire – are you – go on – I can't – "

She slid her hand down between them and did as he urged, the same sharp touch he had used on her earlier, and then a sudden cataclysm rocked her with a cascade of fire and her whole body jerked and shuddered as she fell over the edge again, this time taking Jack with her, both of them crying out over and over as they lost themselves in each other.

Claire came back to herself as Jack lowered himself down beside her, gathering her in his arms. She pressed her face into his neck, a twitch of memory between her legs at the smell of sex and sweat.

"My god," Jack said, sounding a little dazed.

"Uh huh," Claire said, the limit of her vocabulary. Jack laughed, running his hand over her back, and she shivered a little in response. He looked down at her, and his mouth twitched in a smile.

"You're unbelievable, Ms Kincaid," he said, stroking her back, his hand moving around to cup her breast. Claire gasped, back arching involuntarily. "Just unbelievable."

As his hand moved lower Claire shook her head. "I – just – " Her thoughts scattered as he began to stroke her aching, sensitive flesh and a groan tore from her as she arched against his hand. "Jack – god – it's too much – "

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"No – yes – no, don't stop, god." His touch was unbearable, exquisite, excruciating, utterly necessary. Claire panted and groaned and strained against him. "I need – I can't – please – I can't – "

But she could, and she did, twisting and moaning and begging until finally he took her beyond words and she went rigid, shuddering with the force of the explosion within her.

As the shockwaves ebbed she collapsed against Jack, utterly spent. He cradled her, stroking her hair gently, and she closed her eyes, drifting dreamily in a cloud of satiation. God, she felt so good, every muscle relaxed, the warm glow of wellbeing suffusing her. Okay, so, I have to admit, she thought languorously, sex solves some things.

"Claire," Jack said after a while. "We might be more comfortable in bed."

"Can't move," she mumbled.

He laughed. "I could try to carry you."

"No," she said. "Want to stay here." She snuggled closer to him, trapping him against the back of the couch, and he laughed again, arms folding more tightly around her.

"I told you there were better ways to spend the evening than studying law journals," he said.

"You were right," Claire said sleepily.

"I'm always right," Jack said.

She tipped her head back to look at him, finding him gazing at her with an intensity that bordered on the unnerving. "Sometimes."

"Always," Jack insisted.

"Often," Claire conceded.

"Always," he said, and silenced any further argument with a kiss.


.oOo.


A/N: Title from a Stephen Crane poem – " But I like it/ Because it is bitter, /And because it is my heart."

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