Part Three
She had no idea how long they were at it, each taking a couple swings, passing the sledgehammer between them when they got tired, laughing and joking as they took out all their anger and frustration on the wall. She didn't notice that she was sobering up; it seemed completely abrupt, one moment her body was still pleasantly humming with intoxication, the next she was perfectly in control of her faculties.
Which was all well and good until she remembered the way she'd thrown herself at her companion. And kind, but firm way he'd rejected her advances.
Oh dear god. Mortification wasn't something she could take out on a wall. Even so, she tried. She hurled the hammer with all the force she could muster toward the last few inches of the wall that was still standing.
His arms appeared in her peripheral vision, grabbing at the handle, wrapping around her in the process while he stilled the sledgehammer. "Not so fast, killer."
"What the-" She had to pretend to be irritated, to cover herself for the fact that while she was thoroughly embarrassed for throwing herself at the man, she honestly didn't feel a bit differently about how desperately she wanted him in bed. Anything to keep him from noticing the way she instinctively pressed herself back against him.
Lowering the hammer, he stepped away, his hand patting the small sliver of wall remaining. "Load bearing."
Sober enough to realize it hadn't occurred to her before, she looked at the demolished section. A quite substantial section of wall that was no longer standing. "And that's not?"
He shook his head. "Do you think I'd knock down a load bearing wall and then stick around to see what happened?"
"Haven't given it much thought." She glanced at the materials that had collapsed onto the floor and compared them to the important ones that were still standing. Drywall. Wood. Looked the same to her. "How can you tell?"
He pointed above them, motioning at a piece of wood running along the top. "Support beam." Seeing her uncertainty, he moved back behind her, his palms resting on her shoulders. "Relax, Carter, you're safe. I'm not going to let the building collapse on you."
Doing exactly the opposite, her whole body tensed at his touch. If she was sober, he sure as hell was. So why were his hands moving. Slowly, gently, but definitely moving. She held her breath, fully expecting that he'd realize what he was doing in a moment and stop it before her knees gave out.
Instead, his hands continued to knead softly, his thumbs sliding above her collar, the pads skimming over her neck.
And once again, without permission, her body melted back into his.
He must have noticed that he was supporting half of her weight, but he acted as though nothing had changed. "You're really tense, Carter. You need to relieve some of this stress." His fingers continued to burn through the shirt he'd given her, his attempted massage certainly only making her muscles more knotted.
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scoff. He was the reason her neck was so tight. Not to mention that she'd been rather obviously trying to get him to relieve a different kind of tension earlier without success. "You're the one who put me up to home improvements."
"True, but," he paused for a moment, his hands shifting out, over the curve of her shoulders, down her arms, then into her waist. When his hands moved forward, his arms looping around her, she could hardly believe it. "You were drunk at the time, Jos, and I wasn't about to take advantage of you."
He'd said as much earlier. He'd promised. She shouldn't have been so shocked, and yet she was. Not that he was keeping his promise to revisit the discussion, but that he was bringing it up. And, from the way he was touching her, it seemed he was of a favorable opinion on the subject of them burning off their mutual frustrations in a far more intimate way than smashing a wall to bits.
Her hands came to rest on his, feeling the warmth of his skin seeping into hers. "And now?" She turned her head to the side to let his chin press into her temple.
"You're sober. I'd hardly be taking advantage of you, would I?" Despite the fact that he'd brought it up, despite the fact that he'd reached for her, there was something hesitant about him, his voice, his touch. He was waiting, hoping, for her agreement, her approval.
It was the biggest ego boost she'd ever received, the idea that a man like John was nervous and afraid of rejection from her. Nice as it felt, it was unnecessary. She didn't want to crush him. She didn't want him to feel anxious. She wanted to soothe him and make it better and take away all the pain he'd suffered before they'd met.
She turned in his arms, sliding her palms up his chest, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "Not at all." Her eyes found his, her heart skipping a beat when she realized the hard edge was gone. His face was open, vulnerable. He was staring at her like she was some sort of precious jewel, a mix of awe and pride. She figured she probably had the same look on her face. She smiled, moving her hands to his cheeks and pulling his face toward hers. "I might be taking advantage of you though."
"I don't mind one bit."
The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was his smile.
A whirlwind overtook her then, all sense and feeling. Emotions she couldn't describe welled up as he touched her, his hands caressing her back, his lips massaging hers, his presence filling her head. She couldn't get enough of him, her nails digging into his scalp, trying to force him to deepen the languid kiss. He resisted, taking his time, setting the pace despite her efforts to speed it up.
She was already pulling at his shirt, moving her hands underneath, running her fingers over his chest and abdomen before he even opened his mouth to taste her. "John," she growled, part in frustration, part in warning that she wouldn't be held accountable for her actions if he didn't stop teasing her.
He reached down, stilling her wrists. "You have to be home by sunrise or something?"
"No, I'm just afraid you'll change your mind and be all chivalrous again." She shook his hands off and grabbed his belt, starting to drag him toward the bed. "Besides, you got your home improvements. You owe me."
He reached for her head to bring her back for a kiss. "We've got time, Jos."
Suddenly, she stopped dead, dropping her hands from him, staring at him. "Yes or no?"
"What?" He looked down, reading her posture, her expression. "What's wrong?"
She needed an answer. A definitive one. He had been the one to start this, he'd brought something back up that she would have pretended to not remember. "If you don't want this, just tell me." Fighting to keep herself from revealing her hurt, she held his eyes. "But tell me now."
"Don't want what? You?" His voice was incredulous, his face shocked. "Of course I want you."
"Then why are you dragging your feet?" She felt bolder because of his answer, but she still wasn't convinced. "I've never had to literally drag a man to bed before. You either want to fuck me or not."
His eyes darkened, but only for a moment. His hands found her cheeks again, holding her still while he stepped closer, leaning in until their noses nearly touched. "No, I don't want to fuck you." When she tried to turn her head, his fingers kept her face still. "I want to make love to you, and yes, Jos, there's a big fucking difference."
"I know that." She blinked, surprised at the tears that were beginning to gather.
"So maybe the better question here is what do you want? Is this just about sex for you? Because that's something I need to know before we go any further."
She hated that it was a valid question. When she'd been drunk, she'd been able to avoid the subject. Now that she was sober, now that she was facing someone who wanted an answer, she had to deal with it. It wasn't really a question in her mind; she knew the answer. Nothing with John had ever been simple from the day they'd met, so naturally this would never simply be sex. But she knew how she felt about him, the unexpected tenderness he managed to draw out of her, the way he could always make her laugh no matter the situation, the unfathomable level of comfort he provided just by being near. The way she felt about him defied description. It wasn't even a feeling; it was a bond. There was an unbreakable thread linking them together. She didn't know how to tell him that without scaring him off.
But then she realized that she didn't need to tell him.
He already knew. He always had, the same as she had.
Blinking back her tears, she looked up at him and shook her head. "I want you," she forced her words past the lump in her throat, "in every possible way. I want to be with you. I want to be near you. I want to talk to you and touch you and look at you and just-" Her tears overwhelmed her and choked off her voice, but she wiped at her face and cleared her throat, determined to continue before she lost her nerve. "I love you, John, and that scares the hell out of me, but it's true."
He didn't answer her, but she wasn't worried. First of all, she honestly hadn't expected him to return the sentiment. But more importantly, the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. This nexus could only exist if it worked both ways.
His mouth covered hers once again, his earlier hesitance replaced with certainty. Though his kiss remained gentle, his mouth was determined, his tongue thorough. His hands branded her as they moved over her, touching every inch of her, marking her as his, soothing her in a way she hadn't even realized she wanted.
Rather than having to drag him to the bed as she'd been doing earlier, he steered them across the open space before she even realized they were moving. She was wrapped up in the sensations of his hands sliding under her shirt and teasing the sides of her breast, his mouth shifting over her throat at the same time. She was impressed that he could concentrate on anything else; she certainly couldn't. She actually jumped when she felt the bed behind her legs. She hadn't even realized they'd moved.
But it reminded her that, tempting as it was, she wasn't just there for the ride. She grabbed at his shirt and tugged, happy when he lifted his arms and finished the job when she could no longer reach. Her palms pressed against his skin, slowly exploring.
Had she thought about it, she would have known to expect it, but at the moment, John's career history was the furthest thing from her mind.
Until her fingers found bump after bump on his chest.
She pulled her mouth from his, her eyes moving down to see what her hands had already found. They were mostly old, a faded pink color barely standing out from his pale skin, but others were newer, angry red marks that had undoubtedly hurt him more than they hurt her. And they hurt her a hell of a lot.
"Jos-"
She shook her head, not willing to listen to whatever excuse he'd have to blame himself for so many attempts at nearly being killed. It was a hard truth about his life that she had to accept - that he was in far more danger than she was on a regular day. Even worse than the close calls that had nothing to do with her was one she hadn't yet found, one that she knew was there anyway, the one, in fact, that had made her realize he wasn't the evil, invulnerable superhero she'd been led to believe originally.
Her hands found it first, remembering all too clearly where it was, the sight of blood spreading across his white shirt burned into her memory. She was shaking when she looked at his abdomen, seeing the scar that was far smaller than she expected, the healed over hole leftover from Evans' bullet. Evans and Snow were dead. She and John were the only surviving witnesses of that assassination attempt, but it still made her shudder.
Leaning down, she pressed her lips against it, leaving a wet mark from her tears.
"Don't, Jos, it was a long time ago."
She shook her head as she straightened back up. She couldn't meet his eyes; the guilt was crushing her. Instead she leaned into him, stretching her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's not ok. I'm so sorry, John."
His arms folded around her, one hand cradling the back of her head. "Shhh, Jos, it's over. I'm fine." He leaned back, his hands moving to her cheeks. "Everything that happened led us here."
Still blinking back tears, she looked up at him. His eyes were a clear blue, his face reflecting nothing but affection and, perhaps it was wishful thinking, love. She nodded. He'd forgiven her for her part in it. He knew her intention had never been to hurt him like that. He'd never asked for an apology or an explanation and she'd never offered one before tonight, but she believed he knew anyway. He understood that everything she'd done back then had all been done in a desperate attempt to catch up to him, and not because she wanted to lock him up.
"I'm sorry for ruining the mood too." She stood up on her toes to catch his lips and promptly realized when her hips shifted that his mood hadn't changed much. His erection was still pressed against her and he lightly pressed into her as she moved.
He grinned at her, the devilish gleam back in his eyes. "You didn't ruin anything, Jos." His lips touched hers gently before he pulled back to meet her eyes. "You just reminded me why I fell in love with you in the first place."
It took her breath away. He loved her. He was so casual in telling her, as though it was something he'd told her a million times. And maybe he had. Because when she thought about it, he'd told her every time he'd looked at her, every time he'd tried to explain his actions, every time he'd resisted his urge to resolve problems the easy way.
And though she was perfectly aware of how serious this conversation was, she felt a smile spreading across her face. "So you want to head out to the Hallmark store and buy some sappy cards?"
He chuckled, rolling his hips against hers, pressing himself into her, redirecting her attention. "I have other plans."
Her grin turned more seductive as she lowered her hands to rest on his hips. "Oh yeah?"
He reached for the tee-shirt he'd loaned her, pulling it up and over her head, his eyes slowly moving over her chest. "Oh yeah."
Just like that, the comfortable ease that had been the defining trait of their relationship from the start took over. They moved together in perfect unison, reading each other's intentions and movements and desires as though they'd been there a million times, as though they'd known each other all their lives. He didn't have to ask where she wanted his hands or how she wanted to be touched, the same way as she knew exactly what he liked without needing to ask.
And when he slid into her, she felt happy. Truly happy. Complete and fulfilled and content and wonderful. She never wanted to be anywhere else but lost in passion in his bed, surrounded by his scent and his body and his love.
When they snuggled together afterwards, his body spooned behind hers, the first rays of the sun were crawling across the floor. She sighed happily in his arms, loving the solid warmth of his body pressed against hers with no barriers.
His voice was deeper than usual, perhaps from spent passion, perhaps from exhaustion, but sexy as ever when he whispered in her ear. "You sure you don't have to be home by sunrise?"
She shifted against him, just to assure herself that he was really there. "I'm good."
"Good. Let's get some sleep." He leaned in, touching his lips to her shoulder in a sweet kiss before his head fell back to the pillow.
She would have liked to lie there and enjoy the intimacy, but after the long night, she was tired too and the urge to close her eyes and surrender her mind to the same relaxed state as her body was too strong. She drifted off to sleep with a happy smile on her face, knowing it had only been the first night of many.
~end~