Title: Spoon
Author: Mindy
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Tina's et al.
See part one for rest.
-x-
Jack wakes twice throughout the night, which is not unusual. He is generally a light sleeper, especially when not in his own bed. Liz does not seem to have the same problem.
As soon as she has kicked the bedclothes into her desired position and assaulted the pillow a few times with blows that apparently are meant to make it more comfortable for her, she falls into a deep and, as far as he is aware, undisturbed slumber. She does not kick him. Which relieves him, although she does do a little light snoring. Nothing major enough to keep him awake.
Generally when Jack has a guest in his bed, he doesn't do a great deal of sleeping. That's not the purpose of them being there. And frankly, once that purpose is consummated, he is not entirely comfortable with having another body so close to his. He can always sense that other presence. Even in his big bed, he is always aware of every shift of the covers, can detect every contented sigh and feels jostled every time that other body twists or turns. Lemon is a deep sleeper but a restless sleeper. He would have expected no less. She is not peaceful in her everyday life, he could hardly expect her to display any such quality while unconscious.
The first time Jack wakes, it's because he can feel a warm clump curled up against his back. He fell asleep with his back to her, and Liz mirrored the position, curled up on her opposite side. At sometime around two a.m. however, he can make out the feel of her hands balled up against his spine and her knees somewhere around his butt and her breath puffing warm through the material of his pyjamas. He tries to shift away but Liz groans, rolling closer. He whispers her name a few times, elbows her gently, enough to make her mumble sleepily: "What…? Sorry…shut up, nerd…"
She retreats to her side of the bed and Jack nestles into his pillow, determined to get some sleep. Surely, if she can, he can.
The second time he wakes up, his eyes just crack open for no reason. She doesn't disturb him in any way, although his sleep remains light. The wind outside is whipping up a storm, quietly rattling the one fragile window on its hinges. Liz has shifted onto her front, her arms tucked under her pillow and one cheek mashed into it. She is quite close. Closer than Jack has found himself to anyone in a long time. Especially someone he knows.
Because when -- and it isn't often that he actually spends the night with one of his casual conquests -- but when he does and he wakes to see a stranger's face, it can be startling, disconcerting. Sharing that intimacy with them, seeing their face unconscious, having them trust him in that way. It's also disconcerting for him to allow them to see him that way, if they happen to while he is unaware. At times, he can't believe he is sharing his bed with a relative stranger. Whoever they are, and whoever he is to them. He especially can't believe he got naked with them, joined with them bodily, grunted and sweated against their nakedness until they were witness to his climax.
Strangely, this arrangement only seems odd to him in the silent oblivion of mid-morning when everything is still and he feels utterly alone, despite sharing a bed with another being. Lying in the dark, all the faces of all the women seem to blend into one indistinct unknown. And he wonders sometimes whether his does the same for them.
When Jack wakes and sees Liz though, he knows that face. Almost as well as he knows his own. He's never seen it quite like this before. But over the years, he has been witness to a multitude of expressions passing over it, a parade of mostly unhidden emotions. There is nothing indistinct to him about her face. Even what his eyes can't quite detect in the darkness, his memory can fill in with perfect clarity. In fact, he knows her so well that he thinks he could almost recognise the cadence of her breathing even if he couldn't see her at all.
It strikes him then how long it's been since he has woken to someone he actually cares for and feels completely secure with. He is reflecting upon this, still half-asleep when Liz shatters his musings with a slurred but distinctly irritated: "Bitenuker…"
Jack chuckles quietly.
After this, he doesn't wake until morning. In fact, after this, he sleeps very well. Better than he has in years. Deeper, more serene, more still. Possibly because -- and this is only a guess -- but in their sleep, he and Lemon find a way of sharing the small bed that seems to suit the both of them.
He doesn't wake with the alarm. It's early when his eyes drift open. His bigger body is curled about hers in a warm, comfortable spoon. His chin is dipped inside the neck of her sweater, his nose resting against the back of her neck, breath falling steadily there. Her back expands with each breath, tucked tight to his front, her butt nestled in his pelvis, their legs bent together. One of his arms is hugged to her chest, he can feel her lips, her breath on his fingers and her hand loose about his wrist. His other arm acts as her pillow, stretched out along the sheet with one of hers, their fingers entwined, drooping over the edge of the bed.
All this has created a very natural, though again, unintended effect on another part of Jack's anatomy, which doesn't seem to grasp that their unconscious spooning isn't leading to where it usually might. Jack sucks in a breath as he wakes more fully to himself. And to Liz. In his arms. Carefully, he eases his hips back, despite the more natural instinct to press them closer. The tiny movement is all it takes to wake her. She stirs slightly.
He freezes.
And she freezes.
And for a long, uncomfortable minute, neither of them dares to move or speak. They barely breathe.
Finally, Jack swallows and croaks: "So, ah…how long are we going to lie here and pretend we're still asleep?"
Liz still doesn't budge, but he can practically feel her wince. "I was more concentrating on not mentioning your penis. Which…didn't work--"
"It's a physiological response," he points out a little too quickly.
"I know," she replies, just as quickly: "Of course I know that."
"Good."
"Right," she adds: "But…maybe you should take the first shower...?"
"I'd be very grateful if you did, actually," Jack mumbles, unable to conceal the strains of arousal buried in his voice. "I'm going to need…a moment."
"O-okay…" Liz scoots away from him in the bed, then literally tumbles over the edge of it. When her head pops up, her hair dishevelled and eyes skittish, she mutters: "I guess I didn't kick you, huh?"
"Not hard enough," he replies, clearing his throat.
She lets out an uncomfortable laugh, stumbles onto her feet and quickly escapes to the bathroom. When the door slams shut, Jack rolls onto his back on the bed, releasing a groan. He runs a hand over his face, before tucking both hands under his head. Involuntarily, his hips arch up toward the cheap, scratchy hotel sheets, which retain the warmth from their combined body heat. And which still smell slightly of woman. One particular woman. One particular woman he was not meant to want this way. Or any way. At all. Ever. For lots of good reasons. Which he should be remembering. Right now.
When the bathroom door flings back open though, and Liz darts out covering her eyes, he quickly corrects himself under the covers.
"I'm not looking!" she says, dashing to her suitcase: "I just forgot…everything." She sprints back to the bathroom with her arms full of clothes and toiletries, lets out a high-pitched yelp as she stubs her toe on the way. Then the door shuts with another bang at the same time as the alarm clock starts to loudly chirp.
Jack whacks the off button and slumps beneath the covers.
TBC...
