Title: Spoon

Author: Mindy

Rating: M, sexual situations

Disclaimer: Tina's et al.

See part one for rest.

-x-

Now it's awkward.

More than a little.

For both of them.

He'd venture to guess that it's slightly more awkward for him, but that would be underestimating Lemon's supreme unease with anything physical, anything biological. She must know that for any normal man this is a simply an accepted feature of their working biology. And to be perfectly honest, it's hardly the first time he's had an erection around the woman he spends the majority of his time with. Not that Jack has told Liz this or sees any need to. He's certain she would not wish to hear this little tidbit of information. Especially from her best friend and the man she spends the majority of her time with. He doubts she'd even be comfortable hearing it from a lover. And in any case, he always attributed those other instances, not to anything she did, but to sheer coincidence and his naturally high sex drive.

What is unsettling though, is that lately – aside from this morning -- Jack's sex drive has needed…a little help getting started. Since the dissolution of his last actual, serious relationship, he has been with only two women. Both gorgeous, both impressive, both quite a bit younger than he. Both of them he knew very little about except that, in the past, both had been capable of arousing him.

Something had changed though, in the interim. Without him being aware of it. He had changed. What used to work was not working now, and he had no clue why. Leo Spaceman had told him that this was a perfectly natural development, an inevitable part of growing older. He'd prescribed for him his new sex book as well as some little blue pills to help with what Jack hoped was only a temporary dysfunction.

The only other time this had happened to him was for a short spell after he and Bianca finally split for good. But he was a fairly young man then. He was confident his libido would return full strength. And he was right. It did. Without any drugs or therapy or much time at all. He went on to make love – correction, nail -- a succession of hot women in a very deliberate effort to sever the act of sex from any feeling at all. As far as Jack was concerned, one did not belong with the other. Sex and Love were two separate occurrences that separately made sense and together made mess and heartache. A person could have one or the other. But not both, and still be happy.

So Jack chose sex. Every time. He chose sex over love.

It was an easy decision, for the most part, a simple one to make. It was a decision that was meant to keep him young. Keep him happy and strong, untouched and unscathed. It was a decision he looked back on with little regret and no second-guessing. Until recently. The past…four years or so. He blames Lemon for that. All her talk of marriage and babies, her yearnings to settle down and have it all. It's infiltrated his thinking. It made Jack forget that once, he had it all. Well, most of it all. And it fell apart. Which meant he could have it all again -- and it could fall apart again, just as quickly, leaving him as desolated in it's wake as he'd been the first time.

Still, as Jack lies in the narrow hotel bed, contemplating the ceiling, he can't help thinking that his body is trying to tell him something. Something very important. Something he's been trying to avoid for years. Something that the noise of his normal life has made almost impossible for him to hear, except in this sleepy little town, on this cold, still morning. After all, the body possesses a logic all it's own. And ordinarily, Jack listens to that logic very carefully. It's not making a great deal of sense to him right now though. Perhaps because, in spite of his efforts to ponder his way out of this little predicament, Jack is still hard. As hard as he was when Liz left the bed.

His body shifts again beneath the cheap sheets. She has been in the shower for close on a decade now. Probably washing him off her. And trying to scrub the memory of this entire morning from her bizarre brain. To her, it probably makes even less sense than to him. She is less used to thinking about sex. Or things related to sex. And anything she does think about sex probably has the equivalent understanding of a twelve year old. Not a particularly informed twelve year old either. Although actually, it occurs to him that she is probably still in the shower in an effort to give him some time to deal with himself, make himself more presentable.

Not that Jack intends on indulging in any such activity while his friend and employee is in the other room, liable to re-enter at any moment. For one thing, the hotel room and all it's fixtures are just too depressing for him to relish the act. And for another, his…imaginings in that state can be quite random. Who knows what he might moan in the heat of the moment, when carried away by lust. Also, considering his recent lack of…inspiration, it seems rather wasteful, cruel even, to have to either will his very natural erection into submission or to have to appease himself. Though that is probably what he will have to resort to.

Once Lemon is gone, of course.

Jack is not in the habit of engaging in self-love. Mostly, he considers it unnecessary, not to mention an anticlimax – so to speak. And anyway, that is precisely what his little black book is for. That's what his faceless women are for, the simplicity of quick and easy gratification. But he is miles from his black book, miles from any bright lights or big city and miles from a woman who would gladly fulfil his importunate desire. It seems like a bit of a bad joke, considering how the last time he used his little black book turned out. The timing must have been off -- that must have been the cause -- the timing was wrong with…whatever her name was. And his current morning glory is simply a delayed reaction of sorts, a purely physical response to specific stimuli.

Stimuli called Liz Lemon. Stimuli that is right in the next room, stepping out of her marathon shower, slamming the door almost as if in warning. Jack hears her clattering around in the adjoining room and quickly pushes himself out of bed. He is standing by his nightstand, clasping his hardcover book in a strategic position when she peers out the door. When she sees him, she immediately opens the door, steps out as though not wanting to appear awkward. Which only makes her appear much more awkward. She is fully clothed, right down to her socks, her hair still a little damp and her eyes still skittish as she sidesteps across the room, gingerly keeping her distance.

"Hey..." she murmurs with forced cheer: "how you doin' there…buddy?"

Jack straightens his spine, voice deliberately disdainful. "It's an erection, Lemon, not a contagious disease. You can't catch it."

Her cheer collapses. "I know," she scowls: "I was just…" Her eyes skate over him uncertainly.

He puts out a hand, then instantly retracts it. "What is it you think I'm gonna try?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing!"

"Nothing," he replies: "Exactly."

"Yeah…well. Whatever." She shoots him a withering look as she gathers her glasses, jacket and a bundle of papers: "You can do…whatever you need to do…I'm going to the diner for pancakes."

Jack nods, keeping his book firmly in place. "Fine. I'll be down shortly."

She rolls her eyes: "Fine," and heads for the door.

Her footsteps are hurried, her eyes cast to the floor as he watches her go. She nearly drops all the papers she has clutched to her chest as she reaches for the handle but eventually, the door closes. She is gone and Jack can breath easily. He lets out a breath, throws his book aside and stretches his arms over his head. He immediately heads for the bathroom. It doesn't help him in his state that the bathroom is filled with warm mist from Lemon's shower. And hanging in the mist is the perfume of the hotel's complimentary shampoo. It is sweeter and stronger than Liz's usual shampoo, which Jack can recognise now with just a single whiff. Those sort of products are simply designed to drive men wild, he's sure of it.

He elbows the bathroom door closed as he pulls his pyjama shirt over his head, too frustrated to deal with buttons. He is naked and under the lukewarm spray in a matter of moments. He should've known Lemon would leave him little hot water but that is probably not a terrible thing. He lathers the hotel soap in his hands and runs them over his chest, shoulders, around his neck. Gradually, his hands move lower, circling his stomach before straying lower still.

He tries to think of nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing but simple sensation. And when that doesn't work, he tries to think of the last woman he had meaningless sex with. When that only succeeds in confusing him, Jack thinks of the last woman he loved. But when that doesn't help, he starts to run through a catalogue in his head. A catalogue that includes his ex-wife, various past girlfriends, then various wives, exes and girlfriends of other men, a film star or two, classic favourite fantasies and even the odd sportswoman or business associate. When this approach also doesn't have the desired effect, Jack attempts to go back to thinking of nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

But…nothing turns into Lemon's hand on his wrist, his arm hugged to her chest, his fingers grazing her sweater-clad breast. This turns into her ass nestled against his hard-on. And his mouth against her skin, breathing in her familiar scent. He tries to interrupt himself, genuinely tries to derail, distract, deviate his own mind from it's chosen course. Instead…he starts thinking about Liz naked, standing where he stands, the warm water running down her chest, off the tips of her breasts. He thinks of her running her hands over her wet head, of how her breasts would rise with the movement, how her lips might part to take in some of the falling water. He thinks of her hands on her own body, even in the most functional, ordinary way. Of the hands he knows running deftly over, cleaning the curves his eyes have secretly traced through her clothes.

From there, it isn't hard imagine her standing right there with him, her wet, soapy skin sliding against his, her voice whispering, then moaning his name. Her wet head tipped back against his chest as he cups her, explores her. Or her eyes meeting his as she turns. It isn't hard – correction, difficult -- to picture those same hands running over his body, unsure at first, then growing more bold, grazing his arms and circling his chest before moving low. Lower. Lower. Giving him what he wants. What he needs. What he really, really just has to have.

At which point, Jack stops thinking altogether. His mind lets go and something else takes over. He keeps imagining, keeps breathing steadily as the cool water skims over his head. He keeps moving his hand over himself, pumping languidly as his eyes remain closed and his other hand braces his body against the wall. He keeps himself mostly under control, as much as is possible, right up until he comes, releasing a groan that also releases a name. A name that bounces off the tiles, that echoes back his desire. A name he says regularly, almost everyday -- but never like that. Never. A name that sounds taut with passion, like he's been bottling it up for who knows how long.

The sound of this name is followed closely by the sound of a door slamming. Beneath the rush of the falling water and the blood rushing though his veins, the sound doesn't really register with him at first. He is panting hard, trying to catch his breath. And when he does think of it, Jack assumes it was the door of the room adjacent or across the way. It's only when he is out of the shower, towel tucked about his waist, combing his hair in the steamy mirror that he realizes that the door that slammed sounded much, much closer than that. It's the same moment that he notices he didn't actually close the bathroom door properly. It's also the same moment that he recalls Liz going for breakfast but not leaving with any shoes. That when she left so hastily, her boots were still by the bureau where her suitcase lay open. The bureau that stands right by the bathroom door. Which was slightly ajar. While he was…preoccupied.

It's then that Jack realizes he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.

TBC...